March 15, 2008

Palm Sunday - Walking into Face of Danger

I imagine the image most of us have of a parade is a happy occasion commemorating some extraordinary event or accomplishment. Parades, of course, are always or usually open-air events. They happen on Broadway or on the main streets of towns and villages around the country. Everyone somehow becomes part of the parade, whether you are actually sitting in the back of a fancy car or sitting on the sidewalk watching the notables go by. We all love parades, even if we sometimes get rained on. Makes no difference.

When the troops come home from Iraq, there will always be a grand reception in every small town around the country. The soldiers will be in full dress uniform, eyes straightforward; a band will accompany them. No effort will be spared to show our thanks for these men and women who risked their lives for our country.

Sometimes the parades are about less serious matters, like the one that took place in New York a couple months ago when the Giants came home the winners of the Super Bowl or again when the Boston Red Sox won the World Series.

In other words, this is the way we pay attention to certain events and heroes in our country’s history: We watch, we cheer, and sometimes we also cry. It’s all about showing our emotions about things we love.

But let us also say that parades can be signs of other things as well: They can be signs of power, for instance, ways of showing that justice should be served, that peoples rights and freedoms should be respected. So, in that sense, parades or public demonstrations can be dangerous occasions.

All of us can remember days when our heroes were shot: John Kennedy’s death in Dallas. He was a hero to many. Others will remember the day John Lennon of the Beatles was shot in New York City. He was also a hero to many. And who can forget the day that Pope John Paul II was shot in St. Peter’s Square in Rome. He was a hero to Catholics and others as well. More recently we witnessed the assassination of Ms Benazir Bhutto, the leading opposition candidate in Pakistani politics. The common thing we can say of all these individuals is that they were heroes to some, enemies to others, but especially that they were willing to take the risk of being out in public where their friends could be in touch with them. They also spoke truth to power and paid for it.

Given all that, my friends, we celebrate today the life and death of one who is truly a hero to all of us: Jesus of Nazareth.

We call this day the Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion. What we remember best of this day, of course, is the blessing of the palms and the procession (parade!). It resembles the procession of Jesus into the city of Jerusalem and describes his friends who thought him a hero and demonstrated it by laying palm branches in his way. (No confetti in those days!)

The word we do not think of so often on this day, however, is Passion. We think of it more often on Good Friday, the day of the Lord’s death.

But I would like to think of passion in the way we think of it in daily life. We say for instance that some folks are passionately dedicated to football or some other sport. But we also say that some people are passionate about justice and peace, about abolishing the death penalty and so forth.

That is the way I think of Jesus: He was passionate about honesty in God’s temple. He walked in publicly and threw out those who were cheating the poor out of their small savings. He would not allow his followers to be violent. He spoke of peace when others would take up the sword. It was all of these matters that Jesus was passionate about. It was these that also brought him to his death. He spoke truth to power.

So, that is what is so striking about that little palm procession in Jerusalem that day: A man on a donkey rides into the face of power, religious and secular, and lets power know that someone is here to do battle with it.

There is a lovely little story about Dorothy Day, the fearless peace activist. She was asked one time how Pope Pius XII could have stopped Hitler. Dorothy replied: “Well, he could have ridden into Berlin on a donkey!”

Whether that would have made any difference, I do not know. But it tells you that some folks more than others have a passion for peace.

That brings us to the question of what we are willing to walk for. What are we so passionate about that we are willing to stand in public and demonstrate for it, even at the risk of our life?

So, my friends, that is what I think the Palm Sunday of the Lord’s passion is all about. It is not about waving palms and singing songs. It’s about honoring and adoring our hero Jesus Christ who has given us the example of what it takes to be declared a Christian. In short, it’s all about risks and the courage to take them.

The scriptures: Isaiah 50: 4-7, Philippians 2: 6-11, Matthew 26: 14-27:66

Posted by Julie Galligan at 09:40 AM.

March 08, 2008

Fifth Sunday of Lent - Never Forgotten

I know a retired friend who travels the back roads of the U.S., mostly in summers, visiting small towns, trying to get a sense and flavor of the people who have immigrated here over the many years.

One way he picks up this flavor of our history is by visiting cemeteries where, on tombstones, he often finds epitaphs, some humorous, some serious, that give him a sense of how the relatives of the deceased thought of him or her. I’ll quote just a few to give you a sense of it all. Sir John Strange: “Here lies an honest lawyer and that it is Strange is no business of yours.” “Here lies Lester Moore. Four slugs from a.44, no less no more.” On the 22nd of June Jonathan Fiddle went out of tune.” Margaret Daniels: “She always said her feet were killing her. Nobody believed her.” Harry Edsel Smith: Born 1903—Died 1942. “Looked up the elevator shaft to see if the car was on the way down. It was.” “Here lies an Atheist. All dressed up and nowhere to go.”

So, why am I sharing all these quotes with you? First of all, they are pretty funny. Sometimes the lives of the deceased are rather humorous. Even death itself, when you think about it, is sort of humorous. None of us wants to die and yet we have no control over it. As a humorist once said: “None of us will get off this planet alive.”

Part of the reason I also wanted to share these poetic verses with you is because I have a sense that none of us wants to die and be unremembered. Our relatives and friends want us to be remembered. So they print mortuary cards or long obituaries. After all, it does seem to me that every person born onto this earth was important to somebody and, hence, should be recalled, remembered, spoken-well and written well of. Of course, the deceased person himself or herself has no more control over that, but someone else, someone living has that option and they often make use of it.

Epitaphs, obituaries, et cetera also can give us a sense of the meaning our own lives and its shortness and its tenuousness. In short, the lives of the dead are often a lesson for the living.

Well, if you have the sense that epitaphs and obituaries are a modern invention, let me point out two examples, two pieces of writing, that are in the very scriptures for this Fifth Sunday of Lent. Let me point out also that they are resurrection stories because in our Church calendar we are nearing Holy Week and Easter.

The first story, or epitaph comes from the prophet Ezekiel. He has this vision where he sees scattered on the desert floor the bones of thousands and thousands of his fellow Israelites. But in his vision he also sees these bones being reattached one to the other by the power of God. He imagines all these reattached bones springing alive and returning back to their own land.

So, you see, this is a resurrection story, a prediction that death is never a total separation. Some day God will put us back together and gather us into our own land, the Kingdom of God.

The second epitaph or obituary story is about the only man in recorded history who died, was buried for three days and was brought back to life…Lazarus. If you believe in Jesus’ miracles, of course, as I do, you will have no difficulty with the details of the story. But if you don’t then some items may puzzle you: Where was Lazarus for those three days, on earth or in heaven? Did he ever tell anyone about the experience? Did he remember anything in the grave? How did he breathe? Did his body start to decompose, as Martha feared?

Well, those are useless question, useless because this is really more a resurrection story, not simply about dry bones or the dead Lazarus; it’s about all of us. The power of Jesus to bring Lazarus back from the dead is the power that Jesus will bring to bear for all who believe in him.

The interesting and mysterious feature about both these readings is that they assume the reality of death but tell us nothing about what follows except to say that death is not the end. We are all destined for a life beyond this one, whether, like Lazarus, we are in the grave three days or for a millennium.

The point that give me some hope is the sense that we are all remembered. Life is precious. For many of us, someone in this world will remember us after death, even if only on a grave marker. For all of us, our God will remember us. I just can’t imagine a God who has the power to create all things, simply allowing us to disappear from existence…period. I still believe in resurrection although what form it may take is still a mystery to me…perhaps to all of us.

The scriptures: Ezekiel 37: 12-4, Romans 8: 8-11, John 11 1-45

Posted by Julie Galligan at 12:13 PM.

March 01, 2008

Fourth Sunday of Lent - Overlooking the Obvious

Several weeks ago my optometrist suggested that my eyesight was becoming as little cloudy and that it might be a good idea for me to have cataract surgery. At first it sounded pretty threatening. I didn't want anyone messing with my eyes unless it was absolutely necessary. I've had these eyes for a lot of years and they have served me well. But Dr. G assured me that it was not dangerous, that the operation would take only a short while and I would definitely see more clearly afterward. And so it was: I'm seeing things today I never saw before! Flat screen television never looked so beautiful. I think I can even read for longer times without becoming weary.

It occurred to me some while ago that of all the senses I would not want to be without, eyesight would surely hold first place. Smell, touch and hearing I could do without if necessary, but eyesight...it's something I use practically at every waking hour.

Whether I appreciate all that, of course, is another matter. Eyesight is always there, always available whenever I need it.

So, perhaps that is something to think about, namely that those human gifts that are simply "there" are often taken for granted.

But just think for a moment how intricate and complicated that human faculty and process of seeing truly is, not only the eye itself, but how it is connected to the brain, how we actually see and interpret what we are seeing. It's all a great mystery, the mystery of God's creative power.

Given all that, however, it also needs to be said that even though we claim 20/20 vision, it could be said that we often do not truly see. Perhaps the word understand or appreciate might be a better term. I know for a certain that there are many things I see very day and never think about fu the, even a beautiful sunset or the face of a child or the sight of children playing in a school yard, beautiful sights but never reflected on for contemplation.

I often take time to read Thomas Merton's diaries (Merton, the Trappist monk). He walked in the woods on his monastery grounds practically every day and every day he would notice something different in nature. He would comment on the weather for that day, for instance, pointing out that it was hot and muggy, sweaty and sticky or he would point out that the trees glistened with frost. He would write about how his sandaled feet felt walking over dry leaves. He noticed things that I surely never see, all the more to my loss, of course.

Perhaps it is true to say then that all of us suffer from some sort of non-physical myopia, lack of attention, lack of insight, lack of appreciation. So much in our daily experience escapes our understanding.

What is even more discouraging is that there are so many human events happening in this world every day that we pay so little attention to. Most of us read the daily newspaper or watch television news and perhaps we will notice certain world situations that are terribly distressing: On the day I wrote this homily the morning paper's headlines told us that five more U.S. soldiers were killed in Iraq, hundreds of Kenyan people were killing each other with rocks and machetes, Palestinian families were struggling to get across the border into Egypt so that could buy oil, medicine and food for their tables. I didn't even finish reading the articles. Isn't that interesting? I just said to myself: "Well, what can I do anyway. All that is on the other side of the world. Sadly, I did not even have any interior sense of compassion for those people. All this happens every day. What can you do? Well, you (I) can think about it, pray about it, let it sink into our consciousness. What if any of this should happen to me?

Given all this, there is a story in our gospel for this Sunday about someone who did care about blindness, Jesus of Nazareth; he saw the seriousness of it all and he did what he could in that situation. Jesus, obviously, did not cure every who appealed to him, but, for whatever reason, he did cure this young man.

The question to ask is not how did Jesus cure this man, but rather how can each of us heal like Jesus did? Obviously, we are not miracle-workers but perhaps we could learn better how to appreciate the humanity of the people I mentioned above, even though they may be thousands of miles apart from us. Every human person is precious in God's "eyes."

The second thing we might begin to see if we allow Jesus to heal our blindness is the overlooked population. They are the ones who are always there but often unseen because they do not count in anyone's eyes. These are the poor, the homeless, the hungry, the out-of-work, immigrants, the underemployed, the marginalized and the handicapped. Sometimes we are even forced to see them because they are obnoxious to us. They are always there, always disturbing our peace, always making us think.

And lastly, perhaps we could let Jesus heal our blindness if we tried deliberately to notice this day's natural beauty, whether of nature, of our work, or even of the little things we can't control, the things that disturb our peace. If we were simply to say, "thanks Lord for reminding me to notice that," that would be enough.

Finally, we must say that none of us chooses deliberately to be blind. It's just that we don't pay attention; so many other things in our lives distract us.

So, the next time you do notice something so beautiful that makes you gasp with awe and wonder, just say: "Thanks God. Now, help me keep my eyes open to all those other things in life that are not always so beautiful but are still somehow filled with sacred meaning.

The scriptures: I Samuel 16: 1,6-7, 10-13 Ephesisns 5: 8-14, John 9: 1-41

Posted by Julie Galligan at 12:09 PM.

February 23, 2008

Third Sunday of Lent - Thirsting For the Sacred

My hunch is that most of us hearing this homily (or reading it on line) don't often think much about being thirsty. The fact is that we are probably never very thirsty. Oh, yes, I suppose we'd all love to have a coke or a beer on a hot day. That would slake our thirst at least for a little while. But none of us, I suspect, has ever been so thirsty that our lips began to crack or that our tongue and throat were so dry we could hardly speak. That sort of thirst doesn't happen today, at least not in First World countries. But it does happen in many parts of the world, especially in thy, desert areas like Africa or the Middle East.

However, even in the United States today wars are being fought over who gets the water from the Colorado River: Should it go into the swimming pools of Los Angeles or the vegetable growers in the Central Valley of California? Even the state of Georgia is worrying today about the water level of the lake that supplies Atlanta's homes and businesses.

There is no doubt that water is in the news and the minds of many people today, more than it has never been before. Even Global Warming is causing people to worry about oceanic water levels. But for the moment let us say that we don't immediately need to worry about going thirsty today or tomorrow.

The question, however, is this: Do we experience a thirst for anything else in life? I'm talking about thirst in the analogical sense, a longing or a craving for other things besides water, something that could give us a reason for living. I'm thinking, for instance, of our thirst or our longing for love, for recognition, for support, for respect, for intimacy, for partnership, for community, for peace, for identity, for meaningful work, and especially for God, for the sacred. We are all very complicated people; there are lots of things we long for even though we have more than enough water to drink.

An added thought about our thirsting is this: Do we ever give a thought to the notion that we have it in our power to slake the thirsts of others, that each of us has a hidden well that we can draw on and make it possible for others to live? Obviously, none of us has the capability of fully taking care of ourselves. We naturally depend on each other to lighten our thirsts for whatever it is we long for. The point is that we don't always know where the well is, but someone else does, so we go to that person to draw the water for us.

There are two examples of that in our scriptures for this Third Sunday of Lent. The first comes from the Book of Exodus, the migration story of the Israelites through a land where there was little water. There were a few springs (oasis) along the route, but you had to know where they were. The immigrant Israelites were getting desperate; they were ready to give Moses the boot and go back to Egypt. But fortunately, just in the nick of time, Moses finds a spring and saves the day along with his life.

So, we are back to the question: Who knows where the water is? Is that person ready to make the water available to those who are thirsty? Remember, you can't hoard water. It's too precious.

The second story comes out of Jesus' life. He was obviously on the road a lot; he needed to know where the watering holes were. Fortunately, there was a famous one, Jacob's well. Everyone in the Middle East knew where it was. So, here we have Jesus and his twelve followers (all men) coming to Jacob's well, out of water and even without a bucket. Fortunately, a woman from the nearby village is already filling her jar. Whether they liked it or not, Jesus and 12 men needed to ask a woman for water! That may have been considered humiliating for men in those times, but what could they do? She had he bucket and the water! No questions asked.

But then Jesus and the woman get into this very interesting theological conversation about the water of life and the question of where one can satisfy one's thirst for God. So, there is an interesting trade-off: Jesus and the guys get a drink of cold water and the woman receives from Jesus some insight about how to slake her thirst for God. A "win-win" situation all around.

All this brings us back once again to the question: "Who's thirsty, who's got the bucket and the water, so we can we make a trade and everyone will come away satisfied? That's the question for the modern Christian: Who's thirsty and who's got the water?

Finally, why are we hearing all this on the Third Sunday of Lent? We are hearing it because in practically every church in Christendom some folks are thirsting for acceptance into the Catholic Church. They are in an RCIA program and they are only a few weeks away from the "well", the fountain of baptism.

These two stories therefore are catechism lessons for the catechumens. They are the thirsty travelers and the church is the "well" that will satisfy them at the Easter vigil.

My hunch is that all of us who have already had our initial thirst for God satisfied at baptism should now be ready to share the water of our faith with others. So, again, we're left with the Question: "Who's thirsty, who's got the bucket, the water and is there anyone willing to share?

The scriptures: Exodus 17: 3-7, Romans 5: 1-11, John 4: 5:42

Posted by Julie Galligan at 12:23 PM.

February 16, 2008

Second Sunday of Lent - Unforgettable Moments

It has always been a great mystery to me why it is that I can clearly remember certain events in my life, some going all the way back into my childhood, that, in themselves, were not very significant. And yet, on the other hand, others that should have been very important to me, I have no recollection of at all.

As a child, for instance, I can remember my father playing the violin (fiddle!) in the living room of our home and I being spellbound by it. Playing in the violin in one's home must not seem all that important and yet I remember it clearly to this very day. Or again, I can still remember the first airplane I ever saw up close. I can even remember the name of the pilot etched on the side of the plane.

On the other hand, however, I cannot remember the celebration of my First Communion, my Confirmation or even parts of my Ordination ceremony. You would think that these solemn religious rites should have made an impression on me, and yet, alas, they have disappeared from memory. The human mind is a great mystery: Why does it retain some human experiences and forget others? Without doubt, however, some events in our human history have made an indelible impact on our consciousness, for whatever reason.

I think the same might be said of certain events that have taken place in our country's history or even in the history of the world. Fortunately, there were individuals who remembered them and had the good sense to write them down for the sake of history. Everyone, I'm sure, remembers Pearl Harbor, everyone remembers "9/11", everyone remembers the names of the cities of Hiroshima, Nagasaki and the atom bomb. Interestingly, these events are not religious in nature and yet many people interpret them spiritually because they had such a negative impact on the human race. They might even be interpreted as death and resurrection experiences for humanity. At any rate, they will not be forgotten by our generation or by generations to come. We could almost call them transcendent events transcending time and place.

Our scriptures for this Second Sunday of Lent contain two such transcendent experiences that have never been forgotten.

The first comes from the history of the Hebrews. It is remembered as the call of Abraham, the Father of the Israelites. Interestingly, it is referred to three different times in the book of Genesis, which will tell you that it had a definite impact on the consciousness of the Hebrew people. Three different scribes wrote it down. The reason it was important to the Israelites was because, for the first time in human history we have a record of some people being given a piece of land of their own and a place in history. All this was done by God, of course, at least that is the Hebrew interpretation of the event.

I'm sure there is not a Jewish person in the world today (whether practicing or not) for whom this is not an important moment in their history. It defines who they are.

The gospel also has a remembrance story; In this instance, however, only three people remember the event, the disciples of Jesus, Peter, James and John. Let it be said, however, that it is mainly a remembrance story in the life of Jesus. It happens on the top of a mountain, which tells you immediately that it is meant to be interpreted as a story of transcendence, a sacred moment in the lives of Jesus and the disciples.

We are not completely clear how this event happened because some of the references are metaphorical, the cloud, for instance and the voice speaking out of the cloud, et cetera.

Nonetheless, Jesus is clearly speaking to God, to the Father and this is a complete mystery to the three disciples. They don't understand it, but they know something important, something sacred is happening. Hence, they feel they must build some sort of stone remembrance structure a cairn, a rock pile for history, but they also carried the event in their memories until another generation could write it down and we could also experience it today So, what can we to make of all this? Several things come to mind: First of all, most human events that happen to us are holy. Rabbi Abraham Hesehel once said: "Just to be is a blessing. Just to live is holy." If that is the case, it would be worthwhile for us to try and remember (as best we can) those events in our lives that were sacred to us (whether religious or not). Perhaps they could even be written down for another generation.

Think, for instance of Thomas Merton the Trappist monk who wrote the
story of his life called The Seven Storey Mountain. Think too of St. Augustine's famous autobiography, The Confessions. Both of those biographies have influenced the lives of many, many people over the years.

So, perhaps our story is also important. Some say that we live on our memories; we forget the bad ones and try to remember the good ones. It is all part of our history...all worth remembering.

The scriptures: Genesis 12: I-4a, Timothy 1: 8b-10, Matthew 17: 1-9

Posted by Julie Galligan at 11:57 AM.

February 09, 2008

First Sunday of Lent - Figuring Out Who we are

Speaking out of my own experience and perhaps assuming yours as well, I would be willing to say that most of our “Lents” have been disappointing…not necessarily a disaster but perhaps less than satisfactory.

As I began thinking about this homily for the First Sunday of Lent once again, I asked myself the question: “Why does Lent turn out so badly for me? Why have I consistently been dissatisfied with my “performance” during these forty holy days of penance and self perception?” Well, I think I have just answered the question: Perhaps, without knowing it and without planning it so, it’s been a “performance.” I don’t necessarily mean a stage performance, but rather some grand plan that will change my life forever. That would be my hearts desire, I said.

But, my friends, it’s never happened. I’ve never really changed my life radically, at least not in the limited time of forty days and forty nights.

I’m sure you have all made so-called “good resolutions” at the beginning of the year or at some other significant moment in your life’s history. But how many of those resolutioins have we kept and been satisfied with? Not many, I’ll wager!

So, what’s the answer? Is there an answer to this annual question of ours “what are we going to do for Lent?” That’s the way the question is often phrased…”doing something for Lent.” If what we planned to do for Lent was actually so important, why wouldn’t we want to be doing the same throughout the entire year? Perhaps there is a hidden thought that if we do something for Lent, it may stick for the rest of the year. At least that may be the hidden hope whether we express it that way or not. Alas, it does not always happen that way.

I have decided, however, that this year I may take a different approach to Lent. The idea came to me from the title of a smallish book I’m reading by Jim Martin, the Jesuit who writes for America Magazine. It’s entitled: Being Who You Are. The title sort of fascinated me because the tendency for us usually is to be different than we presently are.
So, what I’m proposing for myself this year (maybe even next year) is to promise less and to think more; to simply reflect more on who I am at this point in my life, to get a clearer sense of my personhood, how I think of myself.

Perhaps from all this some truth will be forthcoming. If all that means less penances, less discipline, so be it.

The reason I think this may be more effective is because the incentive comes right out of the scriptures assigned for this Sunday. The first reading comes from that lovely story of the creation of Adam and Eve, their temptation and their eventual fall from grace. Scripture scholars have been reminding us for years that this is not a story of a lush garden, a snake and a piece of fruit. It’s not a story about who was ultimately responsible for succumbing to the snake. It’s really a lot deeper than all that. It’s really about the state of the human condition, of how we got to be the way we are. It’s the story of Everyman and Everywoman. It’s ultimately a story also about how we humans deal with choices. In both Genesis and the gospel you will notice that the main characters, Adam, Eve and Jesus, are faced with choices that will ultimately make them more human or which will detract from their human nature.

So, there are a lot of ultimate questions in the Genesis story. For instance: Why are we like we are? Why do we do evil? Why is their suffering? Why do we often feel alienated from God? Why do we often make wrong decisions when we obviously know better? Why are we ashamed of our actions? Good questions, all.

But whoever that author of Genesis was, one thing for sure, he was not afraid to look human nature in the face and he didn’t like what he saw. He knew that it was not just the first Man and Woman who made bad choices. Bad choices are being made all the time and that is obviously the reason for shame, alienation, guilt and the daily struggle to get out of the mess we’re in. Could that ultimately be the reason why we feel that it is important to “do penances?”

And finally we come to that well-known story of the three great temptations Jesus experienced. Those are all about choices too, just like the one in Genesis. Matthew, the gospel writer, frames those battle temptations as though they were going on between a person (Jesus) and another person, the evil spirit. But, actually the battle is going on in the mind of Jesus. How will he deal with easy answers to life’s questions? Each one deals with a different human option, all attractive, rewarding and fulfilling, at least on the surface. Besides that, they won’t cost anything. But notice, in each case Jesus thinks it through and refuses to be fooled. He knew that he was stronger than all the temptations combined. And he said no!

So, here we are back to the question of knowing and being who we are and dealing with life’s questions from that vantage point.

I’m actually grateful that Lent gives us the opportunity to think about all that and if we do we’ll ultimately be the better for it.

Is it still a good idea to do penance, prayer, fasting and almsgiving in Lent? Absolutely! But not to demonstrate how tough we are but rather to discover the real person that we are, how we deal with those choices that will go on long after Lent is over.

The scriptures: Genesis 2: 7-9, 3:1-7, Romans 5: 12-19, Matthew 4: 1-111

Posted by Julie Galligan at 11:45 AM.

March 31, 2007

Palm Sunday - View From the Sidewalk

I imagine most folks here this evening can remember back two and one half years ago around the time of Holy Week when Mel Gibson's film, The Passion of the Christ first hit the theaters. The very timing of its opening, of course, already tells you something. Mel Gibson is no dummy.

At any rate, it was a popular film, despite the terrible violence it depicted; people still flocked to it, including entire church congregations...at a reduced ticket rates, of course.

The Passion of the Christ was probably the first film produced that actually portrayed capital punishment in all its ugliness. As Catholics, of course, we have all seen and made our Stations of the Cross, but in terms of violence, they are nothing in comparison to Gibson's film. Perhaps, for the first time, we saw violence the way it actually took place in the days of the Roman Empire. Historians tell us that every crucifixion attracted crowds of people and the Romans made sure that it was handled as a public spectacle so that other would-be criminals might think twice before carrying out their deeds.

Why other ordinary folks would choose to come and view such a display of cruelty, however, is a mystery? The gladiator games at the Forum in Rome, of course, always attracted thousands as well. Some in the United States today say that Sunday afternoon NFL football is not much different, but at least players don't usually get killed.

At any rate, down through history public executions have attracted the curious and the prurient. Witness the executions during the French Revolution, the ethnic "cleansing", between Hutus and Tutsis and even those old black and white photos that show public hangings of African American slaves here in the United States during the late 1800's. Families, mom, dad and the kids are all present watching the Sunday afternoon spectacle!

Or, why, for instance was there so much interest worldwide at the gruesome hanging of Saddam Hussein and his cohorts?

For some reason the suffering and death of individuals has always attracted people. It seems a great mystery to me, but it happens.

The parallel I am about to draw now may not seem very appropriate but Catholics and many Christian denominations witness a public execution twice each year, once on Palm Sunday and again on Good Friday. Obviously, we do not think of it in those terms. After all, this is Holy Week, the holiest time of the liturgical year when we remember the suffering, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ. We do not think of ourselves as witnessing an execution. We have heard the narration of the Passion so many time that it has lost much of its original violence for us. Nonetheless, Jesus did suffer and die publicly. It was the worst kind of execution one could imagine, worse even than hanging.

What should we be thinking of then as we listen to the Passion account again this year? Perhaps the only way to get some personal sense of it is to think of ourselves as standing along the street where Jesus passed, or standing at a distance on the bottom of Calvary hill, watching the entire spectacle, an innocent and good man being put to death. But still, does that give us a sense of its meaning in terms of present day circumstances in the world?

We have all read the phrase in our catechisms and we recite in the creed that Jesus "died for us and for our salvation." Theologically, that is true: Jesus died for us, not for us as an anonymous group of people, but for us individually and personally.

There is also another way, however, one might think of the Death of Jesus, namely as a metaphor or a model for the ways unjustified suffering and death are still carried out among us today. I think, for instance, of the number of people in the United States who have been executed by mistake. I think of the history of violence against Black Americans during the civil rights movement in the South; the murder and disfiguration of the young Black man, Emmet Till. They said he had whistled at a white lady. I think of the American nuns and lay missionaries, who were murdered by military personnel in El Salvador: Dorothy Kazel, Jean Donovan, Maura Clark and Ita Ford. I think too of Archbishop Oscar Romero who was martyred as he celebrated Mass at a convent of nuns.

All of these folks and many others in modern history were crucified, not precisely like Jesus was crucified, but they died nonetheless in their efforts to bring peace and justice to others.

With all that in mind then, perhaps it will help us listen more attentively each Palm Sunday and Good Friday when we hear the gospel of the Passion read again. True, it did happen once in history but it continues to happen each time one of Jesus' brothers or sisters dies an undeserved death.

One thing for sure: We cannot passively stand on the side of the street looking on as these things happen to others. There is too much is at stake.

The scriptures: Isaiah 50: 4-7, Philippians 2: 6-11, Luke 23: 1-49

Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:27 PM.

March 24, 2007

5th Sunday of Lent - Never Too Late

There are occasions when my errands here in the city take me along a section of Third Avenue, some two miles from my office. Along that street there stands a truly unattractive building, dark grey, solidly built about five years ago. It is the municipal jail, more fittingly termed, the Anchorage Correctional Facility. Whether any of the many inmates housed in that building are being "corrected" is another matter.

Nonetheless, as I drive by that building and gaze out at it, I often wonder what it must be like to be incarcerated there. Actually, I have had the occasion to visit individuals there, and each time I am escorted by a guard from the lobby into the inner "sanctum", I say to myself, "self, consider yourself fortunate that you are not cloistered here by civil decree." I do not think I have ever done anything so heinous as to deserve being placed there, but often strange and unpredictable circumstances put people in prison. Nonetheless, just being in those small cramped quarters with no exit save for a guard who is nowhere in sight makes me nervous.

I have often thought how mentally difficult it must be for prisoners to know that they will be in this place for, say, 25 years, or indeed a lifetime with no hope of reprieve. I am not sure how I would deal with such a circumstance. Some people commit suicide in prison. Perhaps it is because they have the sense that they can never be forgiven, indeed, that they cannot even forgive themselves. Conscience is a severe taskmaster and the cement block walls of the building are there to remind the prisoners of their past, twenty four-seven-three sixty five.

I often wonder how prisoners can live in such circumstances, how they live with themselves each day, knowing that tomorrow and tomorrow will be much the same as today and yesterday.

Civil society, of course, the court system, the incarceration system, the world at large pays little heed to the thoughts these men and women have regarding their situation. Perhaps society feels that this is not their task or responsibility. Everyone lives with their past.
Given all those circumstances, I have often asked myself what can give a man or woman in prison a sense of peace with their situation. The only option l can think of is "self-forgiveness." An odd word, of course, because it does not restore justice to society.

Nonetheless, if a person cannot come to understand that, despite all the circumstances of life that have put them in prison, they are still good people, worthwhile human beings, sons or daughters of God. What others may think of them is immaterial, at least in terms of their own self-image.

That long introduction was brought home to me by the lovely story (it is lovely!) about an unnamed woman in the gospel of John assigned for this Fifth Sunday of Lent. She is accused of public impropriety, prostitution or adultery. Prison was seemingly not an option. The only public option in those ancient times was capital punishment, stoning to death.

Several troubling questions have consistently come to mind when reading this story. First of all, if it was truly adultery she was being accused of, what of her partner or partners? Were they not considered worthy of punishment? Why was the woman the only one being threatened with stoning?

Secondly, why was a sexual offense considered so severe that it should deserve death? All sorts of crimes, many more serious than this, were doubtless committed in civil society in those times, but seemingly they did not deserve stoning.

The central point of this story, of course, is not the civil punishment issue but rather the human implications, the way Jesus handled it.

Obviously, the religious authorities had no concern for the woman as a human individual. They were more interested in the fact that she had publicly given religion a bad name.

Now Jesus comes on the scene and, amazingly, declares himself judge and jury, not in the civil sense, but in the personal, human realm. First of all, he deals with the accusers: He tells them that if any of them feel that they are sinless they may wish to throw stones. None did so, obviously. Then Jesus asks the woman the follow-up obvious question: "What happened to these other sinners?" They've disappeared" she said. "Well," Jesus says, "l guess that means that we are all sinners, just different kinds. Go in peace."

That's a truly wonderful piece of drama. But the best part of it is the sense not that Jesus forgave the woman, but that he gave her permission to forgive herself. Even if she was truly a sinner, she was obviously not the only sinner in the world.

Finally, an insight for this story comes from the first reading for today's liturgy. It comes from the prophet Isaiah. These are the beautiful words as he addresses them to the people of his times: "Remember not the events of the past, the things of long ago consider not; see, I am doing something new...did you not notice it?" I've often wondered if Jesus might have been thinking about those very words when he told the woman to go in peace, to forget her past?

I'm sure, even though most of us (I hope all of us) have never been incarcerated, we may all have a "past." None of us are perfect. The question is, how do we live with our past? Do we continue to berate ourselves with our sins and shortcomings, or do we do what Isaiah says God does, namely to "remember not the things of the past, the things of long ago." If that is the way God thinks about us, inviting us to forget the past, perhaps that is exactly what we should do, just forget it, period.

The scriptures: Isaiah 43: 16-21, Philippians 3: 8-14, John 8: 1-11

Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:25 PM.

March 17, 2007

4th Sunday of Lent - Always Forgiven

In the year 1992 Clint Eastwood, the movie director produced a film that he said would finally put to death the American Western as we have come to know it. It was entitled "Unforgiven." It starred Mr. Eastwood himself along with Morgan Freeman and Gene Hackman, as hardened a bunch of outlaws as you might imagine.

Basically, it is a story of two aged and "retired" gunslingers who decide to try out their "trade" one last time. They agree to take revenge on a local cowboy who had disfigured a prostitute. They were promised a thousand bucks if they took the job.

The moral of the story is that this decision ultimately destroys them. They discover that they cannot not put their past aside and turn straight; violence is too deep in their genes. Hence, they end their lives being unable to forgive themselves for their past violence.

The scene I remember best comes toward the end of the film that has Eastwood lying face down in the mud of his corral sobbing over his wasted life. He feels that he is a totally useless person. His whole life had been a waste. End of story

I think t would be true to say that there are millions of people in the world today, especially in America, who feel that their lives have been a useless venture, that they have never been able to shake violence out of their personality. Perhaps they feel that they have made too many mistakes to be able to redeem themselves. So, they are now on the street or in prison, living from day to day without any hope. The saddest thing of all is that they know of no one who can redeem them, give them another chance at life. A sad picture, indeed.

Several weeks ago a program appeared on National Public Television entitled "Generation Next." Judy Woodruff did interviews with young adults who had found their own way to pursue their goals in life in ways quite different than that of their parents. After some years of exploring religion and society in their own way, however, many find that they needed to return to their roots, family, school, church, et cetera. It was these sources that had originally given them roots, security, support, a future.

The point which Ms. Woodruff makes in her Interviews is that exploration, testing the borders, testing the waters, taking chances are the marks and qualities of youth and young adulthood. How can one find one's own character, one's own ego, and identity unless one has the freedom to seek out life's rich possibilities?

Those of us who have some years behind us and have accumulated some wisdom in the process would say: "Fair enough, but be ready to accept the implications of what you decide to do." Of course, many of us might also say, "Don't come running back to us if you have wasted your talents and gifts. You need to live with your decisions"

The beautiful story of the Prodigal Son that we hear again on this Fourth Sunday of Lent is one of those classic stories that anyone of us could say applies to us personally, the story of a young person's desire for independence and its consequences. It is a narrative of a young man (of many young men or women) who want to find their own way, follow their own instincts, dictate their own terms, to be free of the constraints of parents, home, church, society. In the process of finding his freedom, of course, the young prodigal loses his way and ultimately begins to think that there is no redemption, that he is unforgiven. Pride and independence have gotten the best of him.

But as we all know, that is not the end of the story. In all of Jesus' stories there is an out, a solution, redemption.

As we know from the story, the young man finally saw no other solution than to swallow his pride and go home, reciting his repentance as he walked along.

Then the scene switches to the father, perhaps sitting on the front porch (if he had one) shading his eyes, gazing out over the open land, wondering if his son would ever return and what he would say if he did return. Finally, the son appears on the horizon and the father rushes out to meet him, welcomes him and, of all things, prepares a barbecue to celebrate the occasion.

This is one of those typical endings Jesus surprises us with. This is not the way things usually work out in life. In our hard nosed world most of us would say: "If you want your freedom, fine, live with it, but don't come sniveling back imagining that you can take advantage of the goodness of your friends and that everything will be forgiven and forgotten."

At the same time, I think, deep in our hearts, most of us are happy with the way the story turned out. If Jesus would have had the father, say, for instance: "Sony, son, don't expect anything from me; you had your chance and blew it," we would not have been happy with that ending.

Well, as we all know from having listened to many of Jesus' stories, they are all about redemption, they are about us, everyman, everywoman. They are about our pride, our independence, our desire to have our own way, even about our difficulty in facing our mistakes, indeed, our very selves.

At the same time, in between the lines, Jesus always makes it clear that it is all right to search for our personal goals, even though they are often wrong-headed. No one is beyond redemption, no one is ever unforgiven if we want to be forgiven. That is always good to know, isn't it? Sometimes it just takes a while for each of us to grow up, but I have a hunch that God must know that too.

Maybe we should suggest to Clint Eastwood, that great movie director, that he should do a film sometime entitled "Forgiven." That would surely be a film we could all identify with. After all, it would be all about us; we've all experienced forgiveness.

The scriptures: Joshua 5: 9a, 10-12, 2 Corinthians 5: 17-21, Luke 15: 1-3, 11-32

Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:21 PM.

March 10, 2007

3rd Sunday of Lent - Holy Earth

I recently finished reading a fascinating book by Timothy Egan entitled The Worst Hard Time. It is the actual history of the great drought that left the high plains of Texas, Oklahoma, Kansas and Colorado a vast dust bowl in the middle thirties of the last century. I happened to hear it reviewed on National Public Radio one morning and decided to buy it right away, mainly because I too can clearly remember the dust bowl days in my native North Dakota.

The book is actually about 6 families who decided to "stick it out" on the land during those terrible years, in contrast to the people who are described in the novel The Grapes of Wrath as the ones who left and headed for California.

The book is a story of people, but even more, it is also a book about the land, the earth, specifically about the vast millions of acres of grassland across 4 states over which the Indians had roamed for thousands of years pursuing the buffalo and the antelope.

At the turn of the century the U.S. government opened up this vast pasturage to farming and immediately thousands of "hard up" farmers descended upon it, plowing up earth never meant for farming. At the outset all looked good. People raised wheat and looked forward to a life of millionaires.

But then came the hard years of the "thirties" with the lack of rain and the high winds that literally picked up the earth of the plains and sent it wheeling as far east as New York and Washington, D.C.

Herbert Hoover lost the presidency over that catastrophe. Franklin Roosevelt was able to set in motion some reclamation programs. Nonetheless, the Great Plains has never fully recovered. Whole towns have disappeared, never to be repopulated again.

I just wanted to talk a little about all that because it has to do with the sacredness of the earth, the land on which we live. In this case, the land was thoughtlessly desecrated, ripped up, torn up and so it simply blew away. A great act of disrespect upon the natural world.

I am sure that most of us do not often think much about the earth as "sacred," as holy. It is simply something natural, something from which we make a living. We think of the "bread basket" of the Dakotas or the vegetable or fruit basket of central California as being ours to do with what we choose. We think of Global Warming as a modern "myth" which won't affect our generation.

It has always seemed to me, however, that anything that gives life is inherently holy. Anything God has given us to sustain the life of the planet must somehow be sacred.

The people of the Middle East have always had a special respect for the earth, perhaps because they live so close to it and depend on it for their existence. The great patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob eventually settled the "Promised Land" because that is where there was water and one could grow things and live.

We have a beautiful story in today's first reading from the book of Exodus about the sacredness of the earth. It is the familiar tale of Moses, the nomadic shepherd out on the desert, who notices a dry bush strangely burning. He decides to "check it out", but immediately is warned not to come any closer, but to take off his sandals because he is standing on holy ground. I have never been able to figure out why wearing shoes should desecrate the earth. Perhaps it's because if you are shoeless you are in closer touch the natural elements! Just a guess!

When Moses does come closer to the burning bush, however, God begins to speak with him, reveals His name as "I Am."

The implication I draw from this experience is that God does speak out of the earth if we have the good sense to consider the earth as God's domain.

I think people have always found the experience of being close to the land a transcendental experience. Why have monasteries of monks and nuns always been established far from cities, in forested land or simply out the country? Why do people find comfort and spiritual renewal by going out into the wilderness to make a retreat or simply to be in closer touch with God? Even people who simply like to "grub" around in their garden find it a peaceful, comforting experience.

So, what does all this have to do with Lent? Well, Lent has traditionally been a time when, like Moses, we are invited to come in closer touch with our God again. It may not be possible for most of us who live in this cold, wintry environment to go out and get in touch with our God on the earth, but perhaps we could create a virtual piece of earth for ourselves where we can be quiet and in touch with ourselves. Whatever works!

At any rate, God often speaks to us in strange places, no burning bushes, perhaps, but in whatever place is already holy for us. If we go there, God will surely be ready to have a word with us.

The scriptures: Exodus 3: 1-8a, 13-15, 1 Corinthians 10: 1-6, 10-12, Luke 13: 1-9

Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:16 PM.

March 03, 2007

2nd Sunday of Lent - The Hunger for Contemplation

It has often occurred to me that most of us are naturally born and destined to be contemplatives, that is, searchers for silence. That may sound like a rather odd suggestion because the fact is all of us live in another world, the world of work, of recreation, of noise and responsibilities which makes contemplation, if not impossible, at least rather difficult to find.

Nonetheless, if you were to ask the ordinary blue or white collar person if they would prefer to have some opportunity for silence in an ordinary day, I'm sure they would say, "sure." Of course, we live in a world of noise and distraction simply because we have to. There is no other option if we want to make a living. But paradise, according to Genesis, was never like the world we live in today.

I have often thought to myself that if I had not been born and raised a Catholic and if I did not have so many years invested in the Catholic Church, I might think about joining the Quakers or the Amish. Alas, it's too late at my age. Nonetheless, I long for some quiet every day. It's available to me, but I seldom make use of it the way I should. The question is, where to find it?

I have told this story before, but when I was a youngster, living on a farm, the land around us was predominantly flat, but near our house there was also a rather impressive hill. No mountain, mind you, just a bump on the plains. But it was one of my favorite places to go when I wanted to be alone. Sometimes I would go there and watch for my father coming home from the fields in the evening. But mostly, I would go there because it was quiet. I could see for miles, I could feel the sun and the wind on my face. It just seemed good to be there. Actually, I was not old enough to imagine that I was in touch with God on that hill, but if someone asked me why I spent so much time up there, I would probably have said, "It's just quiet, that's all."

Actually, I have always been fascinated with hills and mountains. Later in life I enjoyed many experiences climbing truly big mountains. That same feeling of peace always overwhelmed me when I reached the top.

I have often had the sense that Jesus must have been torn between a life of contemplation and action. We all know from the gospels how much time he literally spent among the crowds, healing and preaching. But once in a while when it became too oppressive for him, he would say to his friends, "Let's get away from here and go to a quiet place where we can pray."

That seems to be what happened on a day Jesus invited Peter, James and John to accompany him to a high place to pray. Notice, the text specifically says that Jesus wanted to pray on a high and quiet place. He wanted to literally be in touch with God. So, it is described as a transcendent experience, a divine experience. The symbols are all there: The cloud that envelopes them, the meeting with Moses and Elijah, the voice out of the cloud designating Jesus as God's chosen one.

The interesting point is that we do not know whether Jesus and his friends actually prayed or not, prayed as we usually pray. They just experienced God. Even Jesus disciples seemed to know that this was something special that they should preserve for posterity. Therefore, they suggested to Jesus that it might be a good idea to set up three altars in remembrance of the occasion so that they could return again some day and
Pray.

I imagine most of us would not choose to climb a mountain to pray, but if we had the option, I imagine we would choose some quiet place where we would be undisturbed and be with our God.

Perhaps we could say that each of us already has a place of that sort where we pray: Our parish church, a grotto somewhere, a local convent or monastery. The point is this: We all long for a prayer- place and we will take time off occasionally to go to it.

The additional question, of course, is to ask why are we hearing this gospel of the Transfiguration on this Second Sunday of Lent? Here is my suggestion: Lent is a special time of self discovery, a desert space experience, a time when we are invited to make a special effort to find ourselves, re-find our direction in life.

Every season of the year, of course, is "prayer- time", but Lent is a special time, a desert time or a mountain time when we might want to learn how to pray more sincerely, to be in touch with our God.

Contrary to the way we have traditionally thought about Lent as being a "give up something" time, I would suggest that it could be much simpler: If we did nothing more than make the effort just to be quiet so that God could make God's way into our life, that would be enough for Lent. If nothing else, we should be able to come out of this Lent being able to say that we have been looking for a place where we could be thinking about God. I doubt whether we would be ready to say that we came away transfigured like Jesus was. But that's not the point. The point is that God will meet us some way, somehow wherever we try to set aside some place and time for Him. It doesn't necessarily have to happen on a mountain, or even on a modest hill unless you think you are actually ready for some strenuous exercise, which, by the way might not be such a bad idea either.

The scriptures: Genesis 15: 5-12, 17-18, Philippians 3: 17-4-1, Luke 9: 28b-36

Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:13 PM.

February 24, 2007

1st Sunday of Lent - We Do It Together

It seemed like a perfect day to write a homily to start Lent, 2007: Dark, dreary, cold, looked like it might snow. I had a hard time getting started. Then I said to myself, "self, if this is the kind of attitude you are going to have to start Lent, you might as well shut down the word processor and do something else."

Perhaps I was just demonstrating the same attitude that many Catholics have when Lent pops up on the horizon each year. You can hear it in people's conversations: "Well, what hard thing can I do this year? I tried it last year and it didn't work. Maybe I should just forget about Lent entirely this year. Of course, then at Easter I would have this intense guilt complex! Then what? Everybody else was doing something hard except me."

Unfortunately, Lent, at least in the minds of many people does have this sense of dreariness. It's penance time again and we hate to face it.

It's true; of course, most of us do not naturally like to think about ways to be hard on ourselves. Where's the satisfaction in that? No wonder then that most folks enter Lent with a certain sense of drudgery and resistance.

So, the question at the beginning of Lent is always this: What is our motivation? Why do this at all? Unless we can truthfully answer that question at the beginning of Lent, it's going to be a long forty days.

Perhaps we should begin by saying: "Hey, it's good for you; it's good for your spiritual well-being, maybe even for your physical well-being.

Somewhere a while back I read a comment by a theologian who said that Lent is so vital for a church like ours that if we lost it, we would quite naturally have to invent it all over again.

I think that fellow was on to something: Discipline, regulation, good order is good for us. We all long for good order in our lives. We feel embarrassed if our lives are chaotic, undisciplined. People, for instance, who are active in an exercise regimen, will tell you that even one day away from the gym makes a difference in their attitude.

So, if the regimen of the gymnasium can be a model for Christian Lent, we need to ask ourselves how Lent can be something we could look forward to. Could it even be something, which all people might benefit from, and not just Catholics? After all, there is something very natural about the reasons we have practiced Lent all these many years.

The motivation for all this is found precisely in the gospel for this initial Sunday in the season. It tells us that after Jesus had been baptized and had heard God's call to go out and preach good news, he immediately first went out into the desert to think it over; for forty days he did this, he prayed and fasted and at the end of that time he was hungry... naturally.

So, for centuries our Church has suggested that the discipline of fasting is one of the most profitable things we can do in our lives, but also prayer and almsgiving.

But fast from what? Food, we say, of course. Anything more? Perhaps it would be beneficial if we were to think about fasting our physical appetites, but also with our eyes, our vocal cords, our ears and our precious time. What must we cut out in our lives if there is to be room for mercy to take root? Flow will we fast? Good question.

But Lent is also about prayer: The question is, how can we learn to pray so well during Lent that it will become a habit for the rest of the year, the rest of our lives? Good habits, once begun, deserve to have a life of their own.

Then alms-giving: How do we give aims in Lent so that it will become a natural habit after Lent. We contribute to good causes, of course, but perhaps alms-giving also has to do with the way we use what is rightfully ours, our material things.

But there is the further question: How do we care for the earth on which we dwell? How much do we waste, how much do we preserve? Could we truly be Christian environmentalists? Just because something is mine, does that mean I can use it anyway I please? Does, global warming and the selfish use of the earth's resources ever bother us? In short, giving alms is more than simply putting five bucks in the "poor box."

Another happy note about Lent is this: We never do it alone. That, of course, is the way we have traditionally thought about Lent: What am I going to do? What am I going to give up? In fact, however, Lent is never a private matter: It is the church, the entire body of Christ that does Lent together. With that attitude, of course, we also save ourselves from pride and self accomplishment.

I started all this out, of course, by moaning how dreary the day was and how dreary Lent was going to be. Well, the only thing that will make Lent dreary is if 1, if we, think of it as forty days of depressing work. The fact is, however, Lent is all about preparing for Easter, that glorious feast that celebrates Jesus resurrection.

A short while back on January 1, we greeted each other with the words: "Happy New Year." Now we can also say to one another: "Happy Lent" and really mean it.

The scriptures: Deuteronomy 26: 4-10, Romans 10: 8-13, Luke 4: 1-13

Posted by Julie Galligan at 04:09 PM.

April 04, 2006

Palm Sunday of the Lord's Passion - Fallen Heroes

I have personally never been very much attracted to crowd events, large celebrations such as political rallies, sports events, et cetera. For some reason they always impress me as being a bit hollow, perhaps over-blown. Everybody gets caught up in the excitement of the moment; they do crazy things: Wave flags and banners, dress in weird ways, paint their faces, display foot-tall messages, yelling support for their personal hero on the field or the speaker's platform. Some people even get into fights at such events (too much beer, perhaps). What does it all mean? In the end, it all seems so unreal, so momentary so unlike what life is really like when the event is over and everyone has gone home.

Yet, in a certain way, even events such as this are truly what life is all about. Everyone occasionally needs a break from the ordinary, from the boring, work-day existence. We all need to pretend we are in a more idealistic world occasionally where everything looks rosy, not a care in the world.

Once in a while you get that sense from the scriptures too, the sense that the people described there were not so different from ourselves, separated by a couple thousand years. Most of them were working-class people who did not have many opportunities to celebrate life. For middle class folks, there were not many local heroes to lift their minds and spirits out of the ordinary, hum-drum experience of every day. You can begin to understand then that when someone special appears on the scene, someone who might offer people a chance for a break from the ordinary, they would immediately gather for a celebration.

That is exactly the picture we get from the description of the so-called Palm Sunday celebration that occurred in Jerusalem on that eventful day described in Mark's gospel.

My hunch is that it probably was not such a huge gathering as the gospel would have us believe. Jerusalem was a fairly large city in those days, of course. People came from all over to celebrate religious feasts. I'm sure that when a well-known political or military figure showed up, people would immediately flock to the streets to catch the action. But, by comparison, the Palm Sunday parade was probably not a very momentous event. Most of Jerusalem probably did not even know it was going on or could care less.

But for this little rag-tag group of country folks from Nazareth and Bethlehem and Capernaum, this was, indeed, a big day. Their local hero had come to town, the one who always had good news for them, the one who was able to cure people from illnesses, even raise people from the dead. You can begin to understand then why they would rip palm branches from the trees and wave them as Jesus, their hero came down the street. If national heroes could be celebrated, why couldn't they also have their special all-in-one "Fourth of July and Mardi Gras" celebration for their hero?

One of the great puzzles regarding Palm Sunday celebration, however, is this: Why do the gospel writers immediately attach the story of the passion and death of Jesus? Why not just enjoy the natural happiness of this one day in the fife of Jesus?

Well, the fact is that the folks taking part in the Palm Sunday celebration, like a lot of modern-day folks at big public events, got it all wrong: The favorite son does not always win, the popular quarterback sometimes get intercepted. Somebody wins and somebody loses and often it is the favorite son who loses.

So, this was also the situation in Jerusalem on that day: Jesus' followers imagined that this was going to be the big day, the day that their favorite Son would start a revolution that would put down the Romans, perhaps even take charge of the temple and they would all be winners.

The point is, of course, that Jesus ultimately disappointed a lot of people after the parade was over and the palms had withered up in the gutter. He had no intention of being their national hero. He had not come merely to solve problems and make life look rosy forever. He had come to teach that there are no easy answers to problems in this life, problems that national or religious heroes can solve for us. Rather, he came to teach about justice and peace, mercy and compassion, healing, hope and love, all those human gifts that we already have and can share if we wish to and so make the kingdom of Jesus present here and now.

So, the question remains: What do we do with the palms when Palm Sunday is over and we have all gone home? My hunch is that we may often have found them on the back seat of the car weeks later. Or perhaps we have hung them up behind the Sacred Heart painting on the wall and forgotten about them.

If that were the case, it would be a sad thing because these palms are not decorations or reminders of a day in church. No, indeed, they are reminders that once upon-a-time a good man came among us and tried to-teach us how to take care of each other and this world we live in so that we not need depend on heroes to do the work of salvation for us.
Finally, if this day teaches us anything, it teaches us that good days and bad days are always interconnected; happiness and suffering go hand in hand; there are no easy answers to life's questions. We go from day to day making the best of things, all the while knowing that Jesus never promised us a rose garden, but a field where weeds and wheat grow up together until the kingdom he promised us will finally be our's. In the meantime we struggle along each day, with the palms on our walls reminding us that someone, a great hero, has been along this path before us. "Follow me," he says.

The scriptures: Isaiah 50: 4-7 Philippians 2: 6-11 Mark 15: 1-39

Posted by Julie Galligan at 01:58 PM.

April 02, 2006

Fifth Sunday of Lent - Hero Worship

It's a peculiar human phenomenon, I mean this desire many people have to "get a look at" famous people, or even better to "get to talk" to them personally. What is there about politicians, movie and rock stars, sports "heroes" that makes us want to get close to them? I mean, some will even go so far as to rip at their clothes, try to get their autograph et cetera. (mostly teenagers!). Are these people really heroes? We have to admit that some of their life-styles leave something to be desired. EBay makes millions selling clothes and other artifacts that once belonged to famous people now long dead. It's all a great mystery to me because I do not personally feel the need to identify with so-called heroes, living or dead.

But one must say something good about the folks who will spend good bucks to see a rock star or a football legend and never get any closer than a quarter of a mile away. Perhaps they simply want to admire the good human qualities of this person (whether they are such or not). Perhaps it gives them a sense of pride that there are people out there who can do outstanding things and are worthy of being seen up close. In the end, we need to say that most of us are attracted by people who have done outstanding things or are at least a little better at doing certain things than we are. Hero worship has been with us for centuries, going back at least as far as we have a history of human activities. Remember, for instance, the ancient Romans and Greeks and their gods, their emperor worship? So, we Americans were not the first people to discover hero worship; we've just gotten a little more sophisticated at it. Remember Pope John Paul's funeral and the election of Benedict XVI. St. Peter's square was jammed with thousands of people for days. Obviously, we Catholics have our heroes too! What puzzles me is that heroes usually do not have much to give us, if, indeed, we are looking for a "handout." They are just interesting people to see!

When you hear the scriptures for this Fifth Sunday in Lent, you will notice that Jesus of Nazareth was also a hero of sorts. Lots of people tried to get close to him, even to "touch even the hem of his garment." Most of these people, of course, didn't simply want to see him, as though he were a "star!" They had learned that he was a worker of signs (miracles), that he could heal people, had even raised some people from the dead. So, many must have said to themselves: "Why not me? I'm sick too."
Mysteriously, of course, we know that Jesus, for whatever reason, did not heal everyone who came to him. Nonetheless, he remained an interesting person down to the end. Even King Herod wanted to see him.

So, today in the gospel, you have an interesting little scenario about some Greek-speaking persons who wanted to see Jesus (no reason why given), but realizing they were not Jewish, they probably thought they didn't have a chance. So, they approached Phillip a Greek-speaking follower of Jesus and asked him for an introduction. Oddly enough, however, we are never told whether they were successful or not because Jesus immediately starts talking about something entirely different. End of the story! Great mystery! Nobody will ever know why these two Greeks wanted to talk to Jesus!

That leads us into an interesting diversion. It is true that most of us do not get to meet important persons simply by walking into their offices or homes unannounced and ask for 25 minutes of their time. But if we are lucky, we may be acquainted with someone who does know the famous individual personally and he or she may be willing to give us an introduction. Sometimes it happens!

Now, the question for us today is this: How do we get to meet Jesus? Obviously, we are not going to talk to him physically, face to face. On the other hand, there are some people whom I consider very intuitive, that is, they can speak to Jesus very openly, pray very devoutly as though Jesus were standing right in front of them. Unfortunately, I am not one of those people. It's just not that easy for me. I do pray, but not like the folks 1 just described.

But what I have found helpful for my spiritual life is to be introduced to Jesus through someone who was obviously closer to Him than I am: There are certain saints who have helped me in that: St. Francis, for one, St. Theresa of Avila, the one who rode her horse around Spain to visit the nuns in her monasteries. Others as well: Thomas Merton, the monk at Gethsemane, Kentucky, has helped me immensely to know Jesus, Mother Theresa of Calcutta too. Oddly enough, there are also certain Catholic novelists and poets I have read and who have also helped me get an insight into Jesus: Graham Greene, C.S. Lewis, Georges Bernanos, Flannery O'Connor, Gerard Manley Hopkins S.J., even some famous painters like Raphael, Giotto, Botticelli and others.

The point is, there are all kinds of people who have had some sort of relationship with
Jesus and who could introduce us if we were willing to listen. Of course, the best introduction to Jesus is still his own story, his life as it was lived among the people who knew him best. There is nothing better than reading and rereading the gospels even though we may have read them lots of times before.

Finally, of course, there may be no reason at all why we should need to wait for an introduction to Jesus. Perhaps the best way simply is just to get brave and introduce ourselves which is probably what we do each time we pray. If prayer is anything, it is a personal conversation with Jesus. I think we can assume that Jesus knows us, but probably does not always know what’s going on in our life at this moment and might just want to hear about it. Why can't we just assume that each of us may know Jesus as well as anyone else? After all, we struck up a personal relationship with Jesus on the day we were baptized and I suspect that has not been terminated.

If news came down from the Vatican one day that Jesus would be making an appearance in our town on such and such an hour, would I go out, stand on the corner and wait to see him? You betcha! If I got close enough to say, "Hey I know you," he would probably reply, "Hey, I know you too. How's it going?" Who needs introductions?

The scriptures: Jeremiah 31: 31-34 Hebrews 5:7-9, John 12:20-33

Posted by Julie Galligan at 09:40 AM.

March 26, 2006

Fourth Sunday of Lent - Light For Our Darkness

Every year around this time when light is contending seriously with darkness and we can expect spring to emerge once more, 1 get a sense that peoples' attitude seems to change for the better. Its not that Alaskans are "sourpuss" people, it just that the long winter months of darkness seem to have a negative effect on peoples' lives. They call it LDS, Light Deprivation Syndrome. It's no wonder then that people smile at each other in the supermarket or on the street. Light has an effect on our emotions, indeed, on our whole bodily system. It is obvious then that the world in which we live and we ourselves too depend on light for our very existence. We're not cave dwellers.

On the day I am writing this in late January, NASA lifted a space capsule off the pad in Florida and headed it off to Pluto at 8 miles a second. Even at that speed, it will be 2015 before it reaches Pluto which is out in an area of darkness called the Kuyper Belt, an area which the sun itself does not reach.

It is interesting to note how well we humans have been able to conquer darkness and use light to our best advantage, literally because without it we die. So we are indebted to good old Ben Franklin for teaching us about electricity which brings the brilliance of burning light bulbs to our very living room.

Darkness, in whatever form we experience it, is something which we cannot live with. We will do whatever we can to overcome it, not just in the physical sense, but more importantly in the spiritual realm as well. Darkness is a negative reality, light is something positive. Light gives life, darkness means death.

Did you ever notice how artists, photographers, painters, film makers and others often depend on light and darkness to say what they want to say? I personally still prefer the old black and white films of yesteryear. The contrast conveys the whole mood of the film. The great directors like Ingmar Bergman and Frederico Fellini have made some wonderful films that use light and darkness to convey a message. Pablo Picasso, the great painter had his "Blue Period" when all his paintings were dark purple, perhaps conveying how he was feeling about his life at the time.

And all the rest of us too would say that when we are feeling good, it's a bright day. When we are feeling down, it's a dark period. It makes sense!

It is not unlikely then that the sacred scriptures that we use for our spiritual "enlightenment" have used the metaphors of darkness for many centuries to talk about God and God's ways with us. It is interesting, for instance, that the author of the Book of Genesis has God creating light early on in the story of creation, realizing perhaps that all living things depend on light for their existence.

The New Testament authors also use light and darkness to convey the struggle between good and evil in the world. The point they make is an obvious one: Evil deeds are dark deeds; good deeds convey light and truth.

And Jesus himself, when attempting to describe his role and reason for being in the world claims the title "Light of the world." St. John, in particular, refers to Jesus many times in terms of light. In today's gospel, for instance, he says "Light came into the world, but people preferred darkness to light because their works were evil. Everyone who does evil things hates the light. But whoever lives the truth comes to the light, so that his works may be clearly seen as done in God."

Many of you who may remember the Mass before the Second Vatican Council will recall the prologue of the Gospel of John at the very end of Mass, when we thought Mass was already over. It speaks of Christ coming into the world as light shining in darkness, a light that darkness could not overpower.

So, we have this great human and spiritual struggle that has been going on for all the years we have been on earth, the struggle between two powers: Good and evil, described as light and darkness. That describes our life in this world. We are in a constant battle with the two sides of ourselves, the dark side and the light side. Some would call it the battle between sin and virtue, goodness and evil.

No matter how we think of it, it seems true that we know the difference between good and bad and much of our life is spent trying to make sure that we are on the track toward the light and stranded in the tunnel of darkness.

So, you might ask, why all this talk about light and darkness at this time of year? Actually, there is something going on in the church these late days of Lent that is connected to the notions of light and darkness: Thousands of people are in the last stages of their preparation to come into the Church on the great night of Easter. When they are baptized, the minister will pray that the light of Christ will guide their lives. He tells them that in baptism, light will over come their darkness, sin will be forgiven and henceforth they can live in the light of Christ.

Most of us have probably been baptized for a long time and I don't suppose many of us think much about the implications of that great event in our lives. But what baptism into the Church actually means is that henceforth for the rest of our lives we are automatically linked to Christ the light, which means that we must be "light bearers." We all know, of course, that the battle continues daily because darkness is always out there in so many forms.

Perhaps when things are going badly, we could be reminded to sing that little ditty we once learned in grade school: "This little light of mine, I'm going to let it shine, let it shine, let it shine. In that case, darkness will never have the last word.

The scriptures: 2 Chronicles 36: 14-16, 19-23 Ephesians 2: 4-10, John 3: 14-21

Posted by Julie Galligan at 10:52 AM.

March 19, 2006

Third Sunday of Lent - Creating Space For God

I am sure that there are many experiences or memories from our past that we could say have given us a sense of identity, a sense that we belong somewhere, that we have something that gives us reason for existence.

The first of these, I should think, would be our home, especially the house where we lived and grew up in our early years. There must have been a sense of stability that we enjoyed in that place. Perhaps there were even special rooms that we could call our own, where we could be alone to think and play.

I have a memory of such a house. It was a large Victorian-style house, with lots of rooms. 1, being the only child in the family for a number of my early years, could claim the whole place for myself. It was my personal castle where I could pretend I was king or at least a prince and everyone else was my subject. Later on, of course, I had to share it with other brothers and sisters, but I can still remember every nook and cranny of that place. I don't think I have ever lived in any other house that has had the same impact on my life. I still hold a vivid image of it in my mind.

Why should that be so important for me? Well, I think it has something to do with a sense of place, a sense that we belong somewhere specific, a place where there is warmth and protection, an assurance that we are safe there. I'm sure most of us would raise our voices in protest if someone decided to take it from us. We might even think of that home as a sort of sacred space where we prayed with our parents, where we first leaned our catechism, et cetera.

The second building that we may remember from our youth and that may have left an imprint on us might be our church. We always say that churches are "our's" because in sense we know we can go there whenever we like and that we will be welcomed, if not by an ""usher", then surely by the God whom we were told dwelt there in the tabernacle with the lighted red candle-lamp burning nearby. It was quiet there; there was a sense of awe and holiness when you came in. It may even have had the smell of incense or the crowds of people that packed it each Sunday. Churches do seem to have a unique odor of holiness!

It is again interesting that we could call this church our very own: It was the Irish church or the German or the Lithuanian church. Other folks had their churches and we had our's. We might not even have felt comfortable in one of those other churches. This is the place where family events took place: baptisms, first Communions, Confirmations, weddings and funerals. We could expect that our spiritual needs would be satisfied there.

So, theologically, why are churches so precious to us? Well, I think it is because we have the deep sense that here is where we meet our God. Here is where God takes up residence with us when we come. No other building can compare with this one; it has a special ness we call sacred. That is why we give them special names, names of the saints or one of the mysteries of Christ. Here is where our Christian character is formed. It is also a place which we would defend against all harm.

It would not be out of place, therefore, to say that Jesus also had his favorite church, a place where his character was formed by the teachings and rites that were held there. It was the great temple which King Herod constructed over a lot of years. Parts of it still remain standing today. People come to pray at the so-called Western Wall every day.

So, we learn something in the gospel for this Third Sunday in Lent how Jesus felt about this temple where he had learned something about God when he was twelve years old.

By the time he was about thirty, of course, he had felt a special call from God to preach good news, to heal the sick, raise the dead. But he also had the need to pray at the temple occasionally, to experience the quiet of the sanctuary, perhaps to make an offering.

It was this need for quiet time with his God that drew him to the temple on a particular day. Perhaps he had not been there for a while. At any rate, when he walked in he found that commercial enterprises were being transacted there, at least in the outer courts. Now, we do not have many evidences that Jesus got really angry during his life, but this is one that stands out very clearly. Jesus seemed genuinely shocked at the sight of the selling of animals and birds for sacrifice, at the money that was changing hands. When you read the details of the event you say to yourself, "Jesus really lost it; he became violent. It must truly have been a ferocious scene, tables flying, money scattered across the pavement, birds and animals running wildly about, people yelling. It would have made a good subject for a film, and it actually has.

The odd thing about all this is that most of the other people, who came to the temple to pray, seemingly did not get agitated by all the commercialism going on there. This tells me that Jesus had a deeper sense of the sacredness of the temple than many others of his day, and he was willing to go to extremes to defend its sacred character. We also know from reading further in the gospels that this event got Jesus into a heap of trouble with the temple and civil authorities. It led eventually to his passion and death.

So, what does all this have to do with our sense of church today? Obviously, we do not have ushers sitting in the entry way, making change or charging "pew rent!" Tickets for parish functions are sold outside or in the hospitality rooms of the church, or wherever.

But churches today are also places that serve a variety of human needs: Hospitality, surely. But they are also places where we should have the freedom to meet God on our terms. Aside from the common liturgy, we should be able to drink in the meaning of the symbols that surround us. We should be able to come away from this time with God refreshed, quieted and satisfied spiritually. There should be no distraction. At the same time, we should feel free to take part in the sacred liturgy with passion and delight along with our fellow-Christians because we come there as a community, not as individuals. In a sense, churches are places where there is room for everyone's devotion, everyone's spirituality. We need to make room for each other. In short, churches, like "houses are places where, if you go there, they have to take you in."

The Scriptures: Exodus 20: 1-17, 1 Corinthians 1: 22-25, John 2: 13-25

Posted by Julie Galligan at 01:46 PM.

March 07, 2006

Second Sunday of Lent - "Thou Shalt Not Kill"

"Thou shalt not kill" Three words, the Fifth Commandment of the Decalogue, God's own Word. You can't get it much clearer than that! No killing, period! But isn't it interesting that in the history of the human race, we have probably had more violations of that commandment than any of the other nine.

I suppose we would not have needed God to tell us that killing is wrong. It is obviously part of the natural law. None of us would want our life taken from us; so what should give us the right to take someone else's life, for whatever reason? Of all things that are precious to us, life stands in first place.

Perhaps that is why we Americans in particular have been struggling with the death penalty or capital punishment for so many years, indeed, until this very day. What bothers many is that we have found that in too many instances innocent people have been put to death. One innocent death is already one too many.

I must confess to you that I believe that the death penalty is unjust. Granted, murders of innocent people are a horrible and unjust act. However, I always wonder if one death deserves another? Moreover, does capital punishment actually deter violent crime? I have no evidence one way or the other on that. Moreover, most violent crimes which take life occur because of anger, vengeance or retaliation. That is no excuse, of course. Punishment of some sort should follow, life in prison at the least.

The important question always follows: Does capital punishment harden our sense of compassion and forgiveness?

Well, this is a depressing way to start a homily, even on the First Sunday of Lent. But we cannot pass up the question because our first reading from the Book of Genesis contains that famous and very puzzling story of God's call (?) to Abraham to offer up his son Isaac in sacrifice. I have read all sorts of explanations for that atrocious act: God didn't really mean it. He was just testing Abraham. Or, the fact that God relented is a proof that God forbids the human sacrifice of children, an act that many cultures had practiced for centuries. Read the stories in National Geographic that describe the sacrifice of little children in the high places of Peru.

My own understanding of those primitive cultures is that the life of a child was the most precious thing they possessed. The very future of the family or clan depended upon the life of this youngster. Hence, if they wished to please their god, the life of a child would surely suffice, horrible as that may sound. For centuries the human race has felt the need to appease God (gods) with their most precious gifts.

For those of us in our own times, of course, some theological questions arise about God and sacrifice: If God wants sacrifice, wouldn't grain or animals do? Why would a good and just God, who brings all human flesh into existence, suddenly want us to sacrifice the most precious being on earth? A human being? Moreover, why should God want to test us anyway? If God gave us a human mind and will, could God not simply trust us? Or, finally, does God expect human sacrifice at all, or is it just a desire on the part of humanity to appease God?

Well, fortunately, in our own time, child sacrifice is history. Were we not all shocked when the lady in Houston some years ago drowned her 5 children because she thought God was calling on her to do so? We all knew that she must have been mentally ill.

But let us be honest about this issue as well: The lives of children are being taken every day in our country and in our world. Abortion may be legal, but it is, nonetheless, a horrible crime of murder.
What is equally heinous today is the crime of pornography wherein little children are made the subjects of peoples' sexual fantasies. Why are little children made to suffer this inhuman form of recreation?

More and more today we also learn from news accounts of the numbers of children who are battered by their parents, sometimes killed. Why take advantage of a defenseless little child?

And as Catholics, we cannot pass over the fact that priests have taken advantage of their position and sexually abused youngsters in their teens or younger. Again, why are young people the ones who are abused by adults? Is it because they seem more vulnerable, or that they will not speak out in their own defense?

The point I am making is that we may well read in horror the biblical story of Abraham's willingness to take the life of his son Isaac, while at the same time we think little of the taking of life in the womb or the abuse of children and teenagers by adults that goes on day after day in our own time.

So, what has all this to do with Lent? Lent, obviously, means a lot of different things to different people, and we all have our little projects to fill up the Forty Days: It may be something as small as abstention from chocolate or whatever our other little "evil spirits" are. On a more positive note, we may wish to get serious again about the age-old practices of prayer, fasting and almsgiving. Stations of the Cross or Lenten Vespers put us in liturgical touch with others. But whatever practice we may choose, these are not ends in themselves. They are meant to help us understand transformation, turning around again. That, indeed, is what Lent is about: The Greeks call it metanoia turning completely around again. Doubtless, this will not be a final turning around, given our human inclination to be slackers.

But if we care to link Lent to that first reading about the sacrifice of little Isaac, we might well think about transforming our attitude toward the preciousness of life in all its various and beautiful forms. Transformation is always a matter of the head and the heart. Given that we are always a little slow and sluggish about changing our ways of thinking and doing, perhaps the Forty Days will hardly be enough, but they will be a start which may carry us all the way into the days of summer...at least.

The Scriptures: Genesis 22: 1-2, 9a, 1-13,15-18 Romans 8: 31 b-34 Mark 9: 2-10

Posted by Julie Galligan at 12:26 PM.

February 27, 2006

First Sunday of Lent - Something For Everybody

Of all the seasons of our Catholic Liturgical calendar, Lent, it seems to me, is the one which has been co-opted (gladly!) by people of all persuasions, religious or otherwise. Perhaps there is something humanly natural about changing our life's course, taking time to figure out where we are, what we are doing and whether it is taking us anywhere. One does not have to be Catholic or even Christian to do that!

I'm not sure how it will be this year in New Orleans on the three days before Ash Wednesday, but in former years the whole city went into Mardi Gras mode, a frenetic celebration of all things crazy. But at the stroke of midnight on Fat Tuesday practically everyone, or at least those who were sufficiently sober, knew that Lent had begun and the baubles, bangles and beads should be stored away for another year. A great quiet now had set in, a time to think seriously about life once again.

For those of us who follow the scriptures for this holy season, you will find three or four themes which guide us through the forty days: The one that stands out so clearly on this First Sunday, the key Sunday, is covenant. To us, in this modern age, it seems like a rather out-of-date word; but it really has an important role to play in Lent. Covenant, in the scriptural sense, simply means "God makes a deal with us" and we are expected to "make a deal with God." God says, "if you keep my law, you will receive a blessing. If you don't, you pay for it." This is one of the most ancient relationships we can find in the scriptures.

So, what could that have to do with Lent? Well, simply this: Lent is a time when we try to rethink the covenant that we made with God at Baptism, to see how this Christian life which started then has been going all these years.

And what are the Lenten activities that can help us think our way through this covenant with God, put us back on track? The big three: Prayer, fasting and alms giving. All the other "penances" we may choose to do in Lent fall under one or the other of these "big three" categories.

Secondly, you will notice in the first lesson from Genesis today that it is all about water, the great flood and the rainbow as the universal sign of God's promise (covenant) that it will not happen again if we keep our part of the "deal."
So, why does that passage about water and the great flood appear at the beginning of Lent? Well, simply because in our Christian tradition the period of Lent is spent in intensive preparation for baptism, baptism for the thousands of catechumens throughout all the churches of Christendom who were waiting for welcome into the Church on the great night of Easter.

What about fasting, and what does that have to do with Lent? Well, obviously, it has nothing to do simply with cutting down on food, for whatever reason. Fasting can have a therapeutic effect on our lives: It clears our thinking (St. Thomas Aquinas taught us that). It clears our thinking because we are invited to ask what is really important in our life: Just feeding ourselves to stay alive or considering food to be the possession of everyone, especially the poor? The food we cut back on in Lent needs to find its way to the tables of those who have little or no food. Otherwise, giving up food in Lent merely becomes an exercise in controlling our waist lines. Not such a great motivation, even though it may make us feel better about ourselves.

Finally, there is one absolutely important ingredient in Lent that most folks might say shouldn't belong there: Joy, celebration! Is that something we gave up at midnight on Fat Tuesday? Well, not the right kind of joy!

There is an interesting line in one of the prefaces to the Eucharistic Prayer for Lent that goes like this: "Each year (Lord) you give us this joyful season when we prepare to celebrate the Paschal mystery (Easter) with mind and heart renewed. You give us a spirit of loving reverence for you, our Father, and a willing service to our neighbor. That's Lent in a nut-shell: We celebrate joyfully during Lent so that we can experience Easter in its fullness. Again, we fast (happily) so that Easter will mean all the more to us.

Lent, then, is all about fasting and feasting, disciplining ourselves so that we can experience life in its fullness.

The question, however, is "fast from what?" Here is a list offered by Father Charles Faso in a recent issue of Preaching magazine:

Fast from suspicion and feast on truth
Fast from complaining and feast on appreciation
Fast from judging others and feast on Christ within others
Fast from idle gossip and feast on purposeful silence.
Fast from anger and feast on forgiveness.
Fast from discouragement and feast on hope
Fast from worry and feast on trusting God
Fast from unrelenting pressures and feast on' unceasing prayer.
Fast from lethargy and feast on enthusiasm.
Fast from emphasizing the differences and feast on the unity of life.
Fast from thoughts of illness and feast on the healing power of God.

I could add a couple more:
Fast from a sour face and feast on smiles.
Fast from growling and feast on laughing
Fast from depression and feast on joy!

Now, that's a pretty full menu for Lent. but it's our covenant with our God who promises in return that Easter will be forever.

The Scriptures: Genesis 9: 8-15 1 Peter 3: 18-22 Mark 1: 12-15

Posted by Julie Galligan at 12:42 PM.

March 24, 2005

Holy Thursday: Getting Down on One's Knees

Some years ago I had the opportunity to celebrate the marriage of two young folks of our parish, both Catholic, both having made their way through our religious formation program. I never thought of them as particularly pious, just ordinary young teenagers who had made their way into adulthood and were now prepared to enter the mysterious world of Holy Matrimony. 

I helped them prepare the marriage liturgy, choose the readings, prayers and all the rest.  When I asked them whether there was anything in the scriptures they might want me to reflect on for the homily, they said:  “Well Father, if you don’t mind, we’d like to do the homily ourselves.”  I said, “ok by me, just keep it down below a half-hour if you can.”

When the day of the wedding came around, I began to wonder what they planned on saying in the homily.  Priests always worry about stuff like that.  This is usually the time for the presider to get in a few choice words about marriage and family matters.  Actually, I already had some sense of what they might want to say  because they had selected the Last Supper event in the gospel of John, the very one which we just read here a few moments ago.

So, the gospel was read and everyone sat down, waiting for the homily.  Not a word!  Dead silence!   Much to my astonishment, the couple just sat at their chairs and began taking off their shoes and socks.  Then two of the wedding attendants brought up a bowl of water and a towel and placed them at the couples’ feet.

Well, you already know the rest:  There was no homily, not in the normal sense.  Each of them in turn simply got up and washed each other’s feet, wiped them and sat down.  End of story!  Not a word, no homily, no explanation, no reasons given.  In other words the action took the place of anything they might have said.  Then there was a period of total silence as they replaced their shoes and socks and their parents and friends sat there with their mouths open!  I’d have to say, however, that it was probably one of the best wedding homilies I had ever heard or seen!

Of course, it could have turned out to be a big show, something to impress their friends with their personal piety.  But this was not the case: They simply wanted to say or do something that would be a sign of their dedication to one another.   I’m sure they are probably still happily married and perhaps they are also still washing one another’s feet, at least I hope that is the case.

All this tells me that sometimes, often times, actions are more effective than words.  Indeed, this is what St. James said in his letter to the early Christians:  “Be doers of the word and not hearers only.”

We have just listened to a dramatic reading of another incident of foot-washing. No doubt, we have heard that reading many times and may have let it go at that.  This is just what Jesus usually did, something astonishing, something different. He was always doing such things.

But think about this:  This was the evening of the Paschal Supper, one of the most important feasts in the entire Jewish calendar.  It was all about story-telling, about eating and drinking in memory of Jewish history. There was no rubric in the ceremony about foot-washing, none whatsoever.  Everyone must have been totally amazed at Jesus turning this ancient and sacred ceremony into something personal like this.  Didn’t history count for anything?

But my sense of the foot-washing ceremony is this: Jesus might have said to himself:  “Here’s my chance to do something important.”  So, he might have said to them:  “My friends, now that I have you all together, perhaps for the last time, let me share a word or two with you.  Did you understand what I just did for you?  You address me as ‘Teacher’ and ‘Lord’ and fittingly enough, for that is what I am.  But if I washed your feet---I who am Teacher and Lord---then you must wash one another’s feet. What I just did was to give you an example:  as I have done, so you must also do.”

What’s this all about?  Well, what it is all about is Jesus’ insistence that if his disciples or we wish to be his followers, we need to learn how to be servants to one another.  There is nothing more fundamental than that about being Christian.

In other words, we can talk all day about how we love one another, but unless we are willing “to get down on our knees” and be servants to one another, it will mean very little.  Actions speak louder than words.

So, how does all this break out in the context of or every day life?  Obviously, we are probably not actually going to be washing one another’s feet literally every day.  We are pretty sensitive about how our feet look anyway.  We’d prefer not to touch someone else’s feet!

But we do need to demonstrate what foot-washing means.  We do need to be servants to one another and not in a demeaning way either, but in total integrity and truthfulness. It could mean something like this:  Being honest with one another; no phoniness. It could mean speaking respectfully to one another. It could mean putting up with one another’s annoying and irritating habits. Even more, it could mean having to do what we don’t always like doing, all for the sake of others.  Actually, it’s all contained in those lovely words of the marriage ceremony:  Loving and honoring one another, especially in circumstances of riches and poverty, sickness and health, difficulties or joys, day in and day out.  That’s what serving one another should mean.

In a few moments we shall once again participate in that ancient ceremony. There is always the chance, of course, as in so many other liturgical ceremonies, that it will seem like just another ritual formality that we Catholics are so well known for.  We have to be careful of theatrics. Truly, it’s what happens after this rite is over, what happens at home, at work or wherever, tomorrow and the day after that, which ultimately counts. If we have not learned the every day meaning of this rite then perhaps it would be better that we not do it at all.

Getting on our knees is not something we do easily.  It’s a long way to the floor. Being servants to one another is never easy nor simple either.  We have to keep learning and doing it over and over again.  If tonight is the time we decide to start over again, then all we do here will have been worthwhile.

The scriptures:
Exodus 12: 1-8, 11-14; 1 Corinthians 11: 23-26; John 13: 1-15

Posted by Deacon Eric Stoltz at 02:36 PM.

March 20, 2005

Palm Sunday: Even if Good Friday Had Never Happened

Each year when Palm Sunday comes around, I must confess that I am always left a bit disappointed, not with the celebration of the rite of the palms, but because of the way it ends, that is, with the proclamation of the Lord’s Passion story. In other words, what began so well ends so badly?  A joyful parade on one day ends with the death penalty and crucifixion several days later.  Now, doesn’t that sound like a pretty big emotional jump for anyone to make?

What if we (or those who can make decisions in our church) were to simply say:  Today, on Palm Sunday we will think about the happy climax of Jesus’ work. We’ll try to imagine what it was like when he came to town and all his friends were ecstatic with joy. Here he was, in from the desert, in from the villages, rich with a lot of personal victories, ready now to receive the accolades of his friends. On Friday, the day of his crucifixion, there will still be time to think about the Passion.  Why tack it on to the liturgy of Palm Sunday? 

Obviously, I am not in a position to make those kinds of changes, but I think it would be an interesting possibility to explore.  So, we will do that, we will think a little about the meaning and implications of parades because that is the central point of this story.  We will leave the exploration of the meaning of the Passion for Friday.

I think it would be safe to say that all of us love a parade: We look forward to the day when the county fair comes to town.  If we live in Boston or New York City we are in the streets when the Yankees or the Red Sox win the World Series.  If our favorite NFL team happens to win the Super Bowl, only a grouch would sit at home and watch the festivities on television.

The point here is simply that all of us need to enjoy a break from the dull routine of a work day.  Celebrations of whatever kind give us a chance to recoup our leisure energies.

Now, the question is, what do we commonly do to celebrate special events?  We have many options, of course, but if it is something really important, a once-for-all lifetime event, we will join a parade or at least we will watch from the sidewalk as others march down the street.  But, for sure, we will not sit at home and grouse. We will feel the need to get out and do something:  Play in the band, carry a banner, throw shredded computer paper around, whatever suits our fancy.

The basic thing most people will do, however, is simply to get in line and walk. Perhaps they will also sing, play an instrument, cheer or wave a banner, but all these activities take place while people are walking, parading down the street.

So, when you think about it, walking is a very basic and meaningful human action.  Walking upright is one of the things that defines the nature of the human person.

For the most part, we walk with purpose: We walk to the office, the school, the store.  All of these are minor parades even though we often walk alone.

History is full of examples of people who have gone on long walks, on pilgrimage:  Each year two million Moslem men and women travel to Makkah for the Hajj.

If you should travel to Rome, you would find there a number of triumphal arches, particularly the famous Arch of Titus which commemorates the return of the victorious Roman armies with the spoils of the temple in Jerusalem.

Hundreds of Christians go on pilgrimage each year, whether to the cathedral of Our Lady of Chartres or to the cathedral of Santiago de Compostella in Spain.

Most of us Catholics will make our minor pilgrimage to our parish church each Sunday.

Think too of the number of minor liturgical processions in which we participate (walk) every Sunday.  We walk to the house of the Lord, at least from the parking lot. We watch as someone processes to the altar with the gospel book. We walk (parade) with our gifts to the Eucharist table.  We walk again to receive communion.  All of these are minor parades:  We walk together for a holy purpose.  It is not just a way of conveniently getting from one place to another.

Think then for a moment of that small parade that was going on in Jerusalem on that day when Jesus came in from the country with his entourage of “little people.”  They obviously did not have much to celebrate with, some palms or simply branches from nearby trees that they waved or threw down on the street ahead of where Jesus would be traveling. The important thing was that they needed to welcome their conquering hero (like the Romans welcomed Titus the general and his army back from the Middle East). No doubt, they sang songs and yelled acclamations:  “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, hosanna in high heaven.”

It is hard to know whether many of the other local citizens of Jerusalem even paid any attention to this rag-tag group of peasants.  There could have been close to 250,000 people in town for the Passover. But for this little group, it was the World Series and Super Bowl Sunday all rolled into one event.  So, why not celebrate?  The fact that someone even “commandeered” a donkey for Jesus to ride tells you something about the importance of this event.  Everyone else walked!

What is especially significant about this little parade is not its size, not its notoriety in the city, but the fact that a group of little people felt the need in the middle of a large city to pay tribute to the one whom they called their Messiah and Lord, the one who had done great things in minor villages. He was their hometown hero and nobody was going to stop them from celebrating his entrance into their city.  If people laughed at them, so what? It was their day and their parade.

So, my friends, if I had my way, here is where I would stop.  Doesn’t it make sense that all of us who are Christian should have an opportunity just once during the year to join those peasant friends of Jesus and celebrate, parading and waving our palms in memory of our hero, our king?  Yes, I know, in a few days we will also remember the Friday we call Good.  We will think about the Lord’s suffering and death. But on this day we should be happy.  If there was not so much snow on the ground, we would parade around the parking lot, waving our palms and singing “hosanna in the highest.”   Jesus is still our champion, our hero. Nothing should dampen our enthusiasm or cheering for the one who has made it all worthwhile for us to come here today. It’s our parade too. Let nothing stand in our way.

The scriptures:
Matthew 21: 1-11 (procession); Isaiah 50: 4-7; Philippians 2; 6-11; Matthew 27: 11-54

Posted by Deacon Eric Stoltz at 02:33 PM.

March 13, 2005

Fifth Sunday of Lent: Friendship as Resurrection

There is a very funny film in the theaters these days entitled “Sideways”. It is a story about two middle aged bachelor fellows who have been friends for a long time. One of the gentlemen is shortly preparing to be married.  So, the two of them decide that it would be nice if they could celebrate the memories of their long friendship together with a drive up the California coast to visit the wine country.  They are both into the art of wine tasting.<