Thursday, April 30, 2015

Live Loved - Love Living - Live Loving

I had the privilege of giving the homily at my Uncle Bob's Memorial Mass this morning.     

        When I graduated from law school more than 20 years ago, Uncle Bob gave me this pen – a Montblanc Meisterstück fountain pen. Many would agree that Montblanc makes some of the finest pens in the world and that the Meisterstück fountain pen is Montblanc’s finest pen. This pen speaks volumes to me of the kind of person Uncle Bob was: he appreciated the fine things of life, and he was very generous and loving. Uncle Bob bore the hallmarks of a man of faith: he lived loved, he loved living, and he lived loving. That’s what our Gospel passage and Uncle Bob’s example call us to do, too.

          We heard in our Gospel that whoever hears God’s word and believes in him “has passed from death to life.” (John 5: 24) “The passage from death to life is not a future promise; it happens now.”[1] God’s gift of eternal life isn't dangling somewhere out of arm’s reach to give us hope for a better life after this one. It’s available to us right now. “’Eternal life’ is life itself, real life, which can also be lived in the present age and is no longer challenged by physical death.”[2] God sent his only Son to conquer death so that we can live life to its fullest now. God wants us to enjoy his creation; he wants us to love living. But to do that, we have to free ourselves from the chains of death by believing in the Resurrection and the Life. We have to live knowing that we’re loved by God. We have to live loved.

          Believing isn't always easy. Sickness, death, broken relationships, financial troubles, you name it, this life is full of serious problems that challenge our belief in an all-loving God. I have no answer for why a faith-filled man like Uncle Bob would suffer from Alzheimer’s disease and cancer. But “[f]aith is like a bright ray of sunlight. It enables us to see God in all things as well as all things in God.”[3] As our first reading from Revelation tells us, “God’s dwelling is with the human race.” (Revelation 21:3) Faith in God and his promise of eternal life opens our eyes to God’s loving presence in every aspect of our lives. Faith gives strength to the weary, comfort to the ill, courage to the dying and solace to the mourning. Saint Paul said it perfectly in his letter to the Romans: “If God is for us, who can be against us?” (Romans 8:31b) With God in our lives, we have nothing to fear. We have every reason to live and to enjoy all of the wonderful things in life. We have every reason to love living, because we’re living loved.

          How do we know when we’re living loved? We love living, and we live loving. (I’ll give you a moment to let you catch up with all of those “Ls”). Love is dynamic, not static. It has to move. So when we open ourselves to receive God’s love through faith, we can’t hold it in; we have to share it. Faith is “an acceptance of God’s grace and a willingness to let that grace flow through us to others.”[4] So people of faith, people who live loved, live loving. Uncle Bob was a man of faith. He lived loved, he loved living, and he lived loving.

          Uncle Bob lived loved as a faithful Catholic – attending Mass regularly, serving as an usher at several parishes and, later in life, helping out at BINGO. During my last visit with Uncle Bob, he spoke beautifully about his Catholic faith to a minister who dropped by for a visit. When she asked whether his illness and prognosis challenged his faith in God, he looked at her incredulously and said, “No, I know that I’m safe in God’s hands. That’s what I believe.” Then when the minister told him that she was Lutheran he said, “Get out!” So much for ecumenical dialogue. Nonetheless, Uncle Bob lived loved.

          Uncle Bob loved living. He loved the Giants and the Yankees, jazz and big band music. He loved the Jersey shore, where he taught his kids to body surf, and he loved sharing life’s little treasures with his family. After regaling me with stories about bullfights in Panama and chatting up music greats like Anita O’Day and Joni James at the bar at the Meadowbrook, Uncle Bob said, “Michael, there’s a lot of good stuff going on in life. You just have to open your eyes a little bit.” Uncle Bob loved living.

          Uncle Bob lived loving. He loved animals – volunteering as a dolphin soother and fish counter at the Mote Marine Laboratory in Florida and never passing up the opportunity to throw a ball for a dog. We Meyers were convinced that our dog Molly would die of a heart attack because Uncle Bob wouldn't quit throwing, and Molly wouldn't quit retrieving. He loved his country, singing the National Anthem with his hand over his heart no matter where it was played.

          But most of all, most of all, Uncle Bob loved his family. Every year on Memorial Day Uncle Bob paid his respects at Grandpa’s grave and then stopped by to visit Aunt Louise and Uncle Lou. He held his mother’s hand on the day she died. He loved golfing with his brothers and teasing his sisters. He made it a tradition on Christmas Eve to attend the Vigil Mass and then treat his family to a fine meal at a great restaurant. He endured the long commute from New York to make his son’s baseball game, and danced the hula at a Disney World luau to make his children laugh. He proudly bragged about his children, his grandchildren, his step-grandchildren and his Roly Poly. And he gave his Godson one of the finest pens in the world – a Montblanc Meisterstück fountain pen. Uncle Bob lived loving.

          As Uncle Bob’s cancer progressed, Susan shared how striking it was to her that the sicker and weaker he became, the more often he said, “I am the luckiest man in the world; I have a loving family.” That’s the testimony of a man of faith, a man who lived loved, who loved living, and who lived loving. Those are the words of the man we love so much that we faithfully commend his spirit into God’s hands, where we believe that he will live loved forever.

Readings: Revelation 21: 1-5a, 6b-7; Psalm 23; Romans 8: 31b-35, 37-39; John 5: 24-29



[1] Francis J. Maloney, “The Gospel of John,” Sacra Pagina, vol. IV, Daniel J. Harrington, ed. (Collegeville, Liturgical Press 1998) at 179.
[2] Pope Benedict XVI, Jesus of Nazareth – Holy Week:  From the Entrance into Jerusalem to the Resurrection (San Francisco, Ignatius Press, 2011) at 83.
[3] Saint Francis de Sales.
[4] Robert Barron, “Into the Garden,” Lent Reflections with Father Robert Barron, Day 2 (February 19, 2015).

Sunday, April 26, 2015

A Good Shepherd - A Baptism Homily

 
        I was in the Catskills earlier this week in an area known for its steep mountains and lush pastures – the perfect area to raise sheep. I love driving around up there at this time of year because it’s the height of lambing season, and everyone loves a cute little lamb. I saw hundreds of them, and they were as adorable as you can imagine. What I didn't see was a shepherd. It seems that the art of shepherding in the United States has gone to the dogs. So in case you’re not familiar with shepherding, allow me to share some of the responsibilities of a good shepherd.

          A good shepherd leads his flock to food and water, and makes sure that the sheep have all that they need to thrive. A good shepherd guides his flock down new paths, but follows them as they meander along familiar routes to make sure none go astray. A good shepherd knows his sheep by name, and is willing to lay down his life for them.

          Sound familiar? Well, I hope so because you just heard some of this in the Gospel I just read to you. But it may also sound familiar because being a parent is all about being a good shepherd. We have to provide for our children; we have to lead them down new paths, and we have to follow them with a watchful eye (I think we call it baby-proofing these days). Pope Francis adds that a good shepherd has to live so intimately with the flock that he “smells like the sheep.”[1] Well, that’s not too hard to accomplish as parents since small children tend to project everything that’s smelly about them all over us. But most importantly, we parents have to protect our children in a dangerous world, which may be the responsibility that scares us the most.

          Jess & Greg you’re shepherds now. You've taken on all of the responsibilities of a shepherd. I know you’ll be good shepherds. I know because I see the love you have for Audrey every time you look at her. Try to hang onto that look when she’s a teenager. But I also know that you’ll be good shepherds because you’re here today presenting Audrey for Baptism. You know that being a good shepherd is a tough job, and that you’ll need a lot help as you face the joys, and the responsibilities and the fears of parenting. So you've come with the support of your Church, your family and friends to ask God to help you in your awesome responsibilities as shepherds – to help you provide for Audrey, to lead her, to watch over her and to protect her – to help you be good shepherds.

          Through Baptism in Christ, the Good Shepherd, Audrey will receive more than we mere mortals can ever provide her, no matter how much we want to, or how hard we try. In Christ the Good Shepherd, Audrey will have eternal life. So in a moment, you’ll promise that you’ll do all that you can to make sure that Audrey knows the Good Shepherd. If you raise Audrey to know the Good Shepherd, she’ll be nourished with the bread from heaven (John 6:51) and with the waters of eternal life (John 4:14); she’ll find rest in green pastures (Psalm 23); and she’ll live her life knowing that she’s loved with an everlasting love (Jeremiah 31:3). What more could two good shepherds want for their adorable little lamb? 

Reading - John 10: 11-18.

[1] Pope Francis, Evangelii Gaudium (Vatican City, Libreria Editrice Vaticana, Nov. 24, 2013) at 24.

Monday, April 20, 2015

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Laurence Olivier - Hamlet
                It’s 3:53 am and all is well, except that I can’t sleep.  I’m usually a sound sleeper, and tonight seemed no different – until 3:53 am when I woke up and was pretty much wide awake.  Up to that point, I slept well, perhaps too well, as my body seems to have no interest in going back to sleep anytime soon.  I have no idea why.  I worked hard this weekend, so I should be tired.  I do have a lot going on, but none of it is troublesome to the point of stress or worry.  Unlike Hamlet, I don’t think I’m suffering from anxiety or a guilty conscience that would deprive me of the kind of sleep that leads, perchance, to dream.

                As, you can see, after ten minutes or so of lying in bed with the sure (alas, futile) expectation that I would return to a deep slumber, my mind started racing.  My first thought was that I hadn't blogged for a while and that a post in the morning about sleep and dreaming might be interesting (you can be the judge).  I thought about whether what I ate last night might be keeping me up (I don’t think so) and how a lack of sleep would be particularly challenging on Monday morning as my employer frowns upon napping during work hours.  But once I started composing this post in my head, along with a grocery list and new passwords for my internet accounts, it was over.  My brain was off and running, and sleep was left in the dust at the starting gate.  Dreams seem out of the question.

                Dreams play a major role in the Judeo-Christian tradition.  You’ll recall that Jacob was dreaming of a stairway to heaven long before Led Zeppelin, when God promised that Jacob’s descendants would “be like the dust . . . , spread to the west and the east.” (Genesis 28: 14)  Jacob’s son Joseph (the one with the Technicolor Dream Coat) was a prolific dreamer who saw in a dream that his brothers one day would bow down before him.  He also interpreted Pharaoh’s dream that predicted the great, seven-year famine, allowing the Egyptians to store up inventories of grain and leading the aforementioned brothers to bow down before him.  (Genesis 37; 41)  It was also in a dream that King Solomon received the offer from God that he could not refuse:  “Whatever you ask, I shall give you.”  (1 Kings 3:5)  Solomon asked for wisdom.  At this point, I think I would ask for more sleep. 

                Saint Joseph, in the New Testament, never speaks a single word, but he sure seems to be a sound sleeper.  God told Joseph in a dream not to be afraid to take Mary as his wife for “it was through the Holy Spirit that the child was conceived.”  (Matthew 1: 20)  I’m not sure that I would have believed that one when I woke up in the morning, but thank God Saint Joseph did.  After Jesus was born, God sent two more dreams to Joseph, one telling him to take his family to Egypt to protect the child from King Herod, and the other telling him that Herod had died so it was safe to return home to Nazareth.  (Matthew 2: 13-15)  Not everyone was as attentive to God’s message-laden dreams as Joseph was, though.  You’ll recall that Pontius Pilate’s wife warned Pilate to “[h]ave nothing to do with that righteous man, for I have suffered much because of him today in a dream.”  (Matthew 27: 19)

                It seems that God does some of his best communicating through dreams.  Perhaps it’s the only time he can get us to pay attention.  Now I don’t believe that every dream has some deep, subconscious meaning or that dreams necessarily predict future calamity or riches.  But I do believe that our dreams reflect our hopes and fears and that God communicates with us all the time in whatever ways are best for each of us, including in our dreams.  I know of too many people who have received great comfort in dreams of lost loved ones living happily in heaven to dismiss those dreams as mere coincidence or a trick of the mind.  As for me, I've found on more than one occasion that when I’m stuck on a homily, the answer comes to me in a dream – so much so that I keep a pad next to my bed.  I jot a quick note in the middle of the night and (usually) return to a restful sleep.  Without fail, I’m pleasantly surprised in the morning to find a lucid note that resolves my writer’s block perfectly.  In my view, that’s the Holy Spirit at work.

                Speaking of work, it’s now 6:00 am, my normal waking hour.  The sun is rising, and so must I to kick off my day with a shower and some coffee.  I think I’ll wait to post this essay until after the aforementioned shower and coffee to make sure that it’s as divinely-inspired as it promised to be at 3:53 am.  I pray for a clear head on what will be a busy day and that I won’t be cranky with the poor souls who have to work with me today.  And as the day draws to its close, you can rest assured that I’ll be praying for sleep, perchance to dream. 

Saturday, April 11, 2015

Take a Hike!

View from Mount Tammany 
                It was a beautiful day for a hike, so I took one.  Actually it was a pre-planned hike that happened to fall on a beautiful day.  You see, three friends and I are planning a new ministry, one involving – you guessed it – hiking.  But it’s not just hiking, anyone can do that.  This ministry focuses on the fact that we humans are both physical and spiritual beings, so the hikes are intended to integrate our physical and spiritual natures by exercising both. 

                I confess that I was a little nervous going into today’s hike.  While I like to hike, and I do hike a fair amount, Eric, Ken and Evan are much more athletic than I am, and I have at least ten years on the next oldest guy.  I was a little afraid that I’d be the rickety old guy that they’d have to take turns carrying back to the car after some crucial joint or ligament failed me.  I’m happy to report, though, that I held my own among the young bucks; the nursing home deposit goes back into the sock drawer.

                Today was our test run for our first hike as a ministry next month.  Ken planned the route – a beautiful three-mile hike on Mount Tammany along the Delaware Water Gap in New Jersey; Eric clocked our time and the difficulty of the route with some fancy exercise gadget; I planned some simple spiritual exercises to do along the way; and Evan brought the toilet paper – I’m not kidding, though I really don’t know why.  Be prepared, I guess.  We left home at 5:30 am, and hit the trail by 6:30.  It was a crisp, sunny morning, and we were practically alone on the trails.  It really was a beautiful day for a hike.

                Mount Tammany is a challenging hike, so our pulse rates jumped pretty quickly.  Well, at least mine did; I don’t know about the others, but I suspect that Eric’s gadget captured all of our bio-metric data and sold it to the Russians.  From time-to-time we’d stop to check out the great views, share some scripture passages (Jesus’ appearance to his disciples along the road to Emmaus) and engage in some pretty heady discussions.  We talked about why we believe in the existence of God, whether the Messiah had to suffer, the meaning of redemption, the challenges we face at work, and why the hell Evan brought toilet paper on a hike – a whole roll, I’ll add, which mercifully he never used.  It was a great morning with three great guys whom I’m blessed to know.  It was physically and spiritually uplifting and exhausting – in a good way.

                So if you’re interested in some no-frills physical and spiritual exercise, stay tuned.  We’re planning our first hike for men in mid-May where we’ll talk about the existence of God.  After that, we hope to have hikes covering all sorts of spiritual topics for women, couples, families and anyone who’s interested.  So if you want to exercise your heart and soul, come take a hike!  You might even find out why Evan brought the toilet paper.

Friday, April 3, 2015

The Seventh Word

Leon Bonnat - The Crucifixion
          Almost ten years ago, I was sitting in my office in New York when my colleague, Helen, came in, closed the door and abruptly asked, “Are you afraid to die?”  Without missing a beat, I answered, “No.”  And then, just as abruptly, she asked, “How do I get that way?”  I don’t know what surprised me more:  the fact that Helen asked me that question, or that I responded so quickly.  You see, Helen was a super-confident business woman who had career goals and a plan to achieve them all.  Fear would not have made the top ten list of characteristics that come to mind when I think of Helen.  And as for me, I don’t think I had ever given a moment’s thought to whether I was afraid to die before Helen asked me.  I guess it wasn't high on my list of concerns.  As you can imagine, a long conversation followed, one that talked about faith and the need be in relationship with God.  I've thought of my conversation with Helen many times over the years because I’m just as surprised today as I was then about how quickly I declared that I’m not afraid to die.  That conversation triggered in me a now ten-year long examination of my own faith journey – a journey that has led me to the Seventh Word more times than I can count:  “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”

          Unfortunately, I never had a good relationship with my father.  Now, I’m not about to paint for you the picture of a cruel tyrant.  That would be untrue and unfair.  My father was a good man; he was very hard-working, generous and very funny.  We simply didn't get along.  Whether we didn't get along because we were so much alike or because we were so different, I don’t know.  We were like oil and water – we didn't mix.  So from an early age the image of God as Father resonated with me.  I found God in the majesty of nature, in quiet walks in the woods, sitting on the front step watching the cars go by, and spending time alone in my room, whether I had been sent there involuntarily or I had gone of my own volition.  I talked to God all the time, and without necessarily realizing it, I developed a relationship with God – a relationship that I could always turn to in difficult times . .  . .

                    Like when I was in fourth grade.  I gained a lot of weight and became the target of bullying at school.  I was harassed and humiliated whenever the teacher left the room and was chased home almost every day after school.  As a result, I avoided friendships and became somewhat of a loner.  I never told my parents because I was too embarrassed that I wasn't tough enough to stand up for myself.  But I told God, and I turned it over to God:  “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”  By turning it over to God, I found safety, I found solace, and I ultimately found self-worth.  God helped me discover talents that would bring accomplishments that I’m very proud of; God led me to friendships in high school and college that I cherish to this day.  God gave me the tremendous peace that comes with learning to be comfortable in my own skin.

          One month after my twentieth birthday, I faced what would be the greatest challenge to my faith up to that point in my life.  My Uncle Jerry was an important father figure to me.  I had a special and unique relationship with him that I cherished.  So I’ll never forget standing in the doorway of my bedroom with phone in hand as my father called from the hospital to tell me that Uncle Jerry had died of a heart attack that morning.  It was completely unexpected.  He was much too young, and he had no known health issues.  How could God do this to us?  What kind of God would take such a good man in the prime of his life?  I was devastated, and I was very angry with God.  So I told him, and I turned it over to God:  “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”  By turning it over to God, I found peace, I found comfort and I found faith.  God helped me let go of the anger that welled up inside of me.  God showed me the happy memories of Uncle Jerry that softened the pain of his loss.  God gave me the faith that brings with it the sure hope that Uncle Jerry lives, happy, healthy and eternally loved.

          I have countless examples from my faith journey where turning it over to God changed my life, always for the better.  By turning everything over to God, our worries, our fears, our anger, our sorrows, we free ourselves from the hands of the evil one and find comfort, peace and joy in the hands of God.  That’s what I've found, and I live a much happier life because of it.

          You know, the Seventh Word, Jesus’ last word in Luke’s Gospel, is a prayer – Psalm 31, verse five.  It’s a prayer that Jewish mothers would teach their young children to pray at bedtime.  I can imagine Mary reciting that prayer with Jesus as she tucked him into bed at night.  This prayer is a statement of trust in the goodness of God, trust that by turning everything over to God, “all shall be well, and all shall be well and all manner of things shall be well.”  Jesus’ last words weren't cries of desperation and fear, they were words of confidence and trust.  “Father, into your hands I commend my spirit.”  And with those words on my lips, I’m not afraid to die.

Reading:  Luke 23: 46.