Changed for the Better, Changed for Good - A Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter, Year B

           There’s a lovely song near the end of the hit musical Wicked where Elphaba and Glinda share how their friendship over the years has changed them. The song speaks beautifully of the positive impact that one person can have on the life of another, ending with the poignant line, “I do believe that I have been changed for the better, and because I knew you, I have been changed for good.” Today’s readings leave no doubt that the Christian life is all about being changed for the better and being changed for good.

          Jesus came to invite us to be better than we are—much better. In fact, a key teaching of the Church is that “the Son of God became Man so that we might become God.”[1] It sounds almost blasphemous, but I just quoted that from the Catechism of the Catholic Church. And this teaching comes straight from Scripture. As we hear in today’s second reading from the First Letter of John: we shall be like him” (1 John 3:2). This teaching is so important that theologians have given it a name—actually, three names: we call it divinization, deification, or theosis, if you prefer Greek.

          But how can this be? How can mere mortals become gods? Well, when God became human in Jesus Christ, humanity became divine in Jesus Christ. Through Jesus, God returns us to the image and likeness of God that we received at creation but sullied with sin. The goal of the Christian life, then, is to return to that god-like condition and to “live out the implications of our dignity as deified children of the Father.”[2] Now don’t get me wrong, divinization doesn’t mean that we become objects of worship—"only God is Divine by nature; we are divinized by adoption.”[3] It’s only in Jesus that we can attain the true, divinized state that God intends for us. That’s why we turn to Jesus to show us how.

          Jesus came to teach us, through his example, how to live as God intended us to live—how to live like gods. We’re called to imitate him, which, in the simplest terms, means that we’re called to be good. Now, being good doesn’t sound so hard, and it shouldn’t, because we were created to be good. It’s our nature to be good. But let’s make sure we understand what we mean by good. The word Jesus uses for “good in today’s Gospel, kalos in the original Greek, is more nuanced than its English translation. Kalos implies a goodness that’s also charming, lovely, and noble. So the Good Shepherd that Jesus is, which we’re called to imitate, isn’t a clean your room, pay your taxes, and eat your broccoli kind of good shepherd. It’s much more than that. It’s a charming, lovely, noble shepherd, like Jesus. We’re called to be god-like shepherds, shepherds who give ourselves unconditionally for the well-being of others, shepherds who are willing to lay down our lives for our flock.

          Jesus’ definition of good certainly ups the ante, but it’s not out of our reach. We witness and experience the unconditional love of charming, lovely, noble good shepherds all the time—just think of the countless healthcare workers, first responders, and military personnel who put their lives at risk every day to protect ours. I bet that each one of us can think of people in our lives whose charming, lovely, noble goodness has changed us for the better, and changed us for good. These people leave their hand prints on our hearts. I’d also bet that each of us can think of people in our lives whom we love unconditionally, for whom we’d freely lay down our lives. Sure, there are wicked people in the world—Jesus warns us about them in today’s Gospel—but human nature is fundamentally good and destined for so much more. With Jesus’ help, divinization isn’t as hard as it may seem. We naturally imitate the good characteristics of those we love, and in sharing that love with others unconditionally, we not only honor and imitate the people who’ve loved us unconditionally, we honor and imitate Jesus and become like God in the process.

          The challenge for us, then, is to expand our flock. We can all think of a few people whom we love unconditionally, but Jesus, the Good Shepherd, loves every human being unconditionally. Admittedly, that’s not as easy. Some people are hard to love at all, let alone unconditionally, but these are the people who need our love the most. We learn how to be good and how to love, when we experience the goodness and love of God through the goodness and love others. The sad fact is that people who turn to evil ways probably haven’t experienced, or haven’t allowed themselves to experience, the goodness and love of others. Think about it, a common characteristic of the poor souls who commit the most heinous crimes is that they’re loners and outcasts who felt rejected by their communities. So if we want to be good shepherds, if we want to be like God, we need to find the sheep “that do not belong to this fold,” and welcome them into our flock with unconditional love, just like Jesus does.

          Elphaba is one of those poor souls. After a series of well-intended mishaps, Elphaba is cast out of Oz and dubbed the Wicked Witch of the West. That beautiful song I mentioned earlier comes at a very sad point in the musical, the moment when Glinda and Elphaba realize that they can no longer be friends (at least publicly) because Glinda chooses to be good, while Elphaba embraces wickedness. I won’t spoil the end of the musical for you but suffice it to say that good always triumphs over evil, and that we should never discount the positive impact a good shepherd can have on another. Like everything in Christianity, following the path of divinization, is our choice. With the help of Jesus, we can all be charming, lovely, noble good shepherds who leave our hand print on the hearts of all we love. And in doing so, they and we, will be changed for the better, and changed for good.

Readings: Acts 4: 8-12; Psalm 1181 John 3:1-2; John 10:11-18

---

[1] Catechism of the Catholic Church, 460.

[2] Godfrey Diekmann, quoted in Robert Barron, “You’re Holier Than You Know,” Our Faith, US Catholic (July 24, 2008), https://uscatholic.org/articles/200807/youre-holier-than-you-know/.

[3] Joe Heschmeyer, “What Eye Has Not Seen: Divinization and the Saints,” Word on Fire (May 3, 2017, https://www.wordonfire.org/resources/blog/what-eye-has-not-seen-divinization-and-the-saints/18611/.

 

The Thrill of Discovery: An Easter Homily

          One of my favorite scenes from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, the Gene Wilder version, not the creepy Johnny Depp version, is when the children first enter the Chocolate Room. You remember it, Willy Wonka leads the children and their parents to a tiny door at the end of a shrinking hallway. After playing a few bars from Mozart to disengage the musical lock, the entire wall opens to a world of pure imagination—lollipop flowers, meringue mushroom caps, candy canes, gummy bears, and jelly beans growing on trees, and, of course, my favorite: a chocolate waterfall flowing into a chocolate stream. What I love so much about this scene, aside from all the candy, is the genuine, spontaneous expressions on the children’s faces. You see, the actors hadn’t been in the Chocolate Room before; they’re experiencing it for the first time as we see it in the movie. So what we witness is the unvarnished thrill of discovery. That thrill is what Easter’s all about.

          Christianity is a religion of discovery. Our story begins with the discovery of God dwelling among us when the shepherds and the magi find the Christ child in the manger. We discover that Jesus can cure the sick, heal the lame, and forgive the sinner in his countless miracles. We discover that the Messiah isn’t the valiant warlord that people thought he would be, but a humble servant who would freely suffer and die for our sins. Yet, the most thrilling discovery of all is the empty tomb, which is met with three very different reactions in today’s Gospel.

          We can certainly understand why Mary’s so upset when she arrives to find an empty tomb; she thinks someone’s stolen Jesus’ body. And while the text doesn’t tell us what Peter’s thinking, it suggests a sense of bewilderment that we can understand too: if the body was stolen, why are the burial cloths left behind and the head covering neatly folded and set aside? But the disciple who arrives first, the one whom Jesus loved, reacts differently: he sees and believes. Just imagine the thrill of discovery he experienced upon realizing that Jesus rose from the dead.

          So how come the beloved disciple sees and believes, and Mary and Peter don’t? Well, they’re all looking at the same facts, but with different eyes. The beloved disciple sees with Easter eyes, the eyes of faith. As Saint Paul tells us in our second reading, all who are baptized in Christ “are meant to see life from the perspective of being ‘seated at the right hand of God.’”[1] That means seeing through Jesus’ eyes—the eyes of perfect faith. In baptism, we all got a golden ticket—an invitation into a remarkable, unimaginable way of life. This new way of living isn’t locked behind a factory gate or limited to some far-off land in another dimension. The Kingdom of God isn’t “something to be waited for in the end, it’s something to be [discovered] and lived out every day.”[2] Or, as Willy Wonka would say: “If you want to view paradise, simply look around and view it.”

          I know what you’re thinking. Paradise? Really? We’re stuck in a pandemic, isolated from family and friends, nearly suffocated daily by incessant mask-wearing, and experiencing serious illness, unemployment, anxiety, and depression as a result. Can’t God do better than this? Well, he has, and the empty tomb is proof. You’ll recall that the world God created was perfect, but human sin messed it up. That didn’t stop God, though. God sent his only Son to free us from the bonds of sin and death so that we could live in the peace of God’s Kingdom forever. The empty tomb means that, no matter what challenges you may face in this world, you can live in happiness, too, “like the Oompa Loompa doompadee do.” Good luck dislodging that ear-worm today.

So, where’s God’s Kingdom among us? It’s right here just waiting for us to discover it.

+ God’s Kingdom is in the loving care of a parent for her young child and a child for his aging parent.

+God’s Kingdom is in the heroic self-giving service of countless healthcare workers, first-responders, and military personnel who risk their lives to protect ours.

+ God’s Kingdom is in the passionate cries of all who fight for justice and peace, work to protect God’s creation, and promote the God-given dignity of every human life.

+ And God’s Kingdom is right here at Mass, where we come join with all the angels and Saints to offer praise and thanksgiving for Jesus’ sacrifice and real presence among us.

The proof of God’s Kingdom is all around us, especially in our most challenging times. Of course, the fullness of God’s Kingdom, a life free of all pain and sorrow, will come at the end of time, but if we look with the eyes of faith, we’ll discover that it’s right here, right now, too.

          How do we see with the eyes of faith? Well, “only a personal encounter with Jesus can bring about Easter faith.”[3] Take a long walk on a quiet trail to pray with him. Read a short Bible passage every day to hear his voice. Come to Mass to worship him. Jesus is really present in creation, in Scripture, and in a privileged way in the sacraments. If we want to discover his real presence in our lives, deepen our relationship with him, and see with the eyes of faith, we need to spend time with him.

Spending time with Jesus helps us discover something about ourselves, too. We learn from him who we’re really supposed to be, and by contrast, who we’re not supposed to be. Jesus helps us root out the Augustus Gloops, Veruca Salts, Violet Beauregardes, and Mike Teevees in all of us, and he shows us how to be kind, giving, and loving, like Charlie Bucket.

          While others on the Chocolate Factory tour express doubt and disbelief at every turn, Charlie experiences the thrill of discovery. Look at his face when he finds the golden ticket, steps into the Chocolate Room, plucks a candy cane off a tree, and licks the fruit-flavored wallpaper. But nothing beats the look on his face when he learns that he’s won the Chocolate Factory, simply for being the compassionate, selfless, honest person that he is. Charlie sees the world through Easter eyes, through the eyes of faith, and he lives a wonderful life because of it, notwithstanding the tremendous hardships he and his family have undergone. Just imagine the thrill of discovery we can experience if we learn to see the world through Jesus’ eyes. Charlie inherited a Chocolate Factory. We’ll inherit the Kingdom of God. Happy Easter!

 Readings: Acts 10:34a, 37-43; Psalm 118; Colossians 3:1-4; John 20:1-9

---

[1] Catherine Cory et al., Workbook for Lectors, Gospel Readers, and Proclaimers of the Word: 2021, Year B (Chicago: Liturgy Training Publications, 2021), 160.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Francis Martin and William M. Wright IV, The Gospel of John, Catholic Commentary on Sacred Scripture (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker Publishing Group, 2015), 331.

Listen to Him! - Homily for the Second Sunday of Lent, Year B

 

          If you had asked me 30 years ago what I’d be doing today, I would’ve told you that I’d be President of the United States. Politics was my passion and my lifelong dream up to that point. But over time, I realized that I’m not cut out for politics. I don’t have the stomach for it, and that realization led to one of the most anxious and depressing times of my life. Politics was my goal, my purpose, a calling that gave meaning to my life. Then it was gone, and I found myself untethered, adrift, and confronted by those vexing questions that haunt human existence: Why am I here? What’s my purpose? What does God have planned for me? I struggled with those questions for a couple of years, but, in my restlessness, I also discovered a valuable skill: I learned to pay attention to God’s movements in my life. I learned to listen to him, which sounds a lot like the message from today’s readings.

          The story of Abraham and Isaac is undoubtedly a story about “heroic fidelity to God’s will.”[1] Heroic, yes, faithful, sure, but let’s face it, it’s bizarre and hardly the model of parental responsibility. The same God “that had said, ‘Your wife Sarah shall bear you a son, and you shall name him Isaac,’ also said, ‘Take your son, your only son Isaac, whom you love, and go to the land of Moriah, and offer him there as a burnt offering.’”[2] As outrageous as God’s edict seems, what strikes me most about this text is Abraham’s silence. He never protests or complains. He never begs God to rescind that dreadful mandate, like we’d expect any good parent to do. Why not? Well, I think he’s silent because he’s listening. He’s waiting for God’s next instruction.

Why do I think that? Two reasons: First, the lawyer in me can’t help but point out the loophole: God never tells Abraham to kill his son; he tells Abraham to offer Isaac as a holocaust. I think Abraham understands that, so he’s listening for God to invoke the loophole. I base my second reason on a line from the middle of the story that we don’t hear in this morning’s passage. Isaac asks Abraham where the sheep is for the sacrifice, and Abraham answers, “God will provide the sheep for the burnt offering” (Gen. 22:8). Abraham trusts that God will provide a sheep in Isaac’s place.

Why is Abraham so trusting of God? Well, he’s spent a good part of his life listening to God, and things worked out pretty well for him. The God who commands has filled Abraham’s life with blessings, so Abraham understands that God has his best interests at heart. Abraham has learned to trust God,[3] and his demeanor shows it. Any parent told to offer up her child as a sacrifice would be utterly distraught at the mere suggestion. Yet, Abraham displays a calm, quiet confidence that can only be explained by unflinching faith that God will keep his promises and that God will provide. He developed that faith by listening.

Our reading from Genesis teaches us that listening to God helps us learn to trust God and leads us to the blessings that God promises. Scripture assures us that God always delivers on his promises, and our Psalmist and Saint Paul unabashedly testify to the all-conquering power of God’s love for us that stops at nothing. But sometimes it’s hard to understand what God’s doing and why. We humans like clarity and certainty. We’re hard-wired to try to make sense of the world, to find meaning in it,[4] and when we can’t, we get anxious and even depressed. Fortunately for us, God has filled creation with meaning. We find that meaning in Jesus Christ.

Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. In Jesus, we find the meaning of life and our meaning in life. That’s why God tells us to listen to him in our Gospel. Jesus tells us that we’re meant to be reconciled with God, and he shows us how. Jesus tells us that we’re meant to love God and our neighbor, and he shows us how. Jesus tells us that we’re meant to take up our crosses and follow him so we, too, can be transfigured in divine glory, and he shows us how. Listening to Jesus doesn’t spare us from suffering here on earth—there’s no Easter Sunday without a Good Friday—but it does help us find meaning in our lives, meaning “that is profound, and ultimate, and stable no matter what may happen.”[5]

I think we can agree that it’s hard to make sense of a global pandemic and the unprecedented isolation that comes with it. We’re cut off from the very people and activities that give meaning to our lives, and we’re suffering for it. A survey last May shows that 28 percent of adults are experiencing anxiety, while 24 percent are showing signs of depression.^[6] We’re facing a mental health crisis that has reached our parish, as well. So, first and foremost, let me say that if you’re suffering from anxiety or depression, please seek professional help. Then, remember that Christianity has something to offer, too—Jesus Christ.

God sent his beloved Son as a balm to soothe the anguish of anxiety and a light to shine through the darkness of depression. It’s easy to think of Jesus only in terms of his heavenly glory, but God is really present on the cross, too,[7] where Jesus’ transfigured glory is joined eternally to human suffering. Listening to Jesus joins our suffering to his; it reveals God’s comforting presence among us; and it anchors us to the eternal glory that awaits us.

We need to listen to him, and, believe it or not, this second Lent during a pandemic offers unique opportunities to do so. Our isolation, though difficult, gives us time and space to slow down and listen for God’s still, small voice. The Lenten disciplines of prayer, fasting, and almsgiving help us empty ourselves of self so we can be filled with the inspiration of the Holy Spirit. Jesus speaks to each of us all the time in Scripture, prayer, the Sacraments, and every corner of creation. If we listen to him, we will find meaning in our lives and the calming, trustworthy assurance that God keeps his promises, even in a global pandemic.

That’s what happened with me. Once I let go of the political career I knew I’d never have, I became open to new possibilities. I reflected on Scripture; I read great books; and I took long walks along quiet, wooded trails, rosary in hand, just to listen for whatever God might say. The more I listened, the more I realized that the same God-given qualities that I thought were leading me into politics would be useful in ministry, too. After a lot of listening, I heard God’s call to the diaconate, and what a blessing it’s been—most of the time. Listening to Jesus has worked out pretty well for me, too. It brings me great joy, helps me bear my crosses, and leads me to the good that only God can bring out of every evil. Most importantly, listening to Jesus helps me find meaning in my life that’s profound and ultimate and stable. So trust me when I say, “Listen to him.”

Readings: Lectionary 26: Genesis 22:1-2, 9a, 10-13, 15-18; Psalm 116:10, 15, 16-17, 18-19; Romans 8:31b-34; Mark 9:2-10

---

[1] Jeffrey Cole, ed., The Didache Bible (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2014), 27n. 

 [2] Barbara Brown Taylor, When God Is Silent (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, Inc., 1998), 60-61.

[3] Terence E. Fretheim, “The Book of Genesis,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 1, General and Old Testament Articles, Genesis, Exodus, Leviticus, ed. Bruce C. Birch et al. (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994), 495.

 [4] Eric Klinger, “The Search for Meaning in Evolutionary Goal-Theory Perspective and Its Clinical Implications,” in The Human Quest for Meaning, ed. Paul T. P. Wong (New York: Routledge, 2012), 31.

 [5] Charles Hefling, Why Doctrines, 2nd ed. (Chestnut Hill, MA: The Lonergan Institute, 2000), 20.

 [6] National Center for Health Statistics, Early Release of Selected Mental Health Estimates Based on Data from the January-June 2019 National Health Interview Survey, May 2020, https://www.cdc.gov/nchs/data/nhis/earlyrelease/ERmentalhealth-508.pdf.

 [7] Pheme Perkins, “The Gospel of Mark,” in The New Interpreter’s Bible, vol. 8, New Testament Articles, Matthew, Mark, ed. Marion L. Soards et al. (Nashville: Abingdon Press, 1994), 632.