Late last month, I brought my car to a Chevy dealership for some routine servicing. As I got out of the car, I was greeted by an employee who said he had a question for me. He wanted to know how the stone was moved away from the tomb. His reference of course was to Jesus’ tomb. I told him that the moved stone signaled the Resurrection had occurred.

In today’s gospel, Saint John describes for us how Mary Magdalene came to the tomb early in the morning – while it was still dark. (cf. Jn 20:1) Despite the darkness, she saw that the stone was removed from the tomb. (cf. Jn 20:1)

The moved stone is not insignificant, I contend. It is interesting to note, for example, that when the Risen Lord appears to the apostles in the upper room, He passes right through the locked doors. (cf. Jn 20:19) He obviously could have done the same with the stone at His burial place – pass right through it. Nevertheless, our text says only that the stone was removed.

We can figure on two reasons for the stone in front of the sepulcher. One is given by the Pharisees and chief priests: “that the grave be secured . . . lest his disciples come and steal him.” (Matt 27:64) The other reason of course has to do with health. Like Lazarus who had been dead for four days, there would be a stench. (cf. Jn 11:39)

We have no way of knowing the precise dimensions of the stone at Jesus’ tomb. Nevertheless, we can presume it was very large and that it would require a team of men, perhaps even having to use an animal with ropes to re-locate the stone.

A very large stone imposes restrictions, it inhibits you from moving about freely and functions just as bars do in a prison. You are confined to a prescribed place and there you remain until someone removes the impediment.

A very large stone at the entrance to Jesus’ tomb was put there by men – sinful men, you and me. And there is only One who can move it and that is God. The scribes and Pharisees were right: “[O]nly God can forgive sins.” (Mk 2:7) But they were wrong about Jesus: He is not a blasphemer. (cf. Mk 14:64)

The Son not only forgives our sins, He has also conquered death. When Jesus first said that He has overcome death, many of His listeners did not accept it and they walked away in protest. (cf. Jn 6:66) The apostles, though, remained with the Lord on this occasion because they knew Jesus had the words of eternal life. (cf. Jn 6:68)

Jesus has the words of eternal life because He is eternal life. (cf. Jn 11:25) If anyone eats the Lord’s flesh and drinks His blood, the Lord will raise him up. (cf. Jn 6:54) The Eucharist is thus the gateway to eternal life, and no stone – however large – can keep the forgiven sons and daughters of God from delighting in the risen life of Christ.

He who knew no sin was made sin for us, says Saint Paul in the New Testament. (cf. 2 Cor. 5:21) With this expression, the apostle describes what Jesus does to make us righteous before God. (cf. 2 Cor. 5:21) Making use of a similar irony and paradox, Saint Peter proclaims in a post-Resurrection confession of faith. “He is the stone rejected by you, the builders, which has become the cornerstone.” (Acts 4:11)

We have built for death and we have used stones of mortality by our sinning. Jesus has reversed this pattern by His Resurrection. In Him, the destroyed temple (cf. Jn 2:19) has been astonishingly re-made. Our bodies, in imitation of His, can be gloriously transformed. (cf. Phil 3:21) In the Risen Lord, we have become temples of the Holy Spirit.

This Easter, Christ comes to us, a living stone. (cf. 1 Pt 2:4) Here, at this Eucharist, like at our Baptism, we are being built into a spiritual house. (cf. 1 Pt 2:5) In the household of God (cf. Eph 2:19), all that we are and all that we do is inexorably related to the Holy Eucharist. It is the Lord’s sacramental presence which forms and shapes us inwardly, ratifying our identity as the sons and daughters of our heavenly Father before any other allegiance.

“In my Father’s house,” Jesus tells the apostles at the First Eucharist, “there are many dwelling places.” (Jn 14:2) Even if we bristle under the Father’s headship and throw off the easy yoke of our dwelling with God (cf. Matt 11:30), our status as sons and daughters remains intact because of what Jesus accomplished through the sacrifice of His life upon the altar of the Cross. He has reconciled us with the Father, sealing the covenant in His blood. It is the memorial of the Lord’s passion and Resurrection, the Holy Eucharist, which guarantees our access to the richness of the Father’s mercy. (cf. Eph 2:4)

Who, then, would ever want to stay away from such a splendid thing as the Eucharist? We could stay away if we prefer isolation and withdrawal over union and intimacy and fear and loneliness over trust and solitude. The Risen Lord, though, has conferred a matchless power on union, intimacy, trust and solitude and defeated the enemies of isolation, withdrawal, fear and loneliness. This great movement in history began when the stone was moved out of the way on that first Easter Sunday.

Praised be the Risen Christ!

Solemnity of the Resurrection
Acts 10:34a,37-43; Col 3:1-4; Jn 20:1-9
April 8, 2012

Share/Bookmark

Growing up, we get advice all the time and from many different quarters, too. Some of the advice is good, and some of it is, well, not so good. A piece of good advice is to defer a decision until the emotion of the moment has passed. If we postpone a decision from the time when emotions are running high until later when we are calm, it increases the likelihood of a better quality of decision and a more favorable outcome for us.

I am thinking of two examples which support the eminently trustworthy advice of holding off a decision until after the emotion has passed. The first concerns an athlete, one who has not played for several consecutive games – he’s not left the bench, he’s not left the dugout. In a fit of frustration, he takes himself to the coach or manager’s office and announces that he is quitting. After he has handed in his uniform and is away from the team, a few of his former teammates go down with injuries. The opportunity to get off the bench or out of the dugout had finally come, but it is missed. A hasty, imprudent decision had seen to that missed opportunity. The second concerns an employee who has been trying for a promotion. After not getting it, he informs his boss that he is resigning his position. Weeks later – on the sidelines and without a regular paycheck – the unemployed man learns that another position had opened up in the company, a job more attractive than the last one and one for which he is even better qualified. It too was a missed opportunity. And, once again, a hasty, imprudent decision was responsible.

We ought not to let our emotions get the better of us. But, obviously, they sometimes do. We usually regard these situations in life – when our emotions are running high – as not having much potential for placing us in communion with the Lord or deepening our communion with Him. But perhaps then we underestimate them.

God is able to use the immediacy of events in our lives to elicit from us a commitment of heroic proportions. The immediacy of our lives includes upheaval and turmoil, conditions  created by events in which we are caught up to one degree or another. The immediacy of our lives includes conflict and anxiety, antithetical to the serenity and peace we normally associate with right dispositions for prayer.

The first reading at mass today comes from the Book of Esther, an Old Testament book which we are not accustomed to hearing from with any regularity at the liturgy. It concerns, not surprisingly, a certain Queen Esther. She is a genuinely remarkable figure, having succeeded with her uncle Mordecai in staving off Jewish destruction at the hands of Israel’s enemies. Queen Esther is thus rightly praised as a deliverer of the Chosen People. Yet, despite her exalted status as a queen, she still exhibits a very common touch in her reaction to things.

The sacred author describes her as being “seized with mortal anguish.” (Est C:12) We might liken this reaction of hers to being at our wit’s end, utterly distressed and distraught. Given this interior state, we are amazed that she still “has recourse to the Lord.” (Est C:12) We are told further that she lays prostrate with her handmaids all day long and prays to God. (cf. Est C:14) She begs the Lord for assistance as she laments being left all alone. (cf. Est C:14) She knows of course that the Lord will not leave her an orphan. (cf. Est C:23) And Yahweh does indeed vindicate Queen Esther’s faith with a victory over Israel’s enemies, resulting in the Feast of Purim which continues to be observed in our own time by pious Jews.

We started our Lenten journey this year as we do every year with an invitation to pray. (cf. Matt 6:6-8) Accompanying the injunctions to fast and to give alms, our prayer this holy season is to strengthen our communion with Christ and fortify us for the scandal of the Cross. When it comes to prayer, we acknowledge that certain interior dispositions are properly salutary. Who doesn’t want to be recollected in advance?  Who doesn’t want to be serene in the Lord’s presence? But do these conditions always prevail in our hearts and minds? Most assuredly, they do not.
This week at the liturgy, we have already listened to a few texts pertaining to the prayer of Christ’s disciples. On Tuesday, the gospel revealed Jesus teaching the disciples to pray, going so far as to indicate words that please God. We ought, He said, to address God as “Our Father.” (cf. Matt 6:9) As the Lord forgives us our trespasses, Jesus instructed, so must we forgive those who have trespassed against us. (cf. Matt 6:12) And we cannot overlook the gospel of this mass when Jesus says, “Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.” (Matt 7:7) While we realize that petition is certainly not the only kind of prayer there is, it remains an esteemed part of our patrimony of prayer. Why else would we approach the God of fullness if not to request from Him the good things that He surely wants to give us? (cf. Matt 7:11)

As important as these passages are, by far the most effective teaching that Jesus gives on prayer is the example of His own prayer. On the eve of His passion, while in the Garden of Gethsemane, Saint Luke records how Jesus prayed, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me.” (cf. Lk 22:42) There is no mistaking that this moment is full of emotion for Jesus – heart-wrenching emotion, for sure. And, clearly, Jesus cannot put off a decision on His mission to a more serene time, a less dispassionate moment. Yet, in the turbulence and turmoil of His passion, Jesus still prays, “not my will but yours be done.” (Lk 22:42)

In conflict and upheaval, Jesus’ communion with the Father in the Holy Spirit is not undercut. This is the challenge presented to us: In the conflict and upheaval of our lives, will our communion with the Lord be weakened or severed? Or, will the immediacy of heavily emotional moments find us being faithful unto the madness of the Cross on the model of the Master?

Thursday of the First Week of Lent
Esther C: 12; 14-16; 23-25; Matt 7:7-12
March 1, 2012

Share/Bookmark

[This exquisite homily was written before Lent began, but with Msgr. Batule's kind permission, we share it with you here.]

Tuesday of the Sixth Week
Jam 1:12-18; Mk 8:14-21
February 14, 2012
Memorial of Saints Cyril and Methodius

The Crucible of Choosing

In a little bit more than a week, Lent will be here for us. It’s a stark season for sure, but one that’s very vivid at the same time. Its vividness is tied to the fact that many of us give things up as a penitential discipline. In most cases, though, the “giving up” is temporary. We return to regular eating patterns, viewing patterns and other such things just as soon as we mark Christ’s victory over sin and death at Easter.

Along with giving things up, there is of course the struggle to do just that. We wage an internal battle, fending off urges and impulses to use what we pledged not to use on Ash Wednesday. How fitting then is the gospel for the First Sunday of Lent we hear no matter the year on the calendar! The Synoptic Gospels – Matthew, Mark and Luke – pretty much convey the same material concerning the temptation of Jesus at the start of His public ministry. This year, being Cycle B, we will listen to Saint Mark’s version. It’s a typically sparse rendering by the evangelist – just three verses in the lectionary and the Bible. (cf. Mk 1: 12-15) And if you take away the fact that the text in question includes Jesus going to Galilee to begin His public ministry (cf. verses 14-15), you’re really only dealing with a two line description of the temptation by Saint Mark. Not long, we would have to concede, but long enough. It’s long enough to incorporate the irreducible basics related to the temptation. We find that Jesus is tempted in the desert, that He is in that locale for forty days and that Satan is the Tempter. (cf. Mk 1:12-13)

The gospel for the First Sunday of Lent gives us specificity and concreteness. It gives us the answers to the questions we would ask if we were analyzing the incident, say, forensically. It satisfies our curiosity involving who, when and where of the case in question. It doesn’t offer us any commentary about the nature of temptation and why temptation is such a powerful force in our lives. The word of God does indeed provide that data for us, but we have to go elsewhere to get it.

Yesterday, we started reading at daily mass from the Letter of Saint James. We will continue to listen to selections from this New Testament book right on up through Tuesday of next week, the day before Ash Wednesday. In today’s first reading, the sacred author treats temptation in the first part of the passage. He gives us what I would regard as the etiology of temptation, and this neatly complements the specificity and concreteness of the evangelist. The etiology gives us the layers behind what is observable. When we peel back the layers, we’re able to get at the nature of temptation, we’re able to appreciate why it is such a potent force in human endeavors.

Saint James writes that desire conceives and brings forth sin. And sin, when it reaches maturity, gives birth to death. (cf. Jam 1:15) There you have it! Disordered desire is at the very foundation of temptation. And that’s just the beginning. It grows and increases until it reaches a mature stage, comments the sacred author. And in its fullness, the temptation eventually metastasizes and results in death for the one who is tempted. I like to refer to this phenomenon as the trajectory of tragedy. To use another image, there’s an arc to temptation. It rises not to glory but falls to misery and heartache.

Jesus is without sin but He is the Master of choosing. No matter what the condition is, He chooses the Father and the Father’s will. (cf. Jn 5:30) That is how He is triumphant in the desert. That is the secret of His success. And it can be ours too if we let it.

This is a period of transition for many of us here at the Seminary of the Immaculate Conception. How do we successfully negotiate this juncture in our lives? Let me suggest for our consideration today someone who might serve as a guide, someone quite adept at following wherever the Lord was leading him. I am referring to Jean Marie Lustiger.

Born in 1926 into a Jewish family in France, Jean Marie at the age of 13 decided to seek Baptism. He was baptized a Catholic in 1940. Eventually discerning a vocation to the priesthood, Jean Marie was ordained in 1954. He later was made a bishop, having served first at Orleans and then transferred from there to be the Archbishop of Paris. In 1983, Pope John Paul II created him a cardinal. With family members killed by the Nazis in concentration camps and having a father who once tried to get his son’s baptism annulled, Jean Marie’s life was filled with surprises and great drama. In a volume titled Choosing God, Chosen By God, Lustiger told the story of his own life in a series of interviews. His keen sense that the Lord had chosen him began with Israel’s election, he confessed. But he believed Christ to be the Messiah, the hope of man’s redemption.

Surrounded by uncertainty and not knowing where we should go next, the Lord calls out to each one of us. We can let go and trust because of the example of the apostles who took up with Jesus, believing as Andrew did, that he had found the Messiah. (cf. Jn 1:41) We choose God because He has first chosen us. His choice of us as servants builds confidence that we can choose the Lord ahead of disordered affection, before uneducated desire. Temptation affords us the opportunity to be firm and resolute in where we are going in life. When we choose the Lord and His Kingdom, it sets us not on the trajectory of tragedy but on the road to Jerusalem. In our own crucible of choosing, we are renewed and emboldened by Jesus’ desire there “not my will but yours be done.” (Lk 22:42)

Share/Bookmark