Homilies – Page 4 – Tony Lusvardi, S.J.

Simeon and Anna, prophets of hope: homily for the Presentation of the Lord

Ludovico Carracci, Presentation of Jesus in the Temple, 1613-1616

Homily for the Presentation of the Lord (C)

Simeon and Anna appear so briefly in the Gospel that we might almost miss them. They are a part of the story of the life of Jesus for just a few minutes, yet the few words that Luke writes about them reveal two remarkable lives. It is especially moving, I think, to reflect on those lives in this Jubilee year because in Simeon and Anna we feel the challenge of hope.

Neither Simeon nor Anna, it seems, lived an easy life. There is a tiredness in Simeon’s words after he takes the baby Jesus in his arms: “Now, Master, you may let your servant go in peace.” Simeon had received a special revelation that he would not see death before he had seen the Messiah, and his words hint that it might not have been easy to hang on until that moment. Perhaps you know of friends or relatives who have held on to life to see one special event—a wedding or a graduation or the birth of a child—and then let go soon after. I think of a dear friend whose grandfather passed away minutes after watching his ordination, and I think there is something of that letting go—with gratitude for one last precious gift—in Simeon’s words.

But Simeon, too, still has something to give in that moment. Today his words form part of the Church’s Night Prayer, and his prophecy to Mary would stay with her in the decades ahead. To the blessing he received, Simeon responded with a blessing.

There is something moving, too, about what just a glance of God’s glory means for Simeon. After all, he sees the Messiah only as a baby. He will never hear the Sermon on the Mount, see Jesus cure the sick or raise Lazarus; he will never receive the sacraments; and, though his words to Mary allude to the crucifixion, he himself will not be there. His eyes do see the salvation God has prepared in the sight of all the peoples—because salvation is Jesus Christ—but only just barely. And that’s enough. Jesus, before he can speak, before he can walk—but present—is enough. Simeon has lived his life in hope for the moment that we see in the Gospel, and yet that hope fulfilled is itself a promise of more to come. He is led from hope into hope, I suppose, much as our celebration of the Eucharist leads us to hope for the banquet promised us in heaven.

The uniqueness of Christian Baptism: homily for the Baptism of the Lord

Homily for the Baptism of the Lord (C)

Baptism of the Lord from “Praznicar,” Romanian, 19th century

Today’s readings use some artful cinematography. Today we celebrate the Baptism of the Lord. Our readings give us scenes before baptism and immediately after baptism, but they cut away so that we don’t see the baptisms. This montage of before and after shots nonetheless serves to highlight the uniqueness of Christian baptism. Luke cuts from John the Baptist’s preaching to Jesus praying after his baptism. The Holy Spirit descends like a dove and a voice from heaven speaks to the Lord. The scene is obviously meant to show approval for Jesus’ baptism at the hands of John.

The scene chosen today from Acts of the Apostles is also meant to put the stamp of divine approval on baptism. To understand Peter’s words in the house of Cornelius, we need to remember the whole context of the chapter in which they occur, Acts 10. The scene unfolds in the earliest days of the Church when there was still doubt about who could belong to the Church: was the message of Jesus directed only to Jews or were all people called to Christianity? In Acts 10, the centurion Cornelius—a Roman, not a Jew—receives a vision that prompts him to call Peter to his house. At the same time, Peter receives a vision in which he’s told to eat all of the animals that Jewish dietary laws consider forbidden. The vision was not a marketing ploy for the pork and shellfish industry, but instead it ensured that Peter didn’t hesitate to go to a Gentile’s house when Cornelius’s servants came to find him. At Cornelius’s house Peter preached the message that we hear today. The word was sent to the Israelites, he says, but it was intended, as Isaiah prophesied in the first reading, “to bring forth justice to the nations,” in other words, to extend beyond Israel itself.

What we unfortunately don’t read today is what happens next. As if anyone missed the first several hints, the Holy Spirit descends on the people in Cornelius’s house, who begin to speak in tongues, and Peter says, “Can anyone forbid water for baptizing these people?” (Acts 10:47). God’s will is that baptism should be conferred on Gentiles as well as Jews and that all nations should enter the Church, even Roman centurions.

Now if you were a medieval theologian, who spent your days raising difficulties about sacramental theology, the story of Cornelius’s baptism might provoke another question: if the Holy Spirit had already descended on everyone in Cornelius’s household, why did they even need to be baptized? Isn’t getting the Holy Spirit the whole point of baptism? And once you’ve got the Holy Spirit, doesn’t the ceremony become redundant? If you remember from Matthew’s account of the baptism of Jesus, John the Baptist himself poses a similar question about the baptism of Jesus. “I need to be baptized by you,” he says. “Why do you come to me?” (Matt 3:4).

Look East! Homily for the Second Sunday of Advent

Homily for the Second Sunday of Advent (C)

“Look to my coming,” Gandolf tells Aragorn in the second installment of the Lord of the Ringstrilogy, The Two Towers. “At dawn on the fifth day, look east.” Those familiar with the story, know that Gandolf’s words come at a particularly dramatic moment in the epic, when the last holdouts of Rohan—one of the two remaining kingdoms of men not to succumb to the forces of evil—have retreated to their mountain stronghold, Helms Deep, and the walls of the fortress have begun to crumble, its gates to give way, and its doors to crack under the onslaught of a massive army sent by the turncoat wizard Saruman, who, seduced by power, has joined the forces of darkness. And as Aragorn, the king in exile, prepares for one final charge with what knights remain, he remembers the words of the faithful wizard Gandolf, who had left five days before to seek aid. “At dawn on the fifth day, look east.”

We read a similar instruction in the Book of Baruch, directed to the holy city, “Up, Jerusalem! Stand upon the heights; look to the east.” These words are echoed in the Advent hymn familiar to many of us, “People, Look East.” There is something primordial in this call, in the instinct to look in hope to the east. When I worked among the Lakota Sioux in South Dakota, I learned that in their traditional religion, east was the direction of prayer. I found some Lakota Christians very insistent on a Christian tradition—which I did not know about—of burying the dead facing east. The Christian tradition of prayer facing east goes back to the first centuries. St. Ambrose talks about catechumens, after their baptism, turning from the west to the east as a sign of the new orientation of their lives.

The Art of Waiting: Homily for the First Sunday of Advent

Basilica di Santa Maria Assunta, Torcello, Venice

Homily for the First Sunday of Advent (C)

One of the casualties of the smartphone revolution has been losing our ability to wait. Instead of waiting, we scroll. Losing the ability to wait may not seem a real loss, but I think it is. Scrolling and checking messages and adding new apps has not made me more productive. Instead, I’m more easily distracted and impatient. Inside our electronic cocoons, we miss the things that used to happen while we waited—people watching, striking up conversations, noticing the landscape from the window, wondering at it.

Today’s readings are about the art of waiting. But they warn us not to romanticize it. Times of waiting can be dangerous. Today’s Gospel identifies two dangers of waiting: anxiety and drowsiness.

The anxieties mentioned in the Gospel come from genuinely terrifying world events—“people will die of fright,” the Gospel warns—but also everyday anxieties that seem related to drowsiness. The context of today’s readings, of course, is the Lord’s second coming, when Jesus will return in awesome and awful judgment, remaking all reality. It may be that some of us are anxious about meeting Jesus because we’re afraid of that judgment. Paul warns the Thessalonians to conduct themselves to please God, as they have been taught. Advent is a time when the Church reminds us to examine our consciences, to make use of the sacrament of penance, to align our lives with Jesus’ teaching.

Finding hope in Jerusalem, Babylon, and Sweden: homily for the thirtieth Sunday on Ordinary Time

Homily for the 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Today I’m going to talk about Jerusalem, Babylon, and Sweden—all of them, in different ways, places of hope.

We are probably used to hearing messages of hope in church, so we could easily miss just how remarkable our first reading from the prophet Jeremiah really is. This particular message of hope, if placed in context, is as startling as stumbling upon a lush citrus grove in the Arabian desert. To appreciate the passage, it helps to remember a bit about the tragic and cantankerous life of Jeremiah. This is the prophet, after all, whose name gives us the literary term “jeremiad” to describe a long speech bitterly denuncing something or someone. In fact, the book of Jeremiah contains plenty of jeremiads. The prophet denounces the elite of Jerusalem for straying from the law revealed to them by Moses, for their petty idolatry and corruption, for their self-satisfaction and complacency. Their cowardly refusal to return to the faith of their ancestors has left the Kingdom of Judah weak and vulnerable to its enemies, Jeremiah warns, as had many prophets before him. What sets Jeremiah apart from these other prophets of gloom is that he tells Jerusalem’s rulers that they have ignored God’s message for too long, and now it’s too late. A superpower has risen in the East—Babylon—and nothing Judah’s rulers do now will stop it. It is better, Jeremiah warns, to surrender.

Jeremiah’s message—“you’ve been leading us in the wrong direction for a generation, and you can’t escape the consequences of your actions”—did not win him popularity. Judah’s rulers hired a more optimistic prophet, Hananiah, who delivered a message more to their liking. But a few pages before today’s first reading, Hananiah drops dead, a none-too-subtle sign that the Lord does not approve his message. As the Babylonians close in and a brutal siege begins, Jeremiah tells the people of Jerusalem, you will be defeated, your city destroyed, and then you will be dragged off into exile.

Homily for the Feast of St. Ignatius

The feast of St. Ignatius was back in July, of course, but I thought the reflections on discernment in my homily might be helpful in any season. Last year, I was asked for some thoughts on the process of communal discernment used by the Synod on Synodality. These reflections build on those observations.

Inigo the Pilgrim (2017), Church of St. Ignatius, Norwood, South Australia

You might have had the experience of the warning light on your dashboard coming on while you’re driving, signaling that you are low on gas, near the minimum. Here in South Dakota especially–where outside of the city gas stations can be few and far between–you don’t want to fall below that minimum. You might end up out in the cold or in this merciless heat—both dangerous circumstances—and in need of a good Samaritan to rescue you.

If you keep your tank filled, however, and don’t fall below the minimum, you can drive wherever you like. You just plug the destination into the GPS and go.

The warning light and the GPS are both helpful, but they serve different functions—the warning light tells us not to drop below the minimum and the GPS gives us directions. The readings for today’s feast of St. Ignatius, I think, point to a way of living the Christian faith that goes beyond the minimum.

If we think about the commandments, they are very useful for giving us the minimal rules of the road necessary to avoid an accident or a breakdown by the roadside. Because of this function, most of the commandments are written in a negative form—“Thou shall not…” Even those that aren’t prohibitions—“Keep holy the Sabbath” and “Honor thy father and mother”—set a minimum of necessary behaviors. Sunday Mass is the minimum necessary worship if we are to do justice to God, and fulfilling our family duties is the minimum necessary social obligation if we’re to maintain a functional social harmony.

But just doing the minimum isn’t enough to live a fulfilling life or to live a life of discipleship. If I put on my to-do list for tomorrow, “Don’t kill anyone, don’t commit adultery, don’t steal,” I’ll end up rather bored. The minimum tells us what to avoid, but not much of what to do.

Faithfully unfashionable: homily for the twenty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time

Homily for the 23rd Sunday of Ordinary Time (B)

Prophet Isaiah, Raphael (1511-2), Church of Sant’Agostino Rome

A mile or so from where I live in Rome is a street called Via dei Condotti; there you can find the stores of Armani, Tiffany’s, Gucci—the highest high-end designers. Sometimes I like to amuse myself by looking in the windows at the prices—a thousand dollars for a sweater, twelve hundred dollars for a necktie, twenty thousand dollars for a watch. Of course, many of the stores don’t list prices because if you have to ask, you can’t afford it. I’ve never gone inside any of these stores because they are usually guarded by a man with a shaved head, six inches taller than I am, with a black suit and a mouth that never smiles. In fact, I think they’ve had the facial muscles that allow you to smile surgically removed.

The owners of these stores would not be happy to read today’s Letter of St. James. James says: don’t favor a person with gold rings over a person in shabby clothes. Of course, sometimes shabby clothes are fashionable and expensive; having torn jeans means that you’re one of the cool kids. What’s in fashion always changes because it’s not based on anything real. A thousand dollar sweater won’t keep you any warmer than a thirty dollar sweater; a twenty thousand dollar Rollex tells the same time as my twenty dollar Timex. Fashions based on wealth, prestige, and the most up-to-date style are like the leaves that you see on the trees this September day; next month they’ll be a different color; a month after that, they’ll be gone.

Even though fashion and prestige aren’t based on anything true and lasting, they can be used to hurt people in some very real ways. I think of how hard it is for someone not to be one of the “cool kids” in middle school or high school. Adults are sometimes just as bad; I can remember from my time here on the reservation that sometimes people are looked down on for being “too Native”; other times they may be looked down on for “not being Native enough.” In either case, sometimes people can be treated quite unfairly.

Law and communion: homily for the twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time

Homily for the 22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

If you could pick eight of the Ten Commandments to follow and drop two, which would they be? What if you could keep six as commandments and downgrade four to recommendations? Perhaps you’re thinking, “I probably only need about five or so, but I know a lot of people who could use a few more, maybe 12 or 15 for them.” The Pharisees in the Gospel seem to have adopted this last strategy, and perhaps because of their bad example sometimes the very idea of law gets a bad rap. Didn’t Jesus teach grace rather than law, mercy instead of rules? Didn’t Jesus say, “All you need is love, love is all you need”?

Actually, that was the Beatles. Jesus said in the Sermon on the Mount: “Do not think that I have come to abolish the law or the prophets. I have come not to abolish but to fulfill. Amen, I say to you, until heaven and earth pass away, not the smallest letter or the smallest part of a letter will pass from the law.”

Basilica de Santo Nino, Cebu City, Philippines

Now it is true that, as in today’s Gospel reading, Jesus harshly criticizes a certain way of using the law as self-serving and hypocritical. So to be disciples of Jesus we need to think carefully about the role the law plays in salvation history and in our own lives of faith.

Today’s first reading from Deuteronomy makes clear that the law of Israel is God’s gift. It makes equally clear that no one but God may add to or subtract from what he commands. No matter how much we find the commandments hard to follow, no matter how old they are, no matter if we think we could attract crowds of new people to our Church by loosening the loopholes, only God can modify the law of God.

Sacraments of loyalty, marriage and Eucharist: homily for the twenty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time

Homily for the 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

Are there any Bears fans here? I have a question for you: if I reached into my wallet, how much money would I have to offer to get you to root for the Vikings? I know what you’re thinking: “You keep your wallet where it is, Father, because there ain’t enough money in the world to make me a Vikings fan.” Fair enough. I am a Notre Dame fan, and you could fill up the collection plate with hundred dollar bills, but you’d never get me to root for USC or Michigan.

Triumph of Faith over Idolatry, Jean-Baptistre Théodon, Church of the Gesù, Rome

In both cases, the reason why is loyalty. Each of today’s readings is about loyalty, though much more important types of loyalty than what we show our sports teams. When the first reading takes place, Joshua and the Israelites have spent their lifetime conquering the Promised Land after the death of Moses; here Joshua is an old man and he is putting a choice to the people. They’ve arrived, the land is theirs, and he tells them: Now you have to decide whom to serve. The God of our fathers Abraham and Moses got us here, and he has given us his law. Other nations have other gods, maybe with laws that aren’t so demanding. You are free to make a choice. You can serve whichever god you wish, Joshua says, but “as for me and my house, we will serve the Lord.”

And the people agree to serve the Lord. But if you continuing reading in the book of Joshua, you’ll see that Joshua asks the people a second time. Are you sure? Because if you agree to serve the Lord, then God will hold you to his law. You are free, but your choice is binding.

Choose life, South Dakota: homily for the twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Homily for the 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)

If there is one theme consistently present throughout the whole Bible, from the first chapter of Genesis to today’s Gospel, it is that God desires to give us life. When he reveals the commandments to Moses on Mount Sinai, he tells the people of Israel, “I have set before you life and death, the blessing and the curse. Choose life, then, that you and your descendants may live” (Dt 30:19). Today the Eucharist too is presented as life-giving: “The bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world” (Jn 6:51).

It is fitting that today’s readings would highlight God’s desire to give us life, because, as I mentioned last week, the bishops of South Dakota have asked us to speak these two Sundays about a particularly urgent social issue: a measure, Amendment G, has been placed on the ballot this November, which would add the right to abortion without significant limits to the South Dakota constitution. As I pointed out last week, Christianity is not a political program, and Catholics can disagree about most political issues while still remaining faithful to the principles of our faith. Amendment G, however, is impossible to reconcile with the fundamental principle that it is always wrong to deliberately kill an innocent human being.

This principle is something that both conservatives and liberals should be able to embrace. Conservatives emphasize the government’s duty to protect and not usurp individual rights, and without the right to life no other rights are possible. Even a libertarian “live and let live” philosophy only works if you let the other live. Take away the right to life and you have neither conservative government nor a free people, but the oppression of the weak.