Tony Lusvardi, S.J.

Seeing truly, judging clearly: homily for the eighth Sunday of Ordinary Time

Homily for the 8th Sunday of Ordinary Time (C)

St. Luke, 13th century, Old St. Peter’s, Rome

I have to admit that the opening of today’s first reading, “When a sieve is shaken, the husks appear; so do one’s faults when one speaks,” is not the most encouraging thing to read when one has to give a homily. Both the words of Sirach and Jesus’ sayings in the Gospel of Luke deal with what is inside a person and what becomes visible to others, what we see and what we don’t. The first reading is a warning about putting too much faith in outward appearances. Someone might have all the right credentials, but little wisdom; someone might repeat all the fashionable phrases, but say nothing of substance.

The test that Sirach proposes to separate the trustworthy from the slick shyster is tribulation. “As the test of what the potter molds is in the furnace, so in tribulation is the test of the just.” It is easy to follow Jesus when he tells us what we want to hear, less so when we might lose friends because of what he says. Fidelity doesn’t mean much when it comes without a cost. Imagine marriage vows modified to promise faithfulness “in good times but not bad, in health but not sickness, wherever I find my bliss.” It’s only when the going gets tough that faith, hope, and love show their worth.

Jesus adds another criterion for distinguishing the enduring truth from the well-dressed lie: you shall know the tree by its fruit. You may have heard people say, “It’s really what’s inside that counts.” Jesus pours a bit of cold water on such sentimentalism. If what’s inside produces thorns, then it can’t really be all that good. Again and again in different ways Jesus calls for the unity of what is inside with what is outside, opposing any division between interior and exterior religion—challenging us to confess his name with both our words and our deeds.

Jesus again and again challenges us to purity of heart, which means purity all the way through—in our thoughts and in our words, in what we do, and what we chose not to do. In the Beatitudes, Jesus promises that the pure in heart will see God. Sight, interestingly, is also at the center of today’s Gospel reading. The blind lead the blind into a pit, and we notice the splinter in our brother’s eye but not the beam in our own. But that image showing the absurdity of hypocrisy also comes with an instruction and a promise: “Remove the wooden beam… then you will see clearly.”

Screens & Sacraments: a response

Last week I was pleased to take part in a conference organized by at the Gregorian University’s Faculty of History and Culture and the Institute of Liturgy at the University of Santa Croce entitled L’edificio di culto e gli artisti: A 25 anni dal primo Giubileo degli Artisti (2000-2025). The theme was church architecture and art over the past 25 years. The conference brought together an impressive group of international architects, artists, and theologians.

My own rather modest contribution was to extend the reflection I began in November’s issue of First Things on “Screens and Sacraments.” The talk seemed to produce a good deal of agreement that we need to be more discerning in how we allow technology to intrude on our sacred spaces.

On a related note, I was also happy to read a quite generous response to my article from Kevin Martin of Raleigh, North Carolina in the January 2025 issue of First Things. He reports being “strong-armed against [his] better judgement into Zooming the liturgy during the first year of the pandemic,” but eventually abandoning the practice because it felt wrong for many of the reasons I discussed in my article. He wonders, however, if I do not concede too much by suggesting that it might be OK to continue to broadcast the Liturgy of the Word, while stopping at the Liturgy of the Eucharist.

It’s a thoughtful question. I’d begin by saying that I am by no means arguing that one must broadcast any form of worship, and I have no quarrel with the decision of Rev. Martin’s church to give up streaming altogether. At the same time, I’m not an absolutist when it comes to technology, and some of the goods that people claim from broadcast Masses are real. Sick parishioners in particular can be helped to pray by seeing images of the liturgy online and comforted by the sight of their home church and familiar faces. These might supplement pastoral outreach to the homebound, without replacing it. I’m a little more skeptical about the evangelical or formative value of e-liturgy, since I think its appeal is mainly to those who have already been sufficiently formed by real liturgy.

Baptism of desire and Christian Salvation: reviews and interview

A friend sent me this picture, which looks like a recipe for beating the midwinter blues if ever there was one. I’m pleased that a number of reviews of Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation have started to appear. And, though I haven’t seen them all–sometimes it takes a while for parcels and periodicals to arrive in Rome–it is humbling to see some really topnotch scholars engaging with my work. As far as I know, reviews have recently appeared in Antiphon, the Nouvelle Revue Théologique (in French), Hekima Review, Ephemerides Liturgicae (in Italian), and on João Vila-Chã’s page (in Portuguese). More news is collected here.

And in case you missed it in November, consider checking out my discussion of the book with Dr. Larry Chapp on his podcast Gaudiumetspes22.com. It was really an enjoyable interview, also available on YouTube:

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.

“Icons of Hope” in Rome

Last week I mentioned the Church of Sant’ Agnese in Agone, one of Rome’s architectural gems and a monument to the city’s martyrs.

The last time I visited Sant’Agnese, I found that the Church was hosting a special display for the Jubilee (until February 16) dedicated to the theme “Icons of Hope.” The display brings together a number of icons from the Vatican Museum.

Virgin Hodegetria, Ukrainian, 17th-18th century

The most moving piece in the exhibition had to be the Ukrainian Virgin Hodegetria (17th/18th century). The engraved silver on a wood panel has been damaged over time, but the icon is all the more hauntingly beautiful. The Virgin’s face is still clearly visible, her eyes clear and sad, the expression that of someone who has known suffering but lost none of her dignity.

It is, of course, impossible to view the icon and not see in it the image of the suffering of the Ukrainian people as the Russian assault on their country every day grows more cruel and barbaric. Last week I wrote about the courage of the martyrs. Ukraine’s defense of its freedom and right to exist as a country has perhaps stung the conscience of the world because, in a self-indulgent age, the country’s display of genuine courage is bracing. And as George Weigel has pointed out, “Ukraine is fighting for all of us.”

The display also contains icons from other eastern European countries–a sampling below.

The Church of Sant’Agnese in Agone

This week’s liturgical calendar includes two prominent–and very different– Roman martyrs. The first, St. Sebastian, a third century soldier originally from Milan, was sentenced to death after converting to Christianity. Tied to a column, he was shot through with arrows but miraculously survived and was nursed back to health by a Roman matron named Irene. He went right back to preaching and, after warning the Emperor Diocletian to repent–a gutsy move if there ever was one–was beaten to death and thrown into Rome’s sewers.

No less courageous, St. Agnes sought to dedicate her life entirely to God while very young. This meant refusing the advances of several powerful suitors, who were enraged by the rejection. Agnes’s pagan father sided with the suitors. She was humiliated, even dragged naked through the streets of Rome, burnt at the stake and when that failed–as with the first attempt to kill St. Sebastian–eventually beheaded.

The courage of such martyrs–one a solider, the other a mere girl, barely a teenager–is fundamental, I think, to appreciating the full significance of Christian faith in eternal life. At least some of the ennui that one can perceive in the Church over the past several decades perhaps comes from deemphasizing the witness of the martyrs just when we need it most.

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).

The Holy Name of Jesus – and the Society that bears it

In the liturgical calendar of the Society of Jesus, January 3 is the Solemnity of the Holy Name of Jesus, our titular feast. Toward the end of his life, the great American Jesuit theologian Avery Dulles gave a lecture entitled “The Ignatian Charism at the Dawn of the Twenty-First Century,” which I think is as relevant today as it was nearly two decades ago. Dulles’s gift as a theologian was to clarify complex issues and get at the heart of the matter. The talk can be found in the collection of Dulles’s McGinley Lectures given at Fordham, Church and Society. Here are the final three paragraphs in which Dulles reflects on the Jesuit charism today:

“The Society can be abreast of the times if it adheres to its original purpose and ideals. The term Jesuit is often misunderstood. Not to mention enemies for whom Jesuit is a term of opprobrium, friends of the Society sometimes identify the term with independence of thought and corporate pride, both of which Saint Ignatius deplored. Others reduce the Jesuit trademark to a matter of educational techniques, such as the personal care of students, concern for the whole person, rigor in thought, and eloquence of expression. These qualities are estimable and have a basis in the teaching of Saint Ignatius. But they omit any consideration of the fact that the Society of Jesus is an order of vowed religious in the Catholic Church. They are bound by special allegiance to the pope, the bishop of Rome. And above all, it needs to be mentioned that the Society of Jesus is primarily about a person: Jesus, the Redeemer of the world. If the Society were to lose its special devotion to the Lord (which, I firmly trust, will never happen) it would indeed be obsolete. It would be like salt that had lost its savor.

“The greatest need of the Society of Jesus, I believe, is to be able to project a clearer vision of its purpose. Its members are engaged in such diverse activities that its unity is obscured. In this respect the recent popes have rendered great assistance. Paul VI helpfully reminded Jesuits that they are are religious order, not a secular institute; that they are a priestly order, not a lay association; that they are apostolic, not monastic, and that they are bound to obedience to the pope, not wholly self-directed.

“Pope John Paul II, in directing the Jesuits to engage in the new evangelization, identified a focus that perfectly matches the founding idea of the Society. Ignatius was adamant in insisting that it be named for Jesus, its true head. The Spiritual Exercises are centered on the Gospels. Evangelization is exactly what the first Jesuits did as they conducted missions in the towns of Italy. They lived lives of evangelical poverty. Evangelization was the sum and substance of what Saint Francis Xavier accomplished in his arduous missionary journeys. And evangelization is at the heart of all Jesuit apostolates in teaching, in research, in spirituality, and in the social apostolate. Evangelization, moreover, is what the world most sorely needs today. The figure of Jesus Christ in the Gospels has not lost its attraction. Who should be better qualified to present that figure today than members of the Society that bears his name?”

Avery Cardinal Dulles, S.J.

November 29, 2006

The Vatican Nativity Scene, 2024

Merry Christmas to all! I am spending Christmas at the church of the Santa Vergine degli Angeli in Maracalagonis, Sardinia, where I was fortunate to spend Holy Week earlier this year.

Before I left Rome, I was able to check out this year’s Nativity scene in St. Peter’s Square, always a source of discussion (and sometimes critique) among Romans. (For comparison, here are pictures of the Vatican Nativity scenes from the past two years: 2022 and 2023.) Last year was the 800th anniversary of this tradition, attributed to St. Francis–more about its origins in the town of Greccio here and here.

This year’s Vatican scene has a river theme, with the three kings making an aquatic landing in Bethlehem. As I noted last year, the point of such popular devotions, like Ignatian contemplation, is not to recreate history–or geography–but to help us find ourselves in the story. To that end, I found this year’s Nativity attractive and I especially liked the ducks in the foreground!

Wishing everyone many blessings and much happiness this Christmas!

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The urnas of Bohol

Among 2024’s highlights was my first trip to the Philippines, where I attended a meeting of Jesuit liturgists, caught up with some Jesuit friends, did my annual 8-day retreat, and had a chance to explore a bit of that wonderful country, without doubt one of the most devout in the world.

One of my discoveries when visiting the island of Bohol, home to the iconic Chocolate Hills, was a particular local devotional tradition, the “urnas,” which are small shrines made for homes during the colonial period. The urnas first caught my attention in the museum of the Church of St. Augustine in Manila (below), but it was only when I arrived in Bohol that someone explained the tradition. The urnas typically contain a saint and are beautifully carved and painted.

Some of the saints depicted reflect the missionary orders that evangelized the areas, and others give a window into the local piety of the time. Note for example, the statue of St. Roch (with his dog), a saint often invoked against plague. St. Vincent Ferrer also seems to have been particularly popular. This depiction of the Holy Family seems appropriate as Christmas approaches: