Bible – Tony Lusvardi, S.J.

What to do when you don’t have a pope? Preach Jesus Christ

Homily for Wednesday of the Third Week of Easter.

Brothers and sisters, papam non habemus. We do not have a pope. Not yet.

We live in uncertain and, often, disturbing times. I’m not talking only about the sede vacante in the Church of Rome. The last few years–the last few decades, really–have been a difficult time for the Catholic Church. The Church sometimes seems confused and divided from within, and opposed by powerful forces from without. And today we also live with all the uncertainty of a papal election.

In this uncertain moment, today’s first reading reminds us of a simple but profound lesson: things have been worse. Much worse. Here we see the Church at its very beginning, tiny and persecuted. Stephen, one of the first deacons, has just been killed. The faithful are scattered. Those who persecute the Church are full of zeal, backed by the age’s political powers in all their strength. It seems like a catastrophic moment for the nascent Church, but it becomes a moment of triumph, a moment of growth. The dispersion of the faithful–even if caused by persecution–becomes the condition for the spread of the Word. Soon, we know, even the great persecutor, Saul, will convert and become the greatest missionary in the history of the Church.

Caravaggio, The Conversion of St. Paul, 1600-1

What I most want to emphasize today is the response of the disciples, who transformed this apparent catastrophe into a moment of growth: They continued to preach Jesus. Without panic, without discouragement. They returned and remained steadfast in the most fundamental mission of the Christian: to bear witness to the life, death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Today’s Gospel reading also calls us back to the heart of our Catholic faith: “I am the bread of life,” says Jesus. There is no action more important for the Catholic than to encounter the Lord in the Eucharist, in his true body and in his true blood.

Brothers and sisters, despite our anxieties and our doubts, despite the moments of uncertainty that alternate with moments of glory in the life of the Church, this message remains our rock. If we continue to proclaim it, we cannot go wrong. In a few days we will have a new pope, but our mission will not change. Times change. Popes change. Jesus Christ does not change.

Jesus Christ is the bread of life. Jesus Christ is Lord.

Readings: Acts 8:1b-8; John 6:35-40

(Original: Italian)

May 7, 2025

Gregorian University Chapel, Rome

Those interested can see my interview on the CBS Evening News with Maurice Dubois here.

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.

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.

Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation — now in print!

After a few delays, I am pleased to report that my book is now officially in print and copies have arrived for those who preordered. It seems to have been released on Good Friday no less.

If you’re still on the fence about whether it’s worth the read, I thought I’d share the very kind words of endorsement from Fr. Joseph Carola, SJ, my colleague at the Gregorian University and expert in both the Church Fathers and Nineteenth Century theology.

So take it from Fr. Carola:

Jesus instructed Nicodemus that, “unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God” (John 3:5). Faithful to the Lord’s revelation, Christians have insisted for two millennia upon the necessity of baptism for salvation. But already in the ancient Church, salvation’s rough edges, as Father Anthony Lusvardi creatively calls them, have challenged believers. What is the fate of those who lived before Christ and therefore died without Christian baptism? What happens to the catechumen who dies unexpectedly before being baptized? Can unbaptized babies get to heaven? Is there any hope for the salvation of non-Christians? In his thoroughly historical and insightfully theological study of the baptism of desire, Father Lusvardi offers his readers a fresh perspective on this traditional notion often misunderstood and misapplied in contemporary theology and pastoral practice. Providing a convincing response to the challenges that the hard cases present, Father Lusvardi especially appeals to the Catholic Church’s lex orandi in order to establish the Church’s lex credendi that simultaneously upholds the necessity of baptism, the need for evangelization, and the nuances of desire. Historically informative, theologically rich, and occasionally even humorous, Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation is a book not only for theologians, but perhaps even more so for pastors who labor on the rough edges of salvation.

Joseph Carola, S.J., S.T.D.

November 2, 2023

All Souls

The Pontifical Gregorian University, Rome

Jonah, the most bumbling prophet

Jonah sarcophagus (ca. AD 300), Vatican Museums

Those at daily Mass this week get to enjoy the special treat of hearing the book of Jonah. The book is such a good tale–who doesn’t love a giant sea monster? or a cantankerous prophet?–that I imagine the story originally told dramatically aloud. I think we’re meant to laugh at Jonah, the Mr. Bean of prophets.

Of course, there is a serious message to the book that goes beyond whale innards and the prophet’s pouty attachment to his gourd plant. Jonah reveals the sweeping reach of God’s mercy, extending even to the most wicked of cities–Nineveh, grrr—when those within it seek conversion. Students in my classes are probably sick of hearing it, but one way to get under my skin is to claim that the grumpy “God of the Old Testament” has been replaced by the groovy “God of the New Testament.” There’s only one God. He’s infinitely merciful and revealed in both the Old and New Testaments. And the book of Jonah proves it.

Signs of Easter

With winter now banished, one of my favorite signs of Roman spring is here — flowers sprouting from the tile rooftops. Above, my favorite, the corner of St. Ignatius Church seen from the terrace of our building, below a more modest view from my room. I’m not sure what this annual effusion of greenery means for the structural integrity of the tiles — and, I guess, I don’t really care. I find the flowers exuberant and surprising and, yes, just a tad reckless. In other words, a perfect sign of Easter.

I’ve always thought the flowers — life and beauty — breaking through the tiles a nice metaphor for the Resurrection, like the angels dressed in dazzling white among the scattered tombstones. This year they’ve also put me in mind of Peter. Peter is, after all, a slightly reckless figure, the desires of his heart a step ahead of his own moral capacities. His love for Jesus leads him to boast of his fidelity on Holy Thursday — “Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death” — and then to find that his steadfastness has fallen short of his aspirations. It is devastating to read of Peter’s betrayal; one can imagine how much more devastating it was to live it.