Author: Peter McCulloch

The Prodigal Son in the Key of F

(Jos.5:9-12; 2Cor.5:17-21; Lk.15:1-3, 11-32)

(Thanks to Fr Don of The Word This Week, here is a podcast discussing today’s homily:)

According to Charles Dickens, the greatest short story ever told is Jesus’ Parable of the Prodigal Son. It’s a tale of loss, hurt, forgiveness and love, and it’s so well known that it’s refreshing when someone approaches it in a new way.

That’s what Todd and Jedd Hafer have done in their book Mischief from the Back Pew. They’ve given us another version of this story, which they call The Prodigal Son in the Key of F. Here it is, with a few modifications. [i]

Feeling footloose and frisky, a feather-brained fellow forces his fine father to fork over his share of the family finances. He then flies off to foreign fields and fritters away his fortune, feasting fabulously with faithless floozies and fickle friends.

Fleeced by these foolish fellows and facing famine, he finds himself feeding farmyard animals. And feeling famished and frail, he feels forced to fill his frame with frightfully filthy foraged food.

‘Phooey,’ he figures, ‘My father’s flunkies fare far fancier.’ After fuming feverishly, the frazzled fugitive faces the facts frankly. Frustrated by failure and filled with foreboding, he flees the foreign farmyard back to his family. From faraway, his fretful father sees this phantom fugitive’s familiar form framed on the far horizon. He flies to him and fondly flings his forearms about him.

Falling at his father’s feet, the forlorn fellow affirms, ‘Father, I’ve failed and fruitlessly forfeited my family’s favour.’ But the faithful father forestalls further flinching and flags his staff to fetch the finest fatling and fix a feast for all.

While the father and former fugitive feel festive, the father’s faithful first-born son is in a field fixing fences. The foreman informs him that a familiar family face has forsaken his foolishness. But this brother finds fault with his father’s forgiveness and favour towards this fraternal fugitive, and his fury flashes.

He’d never faltered, he’d never fled the family farm. He’d forever been faithful. 

‘Forsooth! Father, flee from this folly!’ he fumes. ‘Frankly, it’s unfair. That fool forfeited his fortune!’

But such fussing proves futile. His far-sighted father philosophises that filial fidelity is fine, and the first-born will one day be furnished with the full family fortune, so what forbids fervent festivity? 

‘The fugitive is found!’ the father says. ‘Unfurl the flags, with fanfares flaring! Let fun and frolic follow! For failure is forgotten, folly is forsaken and forgiveness forms the foundation for a fine future.’

Brendan Byrne SJ has described this parable one of the Gospel passages ‘that have truly shaped our Christian identity.’ But what does it mean to be prodigal?

To be prodigal is to be recklessly wasteful. So, who is the prodigal one in this story?

We tend to think it’s the younger son, because he squanders his inheritance. But that’s not all he wastes. He also trashes his father’s love and every other blessing he has, like a secure home and a prosperous future. And he suffers the ultimate indignity of feeding pigs, which for a Jew is utterly shameful.

But the older son is prodigal, too, because he doesn’t appreciate anything he has. He is entitled, self-righteous and judgmental, and he deeply resents his father and brother.

However, to be prodigal is also to be recklessly extravagant, and that describes the father himself, for he freely gives all he has to his sons, even when they don’t deserve it. He lavishly shares his love, forgiveness and blessings, and he even celebrates extravagantly. That fatted calf could feed dozens of people, so his party is likely for the entire village.

This is why the Eastern Orthodox church calls this story the Parable the Loving Father. They emphasise the father because he represents our loving God. 

Now, it’s significant that the prodigal son isn’t given a name, because he represents us all. We are all prodigals. At some point in our lives, we have all turned away from our heavenly Father. We have all arrogantly thought we could succeed in life without God. We have all taken his blessings for granted, and sometimes even expected more.

How fortunate we are that God is so patient with us. He gives us time to wake up and realise what he means to us. But our time is limited, and if we haven’t already, it would be wise for us to come to our senses and return to his merciful embrace as soon as possible.

For sure, if you fancy a fine fulfilling future, then fully focus on our heavenly Father’s love and forgiveness.

The effects will be fabulous!

---

[i] Todd & Jedd Hafer, Mischief from the Back Pew: and You Thought You Were Safe in Church, Bethany House, Minneapolis, MN, 2003.

Disaster!

(Ex.3:1-8, 13-15; 1Cor.10:1-6, 10-12; Lk.13:1-9)

Every year, accidents, natural disasters and war bring death, destruction and despair to countless people around the world.

When such tragic events occur, people understandably seek answers, and sometimes they ask, ‘Why did God let this happen?’ Or even ‘why did God make this happen?’

They think that God uses disasters to punish people.

Today, I want to remind you that God is love (1Jn.4:8), and that he does not use disasters to punish us. There are always other reasons for the bad things that happen. The terrible landslide that occurred in Papua New Guinea last year wasn’t God’s doing. It was caused by heavy rainfall.

The fires that devastated Los Angeles recently were caused by sparking power lines, heavy winds and unusually dry conditions.

There are always other reasons for the bad things that happen.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus talks to his disciples about two disasters. The first involves several Galileans who were killed in the Jerusalem Temple. We know what happened because the Jewish historian Josephus tells us about it.

Jerusalem was short of water, and Pontius Pilate, the Roman governor, wanted to solve the problem. He planned to build an aqueduct, but didn’t have the money. So, he decided to take it from the Temple. The Jewish people strongly objected, however, and one day a mob gathered to protest.

Pilate gathered his troops and told them to hide clubs under their cloaks. He instructed them to mingle with the crowd and on his signal to break up the mob. When the riot began, the soldiers were ruthless and several people died.

When Jesus heard this news, he said, ‘don’t think that those who were killed in the riot were greater sinners than the others in the mob.’ In other words, there is no connection between sin and punishment in this life.

Jesus then mentions an incident where a tower on the south-eastern wall of Jerusalem collapsed, killing 18 people. Again, he says, ‘do you think they were more guilty of sin than everyone else in Jerusalem? They were not, I tell you.’

In other words, don’t think that God deliberately punishes people for their sins.  When someone suffers from some hurt, misfortune or serious disappointment, don’t blame it on God. However, many people do blame God. They blame his anger for tragedies like the Indian Ocean tsunami and the floods in India.

But Jesus says that’s not right, and then in the second half of today’s Gospel, he goes on to explain the nature of God’s love in his Parable of the Fig-tree.  

This is the story of a tree that has produced no fruit for three years. The owner wants it cut down, but the gardener wants to give it another chance. He promises to dig around it and fertilise it, and see if it does better next year.

The point Jesus makes is that God is this compassionate gardener, and he’s always patient towards us, even when we don’t do the right thing. He’s not out to punish us.

This is the same message we get from Jesus’ Parable of the Prodigal Son, which is in next week’s Gospel (Lk.15:11-24). A young man commits two terrible sins: he rejects his father and he squanders his inheritance on sinful living. Then, totally destitute, he is forced to return home.

But his father isn’t angry. He is disappointed, but he doesn’t seek to punish his son. Instead, he waits patiently for him to return, and when he finally sees him, the father rushes out to greet him, kisses him and calls for a celebration.

This is what our Father God is like. He is full of mercy and compassion; he is light and not darkness (1Jn.1:5). And he is just like his Son Jesus, who we know is the loving Prince of Peace. ‘The Father and I are one’ (Jn.10:30), Jesus says. He also says, ‘If you really know me, then you know the Father’ (Jn.14:7).

Jesus’ life is all about healing, not pain; it’s about making all things new, instead of destroying them. And as we heard in Psalm 102 today, ‘the Lord is kind and merciful.’

This is our God. He is love itself; he does not cause disasters. There are many other reasons for them, like natural forces, or our own human foolishness and sin.

But God does let these things happen. Why? It’s because he wants us to learn from them. He wants us to let go of our worldly obsessions; to put our faith and trust in him, instead of in things. He wants us much closer to him.

And through Jesus, he teaches us how to respond at these difficult times – with deep patience, profound mercy and compassion, and unfailing love.

Just like God himself.

The Gentle Art of Pole-Sitting

(Gen.15:5-12, 17-18; Phil.3:17 – 4:1; Lk.9:28-36)

In 1924, in a publicity stunt for a new movie, a man named Alvin ‘Shipwreck’ Kelly was hired to sit on a pole outside a Hollywood theatre for as long as he could. He lasted for 13 hours, 13 minutes.

Kelly made a career out of this, but he was an amateur compared to the hermits of the early church. St Simeon Stylites the Elder, for example, climbed a pillar near Aleppo in Syria in the year 423, and there he stayed for 37 years. (His pillar was reportedly destroyed by a Russian missile in 2016.)

It was said that St Simeon knew he could not escape from the world horizontally, so he decided to do so vertically.

Some years later, St Simeon Stylites the Younger (521-597 AD) lived high up another pillar for over 60 years. As a boy, he had learnt about pole-sitting from a hermit named John, and he spent most of his life in prayer and penance atop a pillar near Antioch, in Turkey. He lived on fruits and herbs and said Mass up there, on a raised platform.

God must have blessed these two Saints Simeon, because they performed many miracles, and people came from all over for spiritual advice and healing.

Of course, they weren’t the only hermits to live atop pillars. In the 5^th Century, St Daniel the Stylite did so for 33 years in Constantinople, preaching, praying and giving spiritual advice.

They were called ‘Stylites’ because that’s the Greek word for ‘pillar-dweller’.

But what inspired them to live this way? It was the story of Jesus’ Transfiguration in today’s Gospel.

As Luke tells us, Peter, James and John go with Jesus to the top of Mt Tabor to pray and reflect, and for a brief moment they see Jesus’ clothes turn dazzlingly white, and his face shines like the sun.

On one side of Jesus stood Moses, the great lawgiver, on the other was Elijah, the greatest of the prophets. And out of a cloud, they could hear our heavenly Father say, ‘This is my Son, the chosen one. Listen to him.’

The disciples are utterly amazed. For but an instant, they get to see who Jesus really is – the Son of God – and they are given a taste of the mystical joy of heaven.

Peter wants them all to stay there, but this is an experience that’s not meant to last. Rather, its purpose is to encourage them in their faith, and to help them focus on God’s promise of eternal life.

Having received the endorsement of Moses and Elijah, Jesus then turns towards Jerusalem for his final journey, from Mount Tabor – the hill of light and joy, to Mount Calvary – the hill of sorrow and pain. But of course, his journey doesn’t end there, for it’s followed by the glory of Easter.

This is what drove saints like Simeon and Daniel to become pillar-dwellers. They wanted to go somewhere quiet where they could meditate on the life of Christ and the mystery of their faith.

Living high on a pillar lifted them above the ordinary concerns of everyday life. It symbolised their physical and spiritual elevation towards God. It was a form of penance for their sins. And it gave them a vision: as they looked down towards earth, they could see how empty and passing the things of this world really are.

Every Lent, we are all invited to do the same – to go somewhere quiet to pray, to reflect on our lives, and to strengthen our relationship with God.

And as we do this, it’s worth remembering that heaven awaits those with true faith. Too many of us tend to take heaven for granted, or we simply forget about it altogether. But heaven is something we all need to prepare for, for we will not get there without the mercy of God.

This is a good thing to think about during Lent, as are the traditional spiritual practices of prayer, fasting and almsgiving.

We don’t have to retreat into a desert to do this, or even climb up a pillar or pole.

However, it is important that we find somewhere quiet, away from our day-to-day distractions, where we can reflect deeply on our lives, and think about what we need to do to live a holy, God-centred life.

40 Days in the Desert

(Deut.26:4-10; Rom.10:8-13; Lk.4:1-13)

Once again, we’ve arrived at another season of Lent. Someone asked me recently why this season lasts for 40 days.

Well, the number 40 is mentioned over 150 times in the Bible, so one would think it must be significant. Some say that 40 is Biblical code for ‘a very long time,’ but if you look carefully, you’ll see that it’s often connected with an experience of hardship or trial and preparing for something new.

Certainly, Jesus fasted and prayed in the desert for 40 days and nights before starting his public ministry (Mt.4:2). And he ascended to heaven 40 days after his resurrection (Acts 1:3). 

But going further back into history, Noah’s flood lasted for 40 days (Gen.7:17), the Israelites wandered in the desert for 40 years (Dt.8:2-5), and Moses waited for 40 days and nights on Mt Sinai for the Ten Commandments (Ex.34:28).

Each time, this waiting always preceded a new beginning of some kind. After Noah’s flood, a new civilisation began. After crossing the desert, the Israelites started a new life in the Promised Land. Moses’ Ten Commandments marked God’s new Covenant with all mankind. Jesus’ public ministry marked the beginning of a new way of life for everyone. And his Ascension opened the way for the Holy Spirit to descend on his disciples (Jn.16:7).

Just as we spent 40 weeks in our mother’s womb before being born, so we can see that Lent is a special invitation to us to spend some time preparing for something very new.

Deep down, we all yearn for a life that’s rich in meaning, purpose and love.  And most of us recognise the need to rise above the selfishness, greed and unhealthy behaviours of our world. But our secular society doesn’t encourage this. It would rather we were distracted and entertained than face our real selves.

So, we tend to put off dealing with the mess of our private lives. 

Here, Lent is something very special. It’s an invitation for us to look honestly at ourselves, to work through our weaknesses and to open ourselves up to the freshness of Jesus Christ. 

But before we can be filled with God’s blessings, we must first be emptied, and that’s what the desert does for us. In the desert there’s silence, peace and few distractions, and in the sharp sunlight it’s easy to see things clearly.

In the early Church, many religious men and women literally went into a desert for a while. Today, however, the desert is more of a mystical place deep in our hearts which we can access anywhere. But we still need to take time out to prepare ourselves for a new way of living.

To some people the desert seems a threatening place, but if you have the courage to stay there, good things will happen to you. Slowly and silently, and with God’s grace, you’ll be transformed.

Pope Francis once described Lent as the season of penance, but it’s not a time of sadness or mourning. Rather, it’s a time of joy and returning to grace.

‘In our life,’ he said, ‘We’re always in need of conversion… In fact, we’re never sufficiently oriented to God and we must constantly direct our mind and heart to him. To do this, it’s necessary to have the courage to reject all that leads us outside the way, the false values that deceive us, attracting our egoism in a sly way.’

Instead, he said, we must trust the Lord, his goodness and his plan of love for each of us.

‘Lent is a time of penance, yes, but it’s not a sad time…’ he said. ‘It’s a joyful and serious commitment to strip ourselves of our egoism… and of renewing ourselves according to the grace of our Baptism.’

‘God alone can give us true happiness,’ he added. ‘It’s useless for us to waste time seeking it elsewhere, in riches, in pleasures, in power, in a career… The Kingdom of God is the realisation of all our aspirations because it is, at the same time, the salvation of man and the glory of God.’ [i]

Lent, then, is a precious gift to each of us. It’s a personal invitation to spend some time in the mystical desert, preparing ourselves for a new life after the joy of Easter.

It’s 40 days set aside for prayerful reflection, fasting, almsgiving. And asking God to help us start afresh.

---

[i] https://zenit.org/articles/angelus-address-on-the-need-for-conversion/

The Power of Words

(Ecc.:27:4-7; 1Cor.15:54-58; Lk.6:39-45)

‘Sticks and stones,’ they say, ‘may break my bones, but words will never hurt me.’ Is that true? Let me tell you a story.

Once upon a time, an army of frogs was hopping through the woods, when suddenly two of them fell into a muddy pit. The other frogs looked into that pit and said it’s much too deep. They can’t escape.

The two frogs ignored these com­ments and tried hard to jump up out. But the other frogs kept telling them: ‘Give up! You’ve got no hope!’

Finally, one of the two frogs listened to the other frogs’ words and did give up. He fell down and died.

But the other frog kept jumping as hard as he could. The crowd at the top however kept yelling at him to stop. ‘You can’t get out!’ they said. But he kept jumping even harder until he finally escaped.  And as he got out, the other frogs asked, ‘Didn’t you hear us?’

The frog replied that he’d had mud in his ears and couldn’t hear them. ‘I thought you were encour­ag­ing me,’ he said.

This story tells us that words are powerful. They can help and heal. But they can also hurt and harm. What we say can so easily build someone up, or tear them down.

When we speak, people not only hear the sounds we make, but they can also feel our attitudes and sense our deepest meanings. 

Why are words so powerful? It’s because they flow from our hearts (Lk.6:45). Whether written or spoken, our words reflect who we really are. They reveal our character, our innermost thoughts. They expose what’s deep inside us and they unveil what we really think about the world and the people around us. 

Rudyard Kipling once described words as, ‘…the most powerful drug used by mankind. Not only do (words) infect, egotise, narcotise, and paralyse, but they enter into and colour the minutest cells of the brain…’ [i]

Yes, words are powerful. They create and shape everything, even the universe.  As John’s Gospel tells us, ‘In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…’ (Jn.1:1).  Everything around us began with God’s divine Word, and today our world is shaped by the words we use.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus offers us three brief parables. Firstly, he asks if the blind can lead the blind.  Then he warns us about noticing a splinter in someone else’s eye, while overlooking the log in our own. And finally he says that a healthy tree cannot produce rotten fruit.

Together, these three parables remind us that if we are teaching or leading others, then we must choose our words very carefully and make sure that we know what we’re talking about. It’s so easy to harm people. It’s so easy to lead them astray if we ourselves are misled.

Our first reading today says something similar. It tells us that just as the rubbish is left behind when we shake a sieve, so our faults become obvious when we speak. And just as a fiery kiln tests the work of a potter, so our conversation is the test of our own personal quality and purity.

But the point is that all this starts with our hearts. For our words to be good, our hearts need to be well-formed.

As children we learn from our parents and teachers, and hopefully they’re wise. And as adults we keep learning, but ultimately we all need God’s guidance because only he offers us the way, the truth and the life (Jn.14:6).

As Jesus says, we draw what’s good from the goodness in our hearts, and we draw what’s bad from the badness we store there as well. Like the water in a well, we must make sure that it’s always pure and fresh and life-giving, both for ourselves and for others (Jn.4:14).

Most people speak thousands of words every day. That gives us plenty of scope to help or to hurt others, for words aren’t just sounds. They are powerful symbols of life, of culture, of everything we think and feel. They express our lives, our souls, our dreams and our fears.

Mother Teresa once said that kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.

The same can be said of unkind words.

Yes, sticks and stones may break my bones, but cruel and thoughtless words can be far more damaging.

---

[i] http://www.telelib.com/authors/K/KiplingRudyard/prose/BookOfWords/surgeonssoul.html

The Parable of the Three Questions

(1Sam.26:2,7-9,12-13,22-23; 1Cor.15:45-49; Lk.6:27-38)

Today, Jesus tells us to love our enemies, to do good to those who hate us. But how might we actually approach this? Leo Tolstoy helps us to understand in his famous Parable of the Three Questions.

There was once a king who wanted to know how to always make good decisions. He decided that if he could answer three questions, he’d always know the right thing to do: When is the right time to do something? Who is the most important person to listen to? And what is the one thing I should always do?

He offered a reward for the best answers, but received no useful replies.

Then the king heard of a wise and holy hermit who lived on a mountain and would only see the poor. So, he disguised himself as a peasant and went to ask him his three questions.

Leaving his soldiers below, he climbed the mountain and arrived hot and thirsty. The old hermit was working in his garden. He bowed silently to the disguised king, and kept on working.

Feeling awkward, the king said, ‘I’ve heard you are wise and understanding. I hope you can help me with three questions: When is the right time to do something? Who is the most important person to listen to? And what is the one thing I should always do?

The hermit looked at him silently and kept on digging. After a while, the king took the shovel, saying, ‘Let me do that. You are tired.’ He repeated his questions, but again there was no answer.

The sun was hot and the hermit offered to resume digging, but the king kept working. At sunset, the king wiped the sweat from his brow and said, ‘I came to see if you could answer my three questions. I struggle with them all the time. Can you help me? If not, I’ll just return home.’

Just then, startled by a noise, the hermit asked, ‘Did you hear that? I think it’s someone running.’ A man emerged from the woods, running towards them. He was badly wounded, and fell in front of the king.

The king ripped off his shirt and tried to stop the bleeding, but the wound was deep. There was a spring nearby. The king ran to it, washed the shirt, and returned to press it against the wound. He did this three times, and the bleeding stopped. The man asked for a drink. The king went to the spring, and brought back some water.

It was dark, and the old hermit and king carried the wounded man into the hut where they all slept well. When the sun rose, the king woke to find the wounded man looking at him intently. ‘Forgive me,’ the wounded man said.

‘Why should I forgive you?’ the king asked.

‘I’m your sworn enemy,’ he replied. ‘I planned to kill you. You killed my brother years ago and took his property. I’ve hated you ever since. When I heard you were coming here, I intended to ambush you, but when you didn’t come down the path yesterday, I came out of hiding. One of your soldiers down the hill recognised me and wounded me. I was escaping when I ran into you. You saved my life! Please, forgive me. I’m ashamed and grateful to you. From now on, I promise to serve you faithfully.’

The king was stunned. He offered to compensate the man for his suffering, and said he didn’t want his service, only his friendship and trust. He promised that his doctor would take care of him, and they left the mountain together.

The king later returned to the hermit and said, ‘Old man, please answer my three questions.’

‘Your questions have all been answered,’ he replied. But the king was puzzled.

‘Look,’ said the hermit, ‘yesterday when you asked your questions and I didn’t answer, you took pity on me because I was old. Instead of leaving the mountain and being killed by your enemy, you helped me dig my garden. So, the right time was when you were helping me, because you had pity on me, and I was supposed to be the person to remember and work with, and the one thing you should always do is have compassion.

‘Later, you took care of the wounded man. He didn’t die and you were reconciled with an enemy and found a grateful friend. It was the right time to help him, he was the one to attend to and what you had was compassion.

The king still didn’t seem to understand, but then it hit him.

‘Oh, the right time is now, for it’s the only time I can control. The person is whoever is right in front of me, and the one thing I should always do is to tend to their needs, doing whatever I can.

The old hermit smiled, ‘Yes, if you bend in appreciation towards whatever is before you, you will always know what to do.’ [i]

---

[i] Leo Tolstoy, The Parable of the Three Troubling Questions, quoted in Megan McKenna, Luke – The Book of Blessings and Woes. New City Press, New York, 2009: 194-199. (Abridged).

The Road Less Travelled

 (Jer.17:5-8; 1Cor.15:12, 16-20; Lk.6:17, 20-26)

In Lewis Carroll’s story Alice in Wonderland, Alice comes to a fork in the road and is puzzled. She asks the Cheshire Cat, ‘which way should I go?’

‘That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’ he says.

Alice says she doesn’t much care where she goes, so the Cat replies: ‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you go.’

Today, our world is a confusion of roads going in countless directions. Some clever people have invented GPS to help us get around, but where should you go when you reach a fork in the road of life?

In today’s first reading, the prophet Jeremiah says that there are basically only two roads in life, and they go in opposite directions. One crosses a salty desert towards death, and the other follows a refreshing stream towards life.

Which one is which? Jeremiah says the wrong way is when we put our trust in man and the things of the flesh, for that’s when we’ll end up like dry scrub in a wasteland.

But the person who puts his faith in God will be blessed like a tree that flourishes, even in heat and drought.

Now, Jeremiah doesn’t say that those who trust in God will escape the heat and drought. Rather, he says that they will stay fruitful and green despite these trials.

In other words, when you turn to God in deep faith and prayer, you’ll find yourself blessed with the strength you need to keep going, even in hard times.

Psalm 1 today says something very similar. Happy is the person who chooses God’s law of love, and avoids the way of sin and scorn. For he will be like a fruitful tree near fresh waters. But those who choose the way of the wicked will be like winnowed chaff, blown towards their doom.

Essentially, then, there are only two roads in our journey through life, and Jesus talks about them in his Sermon on the Plain in Luke’s Gospel today.

He’s speaking to a large crowd near the Sea of Galilee, and he says that God’s first priority is the poor and hungry, and those who weep and suffer from hate. Those who follow the way of God will be blessed, he says, for one day they will inherit his kingdom.

But those who choose the way of the world, those whose lives are all about selfish indulgence, will be left behind. ‘Woe to you rich,’ Jesus says, ‘woe to you who have your fill, woe to you who laugh, and woe to you when the world loves you.’

Here, Jesus is giving us a radical choice: we can either take the high road and live by the values of God’s kingdom (in a spirit of poverty, compassion and mercy), or we can take the low road and live by the values of this world (pursuing money, pleasure, power and prestige).

Only one of these roads leads to eternal life, and sadly, that’s the one least travelled. Robert Frost writes about this in his poem The Road Not Taken:

‘Two roads diverged in a wood, and I -
I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.’

Why is this road less travelled? It’s because too many people have been seduced by the hollow promises of the material life. It’s because our world has taught us to seek immediate comfort and satisfaction, instead of seeking lasting joy in heaven. And it’s because our obsession with physical things has blinded us to the spiritual.

The Cheshire Cat is right. It doesn’t matter which way you go if you don’t care where you’re going.

But if you do care, if you are serious about eternal life, then there’s only one road that will take you there, and you need to choose.

Let’s close with some verses from Choose this Day, by an anonymous poet.

Choose this day whom you will serve,
The world, with its fleeting way?
Or Christ, who calls with a gentle voice,
And offers eternal day?

Choose this day whom you will trust,
The treasures that fade and decay?
Or the Rock that stands through storm and flood,
And guides in the narrow way?

Choose this day, for time is brief,
And the soul is a gift to keep.
One path leads to life and peace,
The other to sorrow deep.

The Conversion of Gary Sinise

(Is.6:1-8; 1Cor.15:1-11; Lk.5:1-11)

We often think of Christian conversion as a quick, one-off event. But for so many people, like the Hollywood actor Gary Sinise, conversion tends to be a slow process.

Gary was born in Chicago in 1955, into an unchurched family with a long history of military service. At school he was quite rebellious and much preferred music to his classes, but then he discovered acting, through which he met Moira Harris. They married in 1981 and had 3 children.

In 1994, Gary acted as Lieutenant Dan Taylor in the movie Forrest Gump. Like the actor himself, Lt. Dan came from a family of war heroes. He’s sent to Vietnam where he loses both legs in an ambush. He survives, but becomes very bitter about being robbed of martyrdom.

Lt. Dan later finds himself on a shrimp boat in Alabama, battling a terrible storm and facing his demons. Again, he survives, but this time he becomes a new man, at peace with God. He has a new wife, new prosthetic legs and new hope.

Shortly after Forrest Gump was released in 1994, Gary Sinise was invited to attend the Disabled American Veterans’ convention in Chicago, to receive an award for so honestly portraying a catastrophically injured veteran. [i]

In his autobiography, Grateful American, he says he was stunned by the welcome he received from 2,500 veterans – ‘a sea of men and women, many with scars, prosthetics, burn marks, crutches, and wheelchairs.’

‘What have I ever done?’ he wondered. ‘Here are all these wounded and disabled veterans – men and women who have sacrificed so much.’ And all he’s done is find his mark and say his lines.

Then he realised: Lt. Dan had come to symbolise the country’s injured veterans, who too often had been cruelly ignored, insulted and even assaulted by others. And he wondered how he could help.

He started supporting veterans and first responders, including paramedics and firefighters, through fundraising and public speaking. And his Lt. Dan Band began performing for charitable causes.

In the meantime, Gary’s family struggled; his wife Moira had become a chronic alcoholic. One day, at an AA meeting, someone said to her, ‘You need to become a Catholic. You need to convert.’

The effect was powerful, because in 2000 she did just that. Moira became a Catholic. She also decided to send their children to a Catholic school, but Gary resisted. He couldn’t see the point.

Eventually, however, he agreed. They started attending Mass together, and Gary began noticing the Church’s positive influence on his family.

On 9/11 in 2001, when thousands died at the World Trade Centre, Gary was devastated. At a memorial Mass that Friday, he heard that service to others is a great healer of broken hearts, and he felt compelled to do something.

He started visiting hospitals and war zones, entertaining on military bases, and raising funds for children in Iraqi schools.

He found that the more active he got, the more his own broken heart was relieved. And he began to wonder if God had given him a life mission.

In 2010 he surprised his family by joining the Catholic Church, and in 2011 he formalised his many projects by establishing the Gary Sinise Foundation.

In today’s Gospel, Luke tells the conversion story of the apostle Peter, and it spells out the stages we all tend to go through as we gradually turn towards Jesus.

It begins by simply observing what’s happening from a distance. Then it involves listening to what’s being said, and allowing it to move our hearts. Next, it involves accepting small commitments within our comfort zone, helping where we can.

Then we’re amazed when the call becomes specific and deeply personal, and something powerful happens inside us. And we start to feel unworthy, perhaps even scared. But then we’re reassured. And finally, that’s followed by acceptance and a deep, personal commitment to Jesus.

These are the steps we all typically experience in entering the life of Christ, and they certainly applied to Gary Sinise.

How do they apply in your own spiritual journey?

In closing, here’s a passage from the book Jesus Calling that Gary likes to quote. It reflects how God works through us to bless others. [ii]

I am creating something new in you: a bubbling spring of Joy that spills over into others’ lives. Do not mistake this Joy for your own or try to take credit for it… Instead, watch in delight as My Spirit flows through you to bless others. Let yourself become a reservoir of the Spirit’s fruit.

Your part is to live close to Me, open to all that I am doing in you. Don’t try to control the streaming of My Spirit through you. Just keep focusing on Me as we walk through this day together. Enjoy My Presence, which permeates you with Love, Joy, and Peace.

Amen.

---

[i] Gary Sinise, Grateful American: A Journey from Self to Service, Thomas Nelson, Nashville TN, 2019. https://faithgateway.com/products/grateful-american-a-journey-from-self-to-service?variant=39265150566536

[ii] Sarah Young, Jesus Calling: Enjoying Peace in His Presence, Thomas Nelson, Nashville TN, 2004.

Groundhog Day

(Mal.3:1-4; Heb.2:14-18; Lk.2:22-40)

Today, February 2^nd, is the Feast of the Presentation of Our Lord in the Temple. Years ago, it was known as Candlemas and it was the Church’s day for the blessing of candles. 

In the USA and Canada, today is also Groundhog Day. This is a folkloric tradition that grew out of Candlemas, which itself marks the mid-point between the northern winter and spring.

On Groundhog Day, a groundhog’s shadow is supposedly used to predict the weather, but I’ll come back to that shortly. ^[i] 

In today’s Gospel, Mary and Joseph go to the Temple in Jerusalem. The Law of Moses required every mother to undergo ritual purification and to present her child for consecration to God, 40 days after birth (Ex.13:1-2; Lev.12). 

As the Holy Family enter the Temple, Simeon and Anna are waiting inside. The Holy Spirit long before had promised Simeon that he would not die before seeing the Christ. So, for years he and the prophetess Anna waited patiently.

When baby Jesus finally arrives, Simeon is overjoyed. He holds Jesus in his arms and prays his famous prayer Nunc Dimittis: ‘Now, Master, you can let your servant go in peace, just as you promised…’

This story reveals so much about the character of these saints. Simeon, Anna and the Holy Family are all Spirit-filled and very devout in the practice of their faith. They’re also humble, obedient and patient, and they trust God completely.

Life may be hard, but they’re happy.

Now, let’s compare them to Phil Connors, the actor Bill Murray’s character in the movie Groundhog Day (1993). He’s a cranky TV weatherman who goes to Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania, to report on the annual Groundhog Day festival.

We soon learn that he’s an obnoxious and self-centred narcissist. ‘People are morons,’ he tells his producer Rita. He can’t wait to return home, but a snowstorm forces him and his film crew to stay.

The next morning, Phil’s alarm clock wakes him up and he’s appalled to discover that it’s Groundhog Day all over again. He’s caught in a strange time-loop, and he has to relive this day over and over and over again.

Every day, every little action is repeated, from meeting an old friend in the same place at the same time, to stepping into an icy pothole. Phil’s life becomes incredibly monotonous, but he’s the only one who notices.

At first he’s amused, but then he becomes bored and then he despairs. He hates his repetitive life so much that he even tries to commit suicide. But he’s always back the next day.

It becomes clear that what’s important in this story isn’t the groundhog’s shadow, but Phil’s. At one point in the film, one of the townsfolk says to him, ‘Watch out for your shadow there, pal!’

It’s his shadow side that’s condemning him to this endless cycle of emptiness. It’s his sinfulness and bad behaviour that are holding him back and making him unhappy. He’s trapped in darkness.

It’s only when Phil opens his heart that things change. He starts noticing Rita, his producer. He’s attracted to her and her happy outlook, and he finds himself inspired by her to do good things. He makes friends, he rescues a homeless man and he even starts learning music and poetry.

It’s only when Phil discovers love that time starts to move forward. He wakes up to find that it’s February 3^rd and he’s been given new life.

The movie Groundhog Day is a parable about life. It’s full of lessons about the state of our hearts and whether we choose to live in the light or in the shadows.

Simeon and Anna in Luke’s Gospel also lived predictable and monotonous lives.  For years they went to the Temple every day, waiting for Jesus to arrive. But what made them different to Phil was their deep faith. The Holy Spirit had filled their hearts with hope, and when Jesus arrives, they’re overwhelmed with joy.

Just like Jesus, we’ve all had an official Presentation. At our Baptism, we were presented and consecrated to God and given a candle lit from the Paschal candle (symbolising Jesus, the Light of the World) . 

At that moment, the priest or deacon said, ‘You have been enlightened by Christ. Walk always as a child of the light and keep the flame of faith alive in your heart…’

This light, this flame of faith and love, is the difference between a dreary repetitive existence and a life of meaning, purpose and joy.

So, the question for you today is this: Is this divine flame burning inside you?

Or are you just living the same old life over and over and over again?

---

[i] Midseason weather predictions were important to European farmers. An old English song rhymed: ‘If Candlemas be fair and bright, / Come, Winter, have another flight. / If Candlemas brings clouds and rain, / Go, Winter, and come not again’.  In other words, if the bright sun ‘overshadows’ the brightness of Candlemas Day, more winter is expected. But if the light of Candlemas Day outshines the season’s gloom and darkness, then spring is near. In 1887 German immigrants adapted this tradition in the US to create Groundhog Day. Of course, the weather predictions are notoriously unreliable.

Getting to Know Jesus

(Neh.8:2-6, 8-10; 1Cor.12:12-30; Lk.1:1-4; 4:14-21)

In recent weeks, our Gospel readings have been painting a picture of Jesus, giving shape to his humanity and divinity.

Two weeks ago, at his baptism in the Jordan, a heavenly voice was heard to say ‘you are my beloved Son. I am well pleased with you.’

Last Sunday, as he turned the water into wine in Cana, we learnt more about Jesus: how much he respects his mother, how incredibly generous he is by producing so much wine, and how much he cares about ordinary people, even those living in obscure villages.

And in today’s Gospel, we not only hear that Jesus is a respected teacher and preacher, but we also learn the scope of his earthly mission.

Jesus tells us himself when he reads from the Book of Isaiah in the synagogue in Nazareth. Using Isaiah’s words about the coming of the Messiah, Jesus says that he has been sent by his Father to bring good news to the poor, to give sight to the blind, to heal the broken-hearted, and to set captives free (Is.61:1).

This is genuinely good news, because Jesus is offering hope, healing and liberation to everyone. And not just to other people, but also to ourselves, because we’re all to some extent poor, enslaved, blind or held captive. We all need hope, healing and liberation. 

Given how much Jesus is seeking to do for us, it’s worth asking: how well do we know Jesus? And are we as close to him as we should be?

In his book, The Joy of Knowing Christ, Pope Benedict XVI writes that there are two ways of ‘seeing’ and ‘knowing’ Jesus. The first is that of the crowd, which is superficial. And the second is that of the disciples, which is more penetrating and genuine.

The crowd, Benedict says, tends to see Jesus as a prophet. This isn’t wrong, but it is inadequate. Today, many people, including scholars, only approach Jesus from the outside. They might recognise his spiritual and moral stature and his influence on human history, and they might compare Jesus to Buddha, Confucius, Socrates and other wise and important historical figures.

But they don’t recognise Jesus as being unique. They don’t recognise him as the Son of God. As Jesus says to Philip at the Last Supper, ‘Have I been with you so long, and yet you do not know me?’ (Jn.14:9). [i]

So, how might we get to know Jesus better?

There are several ways to do this: including by spending quiet time with Jesus in prayer, by regularly receiving him in the Holy Eucharist, by following his teachings (Mt.22:37-39; Jn.14:21), by learning from the saints and from other faithful followers, by being alert to the movement of the Holy Spirit in your life, and by studying the Bible.

Indeed, each of the four Gospels paints a slightly different picture of Jesus. Mark depicts Jesus as a lean and busy figure with a deep compassion for those who suffer. But Jesus himself also suffers greatly, and he is often alone.

Matthew sees Jesus as a relaxed but masterful teacher; the new Moses who delivers his Sermon on the Mount and who leads his people to salvation.

For Luke, Jesus is the prayerful and kindly saviour, the prophet and healer who is empowered by the Holy Spirit. He is a wonderful storyteller who cares about women and children, and he is a loyal friend to both the rich and the poor.

And John focuses on Jesus’ divinity and his mission to reveal God to us all. He portrays Jesus as the bread of life who nourishes us; the light of the world who leads us out of darkness, and the lamb of God who sacrifices himself for us.

Why are we given four slightly different pictures of Jesus? It’s because he is not only human – he’s also divine, and one single depiction of him would not do him justice. But it’s also because we all have our own individual needs, and these multifaceted portraits allow us to choose the Jesus we are most drawn to.

So, if you need someone gentle to accompany you in your suffering, go to Mark.

If you need sensible and down-to-earth advice, then go to Matthew.

If you need someone to remind you of our all-powerful God, then turn to John.

And if you need a genuine friend, Luke’s Jesus will always be there for you. [ii]

And what does Jesus want in return? The only thing he wants is our love.

So, how well do you know Jesus?

Are you as close to him as you should be?

---

[i] Pope Benedict XVI, The Joy of Knowing Jesus, The Word Among Us Press, Ijamsville, MD, 2009, p.68.

[ii] Michael T Hayes, Homilies for the Whole Community, Year C, Twenty-Third Publications, New London, CT, 2006, p.130-132.