First Holy Communion

The 3rd Sunday of Easter
Today’s Readings: Acts 3:13–19; Ps. 4; 1 Jn 2:1–5; Lk 24:35–48 [Link to Readings]

For a long time after I moved out of New York, people would ask me if I missed living in the city. Actually, there was really just one thing that I missed terribly—and that was the bakeries. The fresh-baked bread there is the best!—hot, crusty rye bread… fresh, soft bagels and bialies… wonderful pizza… luscious donuts… and so much more.

That’s why I can really relate to the opening line of today’s gospel—that Jesus was made known to the disciples in the breaking of bread. There’s no doubt that Jesus was the best bread. When we heard the gospel about the wedding feast of Cana, St. John made a point to say that Jesus turned the water into the best wine. For our Lord, only the very best!

Today, in our parish, we are privileged to celebrate First Holy Communion. Another wonderful group of youngsters from St. John’s will approach the altar for the very first time to receive not the world’s best bread, but the Bread of Angels… the Bread that came down from Heaven.

It’s a wonderful thing that Our Lord decided to make himself present in the form of bread. After all, he could have come to us in any form he chose. But why bread?

For one thing, because bread is perhaps the most universal food in the world. And remember, God’s plan is to include everyone in his church. That’s what the word “catholic” means.

And even though bread is available everywhere, it’s not a fancy or expensive food. We don’t eat the caviar of God… or the lobster of the Lord… or the Italian truffles of God at $2,500 a pound. Just about everyone can have a little bread, even if it’s only a crust.

But while bread is a “poor man’s meal,” it can also be the most satisfying food in the world. There is nothing like the aroma and flavor of freshly-baked bread to delight the senses…

These are the reasons why Our Lord chose bread to be his eucharistic form. What rich symbolism in an everyday object so simple, so available, so ordinary, yet so satisfying to all of God’s children.

When was the last time you had bread? For most people, it was today! Or at the least, yesterday. Maybe you had a piece of toast this morning… or a sandwich… or a donut… or a slice of pizza. If we don’t nourish ourselves with bread, on a regular basis, we shrivel up and die. That’s what happens when you don’t take nutrition into your body.

Interestingly, Jesus says the same thing about himself, the Bread of Life. Unless you receive him into your life and into your heart, you’ll shrivel up and die inside. That’s why we have to be nourished by Jesus—not just now and then, not just as First Holy Communion, but on a regular basis. We have to be nourished by the word of Jesus, the message of Jesus, and the Real Presence of Jesus in holy communion, or we shrivel up and die inside.

There’s another thing else that’s important about “breaking bread,” too. It’s something that we normally do together.

Sure, sometimes you have to grab a donut or a piece of toast or a sandwich by yourself on the fly—but most of the time, sharing bread and food brings us together. And Our Lord wants us to receive the Bread of Life together. He says, “I want you to be a community together… to care for one another… to support one another… to be the Body of Christ on earth.” And this is another vital thing we learn and pledge to do when we celebrate First Holy Communion.

God doesn’t want us to be private holy people. He wants us to be there for each other. Pope John XXIII said it in a kind of humorous way: “God doesn’t want telephone poles,” each standing all alone, pointing up to heaven. God doesn’t even want telephone poles in the state of grace. What he wants is a family. He wants us to be a body together.

Lastly, there’s one more thing to be said about Our Lord in the Eucharist—why we receive him.

We eat regular bread to nourish ourselves and grow strong so we can do things. In the same way, we take holy communion to be nourished and strengthened by the Lord so we can do things… so we can be sent out into the world to make a difference… so we can be disciples who carry the light of Christ everywhere… so we can be a loving family. Holy communion is our heavenly banquet to make us people of service.

All this is what we celebrate today—for ourselves and most especially for our precious children who will receive the Bread of Angels for the first time today! Please pray for these little ones that they may never lose the wonder and joy they experience today.

Let us give thanks to the Lord who is so good to us. How blessed we are! Amen.

Divine Mercy

The 2nd Sunday of Easter
Today’s Readings: Acts 4:32–35; Ps. 118; 1 Jn 5:1–6; Jn 20:19–31 [Link to Readings]

Back in the late 1980’s when Kappi, Greg and I had our advertising agency in New Jersey, we always tried to take on at least one or two clients we could do “pro bono” work for—free services to support some good work being done in the community.

I’ll never forget the time that a fellow named Tom came in to talk to us. He headed up an organization called the Rainbow Foundation, which he himself founded—and for the most part funded. Tom explained that they provided what he called “financial first aid” to desperately ill children and their families to cover all kinds of expenses, including some of the dying wishes of terminal kids. The more “case histories” he told us, the more hooked we became. We decided on the spot that we wanted to help Tom and his foundation.

One time, when we got to know Tom better, we asked him how he had gotten involved with this. He was obviously a man of some means, and we were impressed by his zeal and single-minded focus on helping youngsters.

That’s when Tom opened up and told us his story. It seems he was a Wall Street wheeler-dealer, and very good at it. He was making a ton of money, but as he described it, the state of his soul wasn’t so good. He rarely saw his kids; his marriage was teeter-tottering; and he was ruthless in his dealings with other people. If he could make a buck, he’d step on anyone.

One day, Tom was leaving his office building to meet someone for lunch. I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of what New York’s financial district looks like at noon: tons of people rushing along the sidewalks and swarming through the streets, going in and coming out of every building and shop and restaurant. So here comes Tom. He pushes open the big glass doors of his building, takes a step onto the sidewalk, and immediately collapses onto the pavement with a massive heart attack.

He said that he couldn’t move. He just lay there, face down on the sidewalk. Some people were stepping over him; others were gathering around trying to help. But it was all very distant and disconnected.

While all this activity went on around him, Tom was meanwhile having a “God moment.” He realized in this instant that he was going to die. He realized, too, that his life had been a disaster. He had no relationship with God; he had broken every commandment in the book; he used and abused friends and family alike. He was going to stand before his Maker empty-handed… and this fallen-away Catholic was some scared.

Now Tom was a deal maker. Would his skills work on Almighty God? He prayed, “Lord, if you let me live, I promise that I will change my life. I will give up my present life—all of it—and devote myself entirely to you. I swear. Please, Jesus, help me.”

Tom amazed the paramedics and doctors, because he did indeed make it. And he kept his vow to God. He left Wall Street for good and poured himself into his new Rainbow Foundation. He had found his true vocation, and the man positively radiated a joy and peace that were contagious.

Very dramatically, Tom experienced divine mercy. God could have let Tom die on that downtown sidewalk and sent him off to hell—or at the very least, to purgatory for a very, very long time. But no. When this precious child of God, despite his persistent history of sinfulness and refusal to have anything to do with Jesus or his Church—when he called out for mercy to the Lord with a whimper and stark honesty, the Savior’s heart melted in love. “Yes, my beloved son. I will show mercy and give you another chance.”

Some years ago, Pope John Paul established the Sunday after Easter as “Divine Mercy Sunday,” and this is the breathtaking truth we focus on today. We are sinners and we are undeserving beyond words, but God will bail us out in an instant… if only we turn to him with humility and faith and contrition.

While God is infinitely merciful, he is no fool. People have another thing coming who think they can go through life using and abusing others, condemning and judging and tearing people down… and then at the last minute, count on the Lord to ignore all their evil and receive them into heaven with open arms! Oh no. Scripture makes it abundantly clear that it doesn’t work that way. We are going to have to give an account for every sinful word, thought, desire, deed and omission of our life—unless we have humbly kneeled down at the throne of divine mercy and asked for forgiveness.

The mercy of God is mind-boggling. How can the Lord make it so easy for us? Why doesn’t he demand payback for all the times we were so rotten? Why does he give us chance after chance after chance?

That’s what love is. That’s what motivates everything that God does for us and for every other human being. That’s why he came to earth and died for us. This is the most important truth and reality in the universe. It’s a gift with your name on it.

What’s even more astonishing is how many people don’t seem to care. No wonder our Lord stood over Jerusalem and wept.

What about you? Do you have the faith to act on the Lord’s offer of divine mercy? Do you have the faith to believe? Will you look over your past life… admit the things you’re ashamed of… and turn with humility to the divine one and ask for forgiveness and another chance?

“Blessed are those who have not seen and have believed” (Jn 20: 29).

Amen. Alleluia!

Breaking Out for Easter

Easter Sunday

Link to Readings:
Easter Vigil (Saturday Evening)
Easter Sunday

Every morning after mass, my dog, Maggie, is waiting for me to do our routine: we take a short drive to pick up the mail and run errands, and then we go for a walk to the pond and around the high school field. It didn’t take long for Maggie to learn this daily drill and look forward to it.

We human beings also learn a lot of things. When we were small, we learned to cry for Mom when we were hungry or needed changing. We learned by trial-and-error whether whining and foot-stomping would get us what we wanted—or whether it earned us a swift crack on the bottom. And as we grew and went through life, we learned many other ways to act and react based on our experiences and how things turned out.

I hate to say it, but that kind of learning really isn’t all that different from Maggie’s!

Of course, humans are capable of a higher, loftier kind of learning, too. That’s in part what it means when we say that we’re made in the image and likeness of God. Unlike dogs, we can appreciate beauty: a magnificent sunset… a dramatic painting… a clever joke… the lyrics of a great song…

And unlike dogs, we can make good choices because we can understand deeper, subtler meanings and see beyond the immediate: we agree to have root canals… we hopefully don’t eat an entire chocolate cake in one sitting… we go to work instead of just deciding to go fishing when we wake up to a warm spring day…

But despite how clever we are as a human race, many, many, many times, our higher intellectual abilities give way to our baser instincts. It’s almost as if we slip into a primitive kind of auto-pilot.

One of the reasons that TV sitcoms are so popular is because we get to watch other people promise themselves that they’re going to do the right and well-thought-out thing… and then at the moment of truth, they blow it completely—just like we do so often! Maybe our lives aren’t quite so funny because we don’t have professional gag-writers to come up with our lines. But clearly, our day-to-day mistakes and mishaps could fill volumes.

How come? Why do we keep slipping back into the same terrible patterns? Well, it’s actually a form of self-protection. Our experiences mold us and reinforce so many attitudes and behaviors that they become second-nature. That’s why some people are shy, or afraid to try new foods, or convinced they’re going to fail, or have simply given up.

Like a powerful addiction, these beliefs and attitudes and feelings have a stranglehold on our lives. In the silence of our own hearts, we may wish things could be otherwise, but it’s almost impossible to break out of the chains that have bound us for a lifetime.

Enter Jesus Christ.

Today is Easter. On Friday, Jesus was nailed to a cross, died on it, and was buried in a real grave. End of the story.

Well, not quite. Today, he’s really and truly alive again. Just as he said repeatedly during his ministry. Resurrected. Once he was dead, and now he’s alive again.

But wait! There’s more!

Jesus said that he did this for us—you and me and all other human beings, past, present and future—to make things right between us and God. He said that we share in his resurrection. We will live forever. He said that whatever it is that makes our hearts pound and soar, all we need to do is ask… seek… knock… and God will take care of us. He said that we’re family! If we have faith and seek to do God’s will, we’re his mother, brother, sister. He said that his love for us is everlasting and that nothing can separate us from that love. And he said tons of other things just like that.

How many times have we heard this message? And how do we respond? We may say, “Wow!” But within a very short time, when our auto-pilot takes back over, we sadly shake our heads and say, “Nah….”

To me, the only sad part of Easter is that we’re too afraid, or too conditioned, to believe it and embrace it.

Years ago, we had another dog by the name of Charlie. He was a stray who wandered in one day and since we couldn’t find his owners, we let him move in permanently. Charlie was petrified of thunderstorms. As best as we can figure, he must have been caught out in one when he was on the lam. Well, whenever a storm came up, Charlie would run around, hyperventilate, get a crazed look in his eyes, making a raspy panting sound, and be totally inconsolable. One time, we tried to lock him in a bathroom where he couldn’t see or hear anything; in his panic, he clawed his way through the door. We never could get him over his phobia. All we could do was give him a tranquilizer.

That’s us, folks. Maybe we’re blessed with fleeting “God moments” here and there, but for the most part, we cling to our animal-level fears and impediments. Ask yourself: am I living the life I could if I really believed that the truth would set me free? Am I living the life of one blessed and beloved to the Lord?

So it’s Easter. It’s a wonderful reminder that we have another chance to conquer ourselves and live as children of God. There’s so very much that Christ wants to give us. And the beautiful thing is, we don’t have to do it on our own. Here and now, just lift your heart to our resurrected Lord who is waiting for your call. Leave it in his loving hands.

A blessed Easter to you all.

At the Foot of the Cross

Their Calvaries.
Left, the road in Jasper, Texas, where James Byrd Jr. died.
Right, the fence in Laramie, Wyoming, where Matt Shepard was lashed and died.

Good Friday
Link to Readings

Today, on this Good Friday, we commemorate Jesus Christ’s passion. Once again, we retell the story of Our Lord’s betrayal, arrest, trial, death sentence, execution and burial.

Bible scholars teach us that there are different layers of meaning in the Scriptures. There’s a historical layer. We can learn about events to give us a perspective about what really went on in the story of the human race. We learn about kings like David and Solomon, religious leaders like Moses, and crucial events like the Exodus or, like today, the story of the end of Jesus Christ’s earthly life. Almost like you’d expect to hear in a history book, we hear the blow by blow description of the entire chain of events.

There’s also a spiritual sense to the bible. We take the lessons of Good Friday and draw from them deeper understandings about sin, evil, forgiveness, love, mercy, compassion. We pray that those lessons can sink in so we can become better people, holier people…

Still a third layer of scripture is the personal meaning and impact that it has for me. One way to experience this is to put yourself in the picture—either as one of the characters in the story or just as a fly on the wall watching everything unfold. Walking in someone’s shoes or even witnessing a profoundly stirring event is a powerful way to bring alive God’s truth and make it personally real. Certainly the story of the passion is rich with that kind of possibilities.

Come with me for a moment as we take this third approach.

Even though some of the language in the passion accounts is pretty graphic, I think we’ve become desensitized to much of it. We hear in the Stations of the Cross, in our prayers, in our readings, in sermons that Jesus was spit on, pummeled, scourged, bloodied, cut, nailed through flesh and bone. Several hundred years before this blackest day in human history, the prophet Isaiah predicted the horrors to come. In the first reading we heard this noon, Isaiah wrote that God’s Servant was so marred, so battered, that he barely looked human any more. Let that reality sink in…

On five occasions in the gospel, John—and I’m proud to say the namesake and patron of this very church—is referred to as Jesus’ beloved. He’s the only apostle described with that unique relationship. During the events of this day, that love between them really takes on an intense power.

In the three days of the passion, John struggled to stay near Jesus. He was the only apostle who did not run away. He was therefore the only apostle who stood at the foot of the cross watching as his beloved friend, Master, Lord finished his life. He was the only one willing to look on this man who was so messed up and swollen that he barely looked human.

Lots of other people claimed to love Jesus deeply. Where were they? Where was Peter? Andrew? James? Matthew the tax-collector whose life was turned around? Any of the people he healed?

Most of us in this church today are blessed to have people who are beloved to us, too. Can you imagine what it would be like to stand at their feet in death? To look at their barely-recognizable remains on the slab of a morgue? Could you—or would you run away?

I cannot understand the pain of James Byrd Jr.’s friends and family when they saw what was left of this black man who was dragged to death from the back of a pickup truck in Texas.

I cannot fathom the agony of Matthew Shepard’s mother when she saw her son crucified on a fence in Wyoming. His crime was that he was gay.

I cannot grasp the horror of the 9-year-old Muslim girl’s Daddy as he looked upon his innocent young daughter who was beaten to death and stabbed eleven times by Russian neo-Nazi skinheads in Moscow merely because of her ethnic identity.

And I cannot comprehend the dreadfulness of hate even as I witness it daily in the newspaper and television news: war, bombings, violence… pure evil.

But am I standing at the foot of the cross—or do I flee to my private, safe little world and bury my head in the sand?

Everyone’s heard the expression that if you’re not part of the solution, then you’re part of the problem. I think that unless we are really willing to stand at the foot of the cross and take in the unretouched horror, then we are never in a position to recognize our need—make that our craving—for God’s hope. And that’s what Good Friday is about: hope.

Jesus’ passion is replayed day after day after day in our world. Maybe the actors and the stage change, but the story’s exactly the same. Only the power and strength of God himself can redeem us and overcome the tragedy.

I weep, O Lord, on this Good Friday. I do not understand the horror. Be my strength through this dark night.

The Prayer of a Priest

Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord’s Supper

Link to Readings

When I was stationed at St. Stephen’s in Streator, there was a fellow in the parish whom I guess you’d describe as the “macho type.” I first met him in the hospital. I had stopped at his room for a visit and to bring the Sacraments.

“Oh, no, Father,” he said. “I can’t take communion without going to confession, and I won’t go to confession because I did some bad stuff that I’m not sorry for.”

I tried to tell him about the mercy of God, but he insisted that whatever it was that he did, he would do again—so he didn’t feel he could confess.

Since then, I saw this man a number of times, and it almost became a little ritual between us: I’d try to cajole him into confession, and he’d smile and shake his head “no.”

Until the last time.

I don’t know what changed his mind, but he finally agreed. I whispered a little prayer of thanksgiving as I quickly slipped my purple stole around my neck before he could back down.

When his confession was over—and it was a beautiful, holy confession—I said, “I’m going to give you holy communion now.” He nodded solemnly.

I placed Our Lord on his tongue, and this macho fellow started to sob quietly, without the least embarrassment. The tears flowed down his face from both eyes as he sat on his hospital bed. It was one of the most moving communions I have ever witnessed. He closed his eyes to enjoy Christ’s presence, and I slipped out of the room quietly, leaving the two of them—human and divine—to share this very graced moment.

As an ordained priest, I am incredibly blessed to see the amazing and varied and frequent ways that God Almighty reaches into the lives of his people—usually when they least expect it. No matter how much you think you have insulated yourself or wrapped yourself in sin, God’s love can penetrate to the heart faster than the most powerful laser beam. He can leave the toughest atheist quivering and overflowing with faithful love. Yes, if and when God comes to call on you, you’ll be forever changed.

On this very holy night, we once again memorialize the Lord’s Last Supper. This is the night that Jesus Christ instituted the Holy Eucharist. This is the night that Our Savior ordained the first bishops of the Church and established the Holy Priesthood.

One the apostles sitting around the Passover table in the upper room that night ordained another bishop… and he ordained his successor… and that one in turn ordained another… and so on, down the line, through the centuries, in an unbroken line to Bishop Daniel R. Jenky, our own shepherd. And his predecessor, John Myers, imposed his hands and called down the same Holy Spirit on me ten years ago, marking my soul with an indelible character making me forever an alter Christus, another Christ, and entrusting to me the supernatural power to forgive sins, to heal the sick, to turn bread and wine into Christ’s Body and Blood, and in general to be a go-between between God and man. Yes, I still get goose bumps when I consider the reality of the gift I have been given—a gift that is partially for me, but much more for you.

God wants only one thing. He wants you to be his. But since human beings have free choice, it’s up to us to decide whether we’re willing to accept God’s offer for salvation.

We priests are charged with planting the seeds to make this happen. Sometimes we botch things up, because we’re human and sinful, too. I shudder to think that when my earthly days are over I will have to stand before God and give an accounting for the souls I may have driven away through my own sinfulness.

But every day, my brother priests and I weep for those we are aching to reach, but we cannot. We pray and we sacrifice, usually too poorly, for so many who have pushed God away: the parents who ignore their kids or let them be filled with all the backward values of the world… those who are furious with God because of some tragedy or loss in their lives… people who are trapped in a full-Nelson headlock of sin or despair or addiction… folks so wrapped up in themselves and their own wants and needs and cravings that they are blind to the damage they are inflicting upon themselves.

When Jesus celebrated the Last Supper two thousand years ago, he pictured you—and he also pictured me, the priest he chose to establish for these days in one small fold of his Church. Yes, this was his vision from all eternity, or else it would not have come to be!

In my various priestly assignments, I’ve found that most of the time, the flock is wonderful to us priests, and we feel blessed to be so esteemed. The gospels show us that most of the time, the people were good to Jesus, too.

But then there are the times that we are reviled. Sometimes, people who are angry or upset about something attack us, condemn us, accuse us of evil, privately and publicly. Other parishioners complain and speak ill of us for things we have done or failed to do or have done badly.

Well, that kind of thing happened to Jesus, too—although he was totally innocent, of course. He showed his love the best way he could, but it obviously wasn’t good enough in some people’s minds. The events of tomorrow—Good Friday—prove that. But Our Lord knew that he would take the sin and evil that put him on the cross and turn it into even greater love—the love of resurrection and salvation.

Likewise, your priests try mightily to take their own sufferings at the hands of the flock and join them with Christ’s own on the sacred cross. This makes the love purer, sweeter and more efficacious.

Your priests, established this very night by Jesus, are priests forever—just for you. Whether you treat us royally or like criminals, it doesn’t change our mission to love you and do our part to guide you to salvation. Praise God for that.

And when the journey gets rough and lonely, God never fails to offer a special consolation—like a chance to meet the macho fellow with the hard heart who finally accepted God’s love and melted in tears at communion. Occasions like that help us priests remember, “Yes, my Jesus, that’s why I became a priest.”

And we keep praying, if only the next time this happens it could be you…

Judas

Giotto, Kiss of Judas

Palm Sunday
Today’s Readings: Mk. 11:1-10; Isa. 50:4-7; Ps. 22; Phil. 2:6-11; Mk. 14:1 – 15:47

Today we celebrate Palm Sunday. This is the day of Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem. People are lined up on both sides of the road, waving palm branches, cheering and shouting “Hosanna! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!”

It doesn’t take long for Our Lord’s triumph to take a 180° turn. Palm Sunday is the beginning of Holy Week that takes us through the anguish and depths of Christ’s passion, crucifixion and death… and ultimately to the blessing of the holiest day of the year—Easter—which we’ll celebrate one week from today.

As we do every year, we just listened to the Passion. It’s funny. As I get to the point in the story where Judas comes into the garden, I keep wishing that it could have been different—although, of course, I know that without the horror of Good Friday we could never have experienced the turning point of Easter.

Yet still, I wonder: how could Judas have done such a despicable deed?

Maybe Judas was a jealous man. We’ve all met jealous people who do cruel things to try to get even. Maybe Judas was jealous because Jesus favored John, “the beloved disciple,” over him. About ten years ago, there was an extremely popular and beautiful singer in Mexico named Selena. Another woman, Yolanda Saldivar, was her personal assistant and the president of Selena’s fan club. But Selena decided to hire someone else. Yolanda was so hurt and angered and jealous, that she shot and killed Selena.

Maybe Jesus was going to ask John to handle the money, and that set off a storm of rage and fury within Judas. You probably remember the story when Jesus was having lunch with Mary and Martha, and Mary anointed Jesus’ feet with ointment. The scripture says that the ointment was very costly and the house was filled with its fragrance. Then Mary dried Jesus’ feet with her hair. Judas complained: “Why wasn’t this ointment sold and the money given to the poor?” Right there you see the sign of a troubled man. Why did he resent such a generous and loving gesture on Mary’s part? Maybe he was in love with Mary and was jealous. Maybe he was in love with Jesus and was jealous. Who knows? But Mary’s show of affection to Jesus upset him.

Perhaps Judas didn’t love anybody and was just following Jesus to boost his own ego or to try to hitch his wagon to a rising star. Then when the authorities turned against Jesus with such determination, he panicked, thinking he was on the wrong side and he might get arrested too.

Or just maybe Judas was a good and decent person and something—we know not what—was driving him crazy and pushed him over the edge. He saw that Jesus was doing dangerous things like throwing over the tables of the money-changers in the temple. Maybe to his warped way of thinking he thought that getting Jesus thrown in jail might prevent him from doing something worse and getting the whole lot of them executed as revolutionaries.

Whatever the real reason, Jesus Christ—true man but also true God—knew what it was. Jesus didn’t stop Judas from exercising his absolute human freedom, but he gave him every chance to repent of his choice. In fact, one of the most bitter ironies of the whole passion is that even after his betrayal, Judas could have been forgiven—just like Peter was. We could be celebrating a St. Judas day in the Church…

The story of the passion and “what could have been” offers us one of the most powerful lessons of Christianity and God’s unwavering love: no matter how bleak life may seem, Christ always offers hope—and not just a glimmer of hope, but a guaranteed way out. The saints knew this, and that’s why they happily could become “fools for Christ” and throw their lot in with him even in life’s darkest moments.

If we could take the same lesson to heart, then truly, the power of Christ’s love within us would be unstoppable—and this could be the start of a Holy Week without equal.

God’s “Life-Grip”

The Fifth Sunday of Lent

Today’s Readings: Jer. 31:31-34; Ps. 51; Heb. 5:7-9; Jn. 12:20-33


About twenty years ago, Northwest Airlines Flight 225 crashed right after it took off from Detroit Metro Airport. Of the 156 people onboard, 155 were killed. There was one survivor: a four-year-old girl from Tempe, Arizona, named Cecilia.

The news reported that when rescuers found Cecilia, they didn’t believe she had really been on the plane. Investigators first assumed that the little girl was a passenger in one of the cars on the highway where the airliner crashed. But when they checked the passenger manifest for the flight, sure enough, there was Cecilia’s name.

How was it that this one child survived?

As best as Cecilia was able to tell the story, it appears that her mother, Paula, took action as soon as she realized that the plane was going down. Paula unbuckled her own seat belt, got down on her knees in front of her daughter, wrapped her arms and body around Cecilia, and then would not let her go. She just held on tight to the very end.

Nothing could separate that child from her mother’s love—neither tragedy nor disaster, neither the fall nor the flames that followed, neither height nor depth, neither life nor death.

Picture this vivid scene and imprint it onto your brain, because this is precisely the love our Savior has for us. Jesus Christ, the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity, left heaven, lowered himself to us, and covered us with the sacrifice of his own body to save us. As our Lord says in today’s gospel, “It was for this purpose that I came to this hour” (John 12:27).

It’s easy to take the cross for granted. We’ve got a beautiful, hand-carved wooden cross over our high altar—a gift many years ago from the Durelle van Alstyne family. You’ve probably got a crucifix—maybe several—hanging in your home. Maybe another at the end of your Rosary beads. Perhaps one hanging around your neck right this very minute.

If you gave it a thought, you might ask a very honest and penetrating question: really, what does the cross have to do with me? Isn’t it just ancient history? Maybe it stirs up my heart once in a while, but I basically go about my life without thinking about Jesus except very remotely.

I wonder what little Cecilia was thinking while her mother was wrapped around her. “Mommy, you’re hurting me. Why are you squeezing me so tight? Ow! You’re pulling my hair.” All the silly little things you’d expect a 4-year-old to feel and say. She never for a second understood that her mother was making the ultimate sacrifice for her out of a love so powerful and profound that it is beyond words.

That God-Man we see nailed to the cross did—and still does—the same for you and me. His suffering and death paid the terrible price for our sins. Thanks to him—and only because of him—do we stand a chance of being admitted to heaven one day.

But in our humanity and weakness, we frequently don’t see past the hurts and indignities we have to endure every day. Sometimes, we even lift our voices to God to whine and complain: “How can you do this to me, Lord? God, why don’t you help me? If you’re really there and love me, do something about this!” Just like a kid—a somewhat spoiled, or at least a pretty sheltered, kid.

In our blindness and fragile faith, we just don’t see that God purposely has his arms wrapped tightly around us—watching over us, protecting us, standing guard over us, loving us, nudging us towards heaven. Hear Christ’s breathtaking words today: “And when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw everyone to myself” (John 12:32). That’s you he’s speaking about!

The prophet Jeremiah tells us that God’s law is within us, written upon our hearts (Jer 31:33): he is our God, and we are his people. If we are truly to experience God’s peace and blessings in life, we’ve got to admit that he’s the boss and abandon ourselves into his hands. And that means, of course, that things in life don’t always play out as we might expect.

There’s a fable about three young trees growing side by side in a forest. One dreamt of being part of a magnificent home, where people could admire the beautiful color and grain of his wood. The second dreamt of becoming the tall mast of an elegant sailing vessel that traveled the seven seas. The third hoped to be part of a great tower. Eventually, the trees grew to maturity and were cut down. The first didn’t become part of a luxurious home; instead, some of its wood was fashioned into a simple manger, a wooden trough to hold the hay that animals ate. The second tree didn’t become a mast for a sailboat; instead, it became the sides of an ordinary fishing boat, like many on the Sea of Galilee. And the third didn’t become part of a tall tower as it had dreamed; instead, it was fashioned into the beams of a cross and used for a crucifixion. The moral is that when we leave ourselves trustingly in God’s hands, rerouted dreams can find glory even in unexpected places. That’s the power of God’s love for us.

As we enter upon the home stretch of Lent, now is an excellent time to take stock of our relationship with Jesus Christ. The law written on our hearts says that we are totally and absolutely dependent upon him—and that we can totally and absolutely depend upon him. All he asks in return is that we do our best to amend our lives and follow God’s teachings and wisdom—not because he wants to straitjacket our freedom, but because he’s holding unto to us with a love that’s so tight that it never lets go… not a death-grip, but a life-grip.

Don’t leave church today without whispering a prayer of gratitude and a pledge of recommitment to your loving Savior… your very best and most devoted Friend. Amen.