Father Castor's Weblog

Ephesians 3:13-21 Luke 14:1-11

–Fr. Timothy Castor

At first glance, the parable in today’s Gospel seems to be little more than a lesson in etiquette: good table manners for when you’re invited to a banquet. And, on that level, it happens to be excellent advice. If you don’t know where you’re supposed to sit, the best way to avoid the embarrassment of being sent to a lower place is to take a low place to begin with.

Of course, our Lord is teaching us more than table manners here; he is giving us a lesson in how to practice the virtue of humility. The self-important and prideful person seeks the place of honor because he thinks that is what he deserves. When he finds that the host has assigned him a lower place, then he suffers humiliation: he has learned humility the hard way. The humble man, on the other hand, naturally gravitates toward the lower spots, because he honestly believes that’s all he deserves. And, when the host calls him up higher, he is honored and respected on account of his humility.

Great persons are known for their humility. In the secular world, the great actor James Stewart was loved and respected by millions because he projected a spirit of humility. In the annals of the Saints, we find humility as one of the most enduring characteristics of holiness. Blessed Teresa of Calcutta—more commonly known as Mother Teresa—is a beautiful contemporary model of this. One of the qualities which made her so attractive to Catholics and non-Catholics alike was her humility. And, of course, our Lord Jesus Christ and his blessed Mother Mary are the prime examples of humility. “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,” Jesus says, “for I am meek and humble of heart.” And our Lady sings in her Magnificat: “My soul doth magnify the Lord. And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Savior. Because he hath regarded the humility of his handmaid; for behold from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed…. He hath put down the mighty from their seat, and hath exalted the humble.”

It has been said that “true humility is not to think low of oneself but to think rightly, truthfully of oneself.” The way to practice the Gospel virtue of humility is to recognize who and what we really are—to have authentic self-knowledge: an accurate view of oneself and where one stands before God and before others. Saint Ambrose wrote (in reference to St. Paul): “An untaught humility has no claim to praise, but only that which possesses modesty and a knowledge of self. For there is a humility that rests on fear, one, too, that rests on want of skill and ignorance. Therefore the Scripture says: ‘He will save the humble in spirit.’”

A 20th Century theologian put it this way: “How can we retain our humility? We can retain it by realizing the facts. How ever much we know, we still know very little compared with the sum total of knowledge. However much we have achieved, we still have achieved very little in the end. However important we may believe ourselves to be, when death removes us or when we retire from our position, life and work will go on just the same.” (William Barclay)

The virtue of humility finds its opposing vice in pride, vainglory, a self-love which is, in essence, self-deception because it is a completely false view of oneself. This is why the Pharisees were incapable of showing authentic charity to others—why they condemned the Lord with their silence when he sought to heal the sick man who came to him on the Sabbath.

But if we are truly humble—with the humility of Christ—then we will be filled with love for our neighbor because there will be no self-love to get in the way. And we will be eager to give to those in need without counting the cost. And if we all possessed this virtue of humility, think of how much happier our lives would be in this world and how much more certain our place would be in the world to come.

True humility, born of accurate self-knowledge, leaves no room for self-love. Instead, it opens us up to the love of Christ. This is St. Paul’s prayer for us in today’s Epistle: “That Christ may dwell by faith in your hearts;” he says, “that being rooted and founded in charity, you may be able to comprehend with all the saints, what is the breadth and length, and height, and depth. To know also the charity of Christ, which surpasseth all knowledge; that you may be filled unto all the fullness of God.”

Wisdom 2:12.17-20 James 3:16-4:3 Mark 9:30-37

–Fr. Timothy W. Castor

On three separate occasions during his earthly ministry, our Blessed Lord Jesus foretold his coming death and resurrection. The first time was right after Peter’s profession of faith—“you are the Christ, the Son of the living God”—and just before his Transfiguration. On this occasion, Jesus tells his disciples, “the Son of Man must suffer many things, and be rejected by the elders and chief priests and the scribes, and be killed, and on the third day be raised.” Peter rebuked the Lord and said such a thing would never happen to him. Jesus’ response to Peter’s rebuke is swift and decisive; it shows that his death and resurrection is the very purpose for which he came into the world: “Get behind me, Satan! You are a hindrance to me; for you are not on the side of God, but of men.”

The second time Jesus foretells his passion is the account we heard in today’s Gospel. “The Son of Man is to be handed over to men,” Jesus says, “and they will kill him, and three days after his death the Son of Man will rise.” This is shortly after the Transfiguration, and this time Peter and the rest of the disciples remain silent. Matthew tells us that the disciples were distressed at the saying, while Mark and Luke simply write that they did not understand and were afraid to ask him what he meant.

But, even though the disciples were afraid to ask, I believe it is a question worth asking. What did Jesus mean what he said that the Son of man would be handed over? Handed over by whom and to whom? And why was he handed over? These questions are worth asking because they are related to an age-old controversy in the Church—the controversy over who is responsible for the death of Jesus. This controversy is rekindled from time to time. Most recently it’s arisen over the Good Friday prayers found in the 1962 Missal, used in the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Mass. A few years ago the controversy cropped up when Mel Gibson was preparing to release his movie, The Passion of the Christ. People said the film was anti-Semitic because it depicted the Jewish elders handing Jesus over to be put to death. The response on the part of the filmmakers was that they were simply being faithful to the Gospel account. Well, what does the gospel actually say?

This brings us to the third time Jesus reveals his passion to his disciples. It’s while they are making the final trip to Jerusalem. And this time he is very specific about the persons to whom he is handed over. “Behold, we are going up to Jerusalem;” he says, “and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death and hand him over to the Gentiles; and they will mock him, and spit upon him, and scourge him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise.” The Greek word which is translated “handed over” is also translated “betray” or “deliver”. St. Matthew’s account of the passion gives us a whole chain of betrayal. The chain seems to begin with Judas, the disciple who betrayed the Lord in the Garden of Gethsemane, handing Jesus over to the chief priests and scribes. After he is falsely accused and condemned, he is delivered—handed over—to Pontius Pilate. Now he is in the hands of Gentiles, and Pilate tries to distance himself from his responsibility through the pitiful gesture of washing his hands. Nevertheless, it is he who finally hands Jesus over to the soldiers who put him to death.

So it would seem that Jesus passed through many hands on his way to the Cross. The men of which he speaks in today’s gospel—the men who put him to death—include both Jews and Gentiles, and even his own friend and disciple. It was not just one person, or even one nation that was responsible for Christ’s death; all peoples share in the responsibility, because, ultimately, it is the sins of the whole world for which Christ died. But where did it all begin? We know where the buck stopped (the buck stopped with Pilate and the Roman soldiers); where did the buck start? Who was really behind the Crucifixion—the central event of salvation history?

Was it Satan? Certainly, the jealousy and hatred of the old deceiver inspired the animosity of the Jewish leaders and was the guiding force in the treachery of Judas. Satanic powers were at work when Pilate unjustly condemned our Lord to death and when the soldiers mocked him and spit upon him and nailed him to the Cross. But the devil did all this only because he was permitted to do so. There was someone else behind the handing over of Jesus, and you might be surprised to learn who it was.

St. Paul writes in the eighth chapter of Romans, “If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son but handed him over for us all, how will he not also give us everything else along with him?” That’s right, it was God the Father who planned this all along and who handed over his own Son to be the sacrifice for the sins of the whole world. And because Jesus is the Son of God, of one substance with the Father, he was in on this plan too. He willingly allowed himself to be handed over, laying down his own life in sacrifice for his sheep. Why did Jesus lay down his life; why was he handed over? The answer can be found in the Gospel from the Feast of the Holy Cross: “For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that he who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life.”

It was God’s love for us sinners that sent the Son of God to the Cross. In the natural order, sinful men, through a chain of betrayal, condemned our Lord to death. In the mystical order, it was the sins of the whole world—including your sins and mine—that brought about the handing over of Jesus to death on the Cross. But, thanks be to God, his death is not the end of the story. Each of the three times that Jesus foretells his Passion, he also foretells his resurrection from the dead. Our Lord is in complete control of his own destiny! Just as he lays down his life in obedience to the Father and in love for sinful humanity, so he takes up his life again to give us new life.

If we look at the story of the Passion from a purely human and natural perspective, it appears to be nothing more than a tragedy of hatred, jealousy and selfishness. But from God’s perspective, it is a story of love, of generosity, and of self-sacrifice. God gave his only Son out of his tremendous love for us. Jesus gave his own life and rose from the dead so that we might triumph over death and share in his new life. Jesus’ death and resurrection offers salvation for all peoples and all nations; no one is excluded. But it is well to remember that just as our sins handed Jesus over to death, so, if we continue in sin, we will continue to betray him. May the Lord free us from the selfish ambitions which clouded the minds of the disciples and from all sins which keep us from participating in the true life of the resurrection.

© 2003-9, The Rev. Timothy W. Castor

Galatians 3:16-22
Luke 17:11-19

Fr. Timothy W. Castor (preached on Sunday, August 30, 2009)

To be a victim of leprosy is to be isolated from the rest of society. Even today, when we know what causes Hansen’s disease and have developed effective treatments to cure it, those who contract leprosy are likely to be shunned by others and placed in institutions far from the general population. If this is true today, with our advanced medical knowledge, it was all the more so in ancient times when the disease was regarded as highly contagious and a sign of spiritual uncleanness as well as physical illness. Perhaps this was because of the horrible disfiguring effects of the disease: lepers lose the sense of touch in the affected areas of their bodies and so their limbs frequently become mutilated or even fall off due to injuries they can’t feel. In addition to this, their skin becomes discolored, tumors appear all over their bodies and their voices become hoarse.

At the time of Jesus, the Law of Moses forced lepers to live outside the city gates. They had to maintain a distance of at least 100 paces between themselves and those who were healthy. If someone accidentally came near, the lepers had to warn them by calling out “Unclean! Unclean!”. But when the ten lepers in today’s Gospel caught sight of Jesus, a spark of faith surged in their hearts and their cry changed from one of despair to one of hope: “Jesus, Master, have mercy on us.”

Our Lord’s response is very interesting. He does not tell them to wash in the Jordan, as the Old Testament prophet, Elisha did with Naaman. He does not touch them with his healing hand (as he did elsewhere in the Gospel). He doesn’t even proclaim that they are clean. Instead, he simply tells them to show themselves to the priests. Now, the only reason a leper would go to the priest is if his leprosy had been cured. These lepers were told to go while they were still unclean. It seems Jesus saw their faith, and wished to test this—to evoke even greater trust in his power. And because they respond to his command, he gives them a gift even greater than physical healing—he gives them the gift of faith, and it is their faith that heals them. But there is a note of sadness in this beautiful story: Despite being given a tremendous gift, which all ten lepers receive, only one returns to give thanks. All ten begged for mercy; all ten received an outpouring of God’s grace; but only one acknowledges the giver of the gift.

Things have not changed too much over the last 2,000 years. How quick we are to pray when we’re in trouble; how slow we are to praise when things are going well. Someone once wrote that the basic difference between a prison and a monastery is simply the difference between griping and gratitude. You see, criminals behind bars seem to spend every moment of their unhappy lives griping and complaining about their condition, about the injustice they have suffered, about their fellow inmates. On the other hand, religious monks and nuns who have imprisoned themselves behind the walls of a monastery spend every waking moment of their lives giving thanks and praise to Almighty God. Their life is a joy, while the prisoner’s life is misery. And yet, it is often the case that a prison can actually become a kind of monastery when a criminal gives his life to Christ and spends his time thanking God for the gift of forgiveness. On the other hand, when a monk gives up gratitude, then the monastery quickly becomes a prison.

We can easily make a prison of our own souls when we dwell upon the hurts and injustices of life, griping and complaining, rather than focusing our hearts and minds on the good gifts that God gives us, thanking him for the many blessings he has brought into our lives. There’s no prison more miserable in this world than a bitter and ungrateful heart.

God has given us so much to be thankful for—our life, our health, our family and friends—to say nothing of the eternal salvation he won for us on the Cross and which he dispenses to us through the Sacraments of his Holy Church. We could spend our entire lives in thanksgiving and never be finished. How do we show our thanks for these blessings? The best way, I think, is the return we make to God of the gifts he has given to us. How do we use the time, talent and treasure he has given us to serve him and to serve his people? This is the real measure of our gratitude.

Now I know that we all go through tough times in life when everything seems to close in upon us and nothing seems to go right. But even if that is your experience right now, is your life so bad, so hopeless that there’s nothing to give thanks for?

There was once a preacher in Scotland named Alexander Whyte who was famous for the prayers he gave from the pulpit. He always seemed to find something to be thankful for. One miserable and stormy morning he approached the pulpit ready to make his prayer and some of the members of his congregation were thinking to themselves, “The preacher will have nothing to thank God for on a wretched morning like this.” But as the wind and rain lashed against the church, Whyte began his prayer, “We thank Thee, O God, that it is not always like this.”

Well, things might be difficult right now, but thank the Lord that it’s not always like this—that things can get better, that they will get better as we place our hope and trust in him who promised that he would never leave us or forsake us.

I’d like to leave you with a question from today’s Gospel. Think of that one Samaritan leper who returned to give thanks—what did he receive that the others didn’t? What reward did he get for his grateful spirit? He received the same healing, the same salvation as the other nine. What did the Lord give him in recognition of his thankfulness? All that Jesus gave him was a word—a word of peace and consolation: “Arise, go thy way; for thy faith hath made thee whole.” But at that moment, the Samaritan entered into a union with the Lord which the other nine rejected. And this is what gratitude will obtain for each one of us: union with Christ—a relationship, a friendship with Jesus that the world can never know.

As St. Paul indicates in today’s Epistle, the promise which God has made to us in Christ Jesus cannot be broken. May our hearts always be filled with gratitude for all that the Lord has given us as we place our hope and faith in his promise of new life.

2 Corinthians 3:4-9 Luke 10:25-37

—Fr. Timothy W. Castor (preached Sunday, August 23, 2009)

In the time of Jesus, the Rabbis determined that there were 613 separate laws in the five books of Moses, and they believed that if they could fulfill them all, God would grant them eternal life. Quite a daunting task because, just to know and understand what those laws were would take a lifetime of study. And, if this were true for the highly educated rabbis, what about the common folk who couldn’t even read or write? And so the Hebrew teachers set themselves to figure out which laws were the greatest: which ones summed up the entire Mosaic code so that if you were to fulfill those, you would fulfill them all. It was a question that was posed to Jesus probably more than once (because he was seen as a great rabbi himself), and here, when he is challenged by a lawyer (in other words, a rabbi who is an expert in the Law of Moses), he asks the man his opinion, and approves his answer.

Thus we learn that the Law of God can be summed up in two commands: “Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with thy whole heart, and with thy whole soul, and with all thy strength, and with all thy mind; and [thou shalt love] thy neighbor as thyself.”

Love of God and love of neighbor contain all the Law and the Prophets and if we do this, we will live. Why? Because if we love God perfectly, with our whole being, we will fulfill our whole duty toward God: both avoiding sin and practicing virtue. And if we love our neighbor as ourselves, we fulfill our whole duty toward others by recognizing in everyone we meet a person equal in dignity to ourselves, created in God’s image, redeemed by the Blood of his only Son. We would never want to harm a person we regard in this way, and we would always seek to help them in their need.

But the lawyer is not satisfied with this answer, apparently, and wants to engage Jesus in a rabbinical dispute. So he interrogates him further: “And who is my neighbor?” Who am I obligated to love? Our Lord’s reply in the parable of the Good Samaritan, however, actually answers a slightly different question. Instead of “Who is my neighbor?”, the question Jesus answers could be worded: “Whose neighbor am I?”

You see, we have a tendency to define our neighbors rather narrowly: they’re usually the people for whom we feel a natural affection—our family and friends, our countrymen, those who share our ethnic background and our beliefs. But, as we already indicated, the very idea of neighbor suggests an equal dignity: If you are my neighbor, then I am your neighbor. And vice-versa: If I am your neighbor, then you are my neighbor. So, instead of categorizing and listing who your neighbors might be, our Lord seems to be saying: Why not discover to whom you are a neighbor? Once you have answered this question, then you will know who your neighbors really are.

The answer that emerges from the parable is a simple one: I am neighbor to everyone—everyone I meet, everyone I encounter, everyone I know or even know about. You see, the Jews and Samaritans distrusted and despised one another. So, according to Jesus, my neighbors include those who are different from me, those I have been taught to distrust or despise, even those who hate me. And since I am neighbor to everyone, everyone is my neighbor … everyone is your neighbor. It is not just a select few we must love: we owe the debt of charity to everyone.

But we learn something more from this parable: that love of God and love of neighbor go hand-in-hand. In fact, the very measure of our love for God is determined by the degree to which we love our neighbor. The priest and the Levite in today’s Gospel certainly loved God: they were on their way to Jerusalem probably in order to fulfill their duties in the Temple. But when they avoided the man who needed their help, their devotion to God proved to be nothing more than legalistic obligation. Likewise there are those today who claim to love God, who appear pious and devout; they say their prayers and practice their devotions. But they can’t be bothered with helping those around them who are in need. Talk to them for a few minutes, and you discover their words are filled with contempt and anger toward their neighbors. This lack of charity really amounts to disdain—a form of hatred. Saint John tells us, “If anyone says, ‘I love God,’ but hates his brother, he is a liar; for whoever does not love a brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen.” A sober warning for all of us.

The ancient Fathers of the Church saw in the Good Samaritan a type of Christ, and the person who fell victim to robbers, they said, represents all of mankind. We are wounded and helpless because of our sins and in a state of enmity with God. Jesus Christ, the eternal Son of God, comes to our aid, offering us healing, forgiveness and love. He did this by offering his life in sacrifice to the Father on the Cross. So, how can we claim to be his people and not do as he did—laying down our lives for those in need? To imitate the Good Samaritan, then, is to imitate Christ: to show mercy to our brothers and sisters, our neighbors, our friends and our enemies. As our Lord said to the lawyer: “Go and do thou in like manner.”

Proverbs 9:1-6
Ephesians 5:15-20 John 6:51-58

Fr. Timothy W. Castor (preached on Sunday, August 16, 2009)

We all know fine Christian folk who are very devoted to the Sacred Scriptures. They have tremendous love and respect for the Bible as the inspired written Word of God. They read the Bible frequently, study it deeply, and order their lives according to its teaching. Regardless of their particular denomination, they frequently refer to themselves as “Bible Christians.” Generally speaking, Roman Catholics are not usually included in this category. While we certainly have great reverence for the Sacred Scriptures and their unique role in our faith, we also recognize that the Bible is not all there is to Divine Revelation. There is Tradition with a capital T: the truths of the Faith which were handed down to us from the Apostles by word of mouth under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. And we acknowledge the role of the Sacred Magisterium: the teaching office of the Church which ensures that Scripture and Tradition are rightly interpreted and applied in our lives, and which is also protected from error by the work of the Holy Spirit, promised by Christ to the Church to lead her into all truth.

Bible Christians are known for their literal interpretation of Scripture: whatever the Bible says, even in the minutest details of history or natural science, is to be understood as literal truth. This approach has much to commend it because it is simple and direct. Indeed, it is the best starting point for understanding the Sacred Scriptures. Catholics also believe the Bible to be free from error. And we should read the Bible according to the way in which the human authors wrote it and the way in which their original audience understood what they wrote. From there, we delve deeper into what the divine Author intended to convey. So a literal interpretation is certainly not to be rejected. Bible Christians, however, have difficulty with certain passages of Scripture. The literal interpretation is just too uncomfortable. Today’s Gospel is a prime example. I know this for a fact because I grew up a fundamentalist Protestant, and it wasn’t until my senior year in Bible college that I discovered this passage of Scripture on my own. The Bread of Life Discourse (which we have been reading these past few weeks at Sunday Mass) and especially the verses in today’s Gospel were never taught in any of my classes and I never heard a sermon preached on them. I don’t say this to criticize Bible Christians, but merely to point out the fact that sometimes a literal interpretation will take you in a direction you do not want to go. Sadly, this particular teaching of Jesus has been a cause of division among his followers from the very first day he spoke it, as we will hear in next week’s Gospel.

In this instance, as in many others, the Catholic Church has always taken Jesus precisely at his word. He meant exactly what he said when he uttered this profound teaching: “Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him on the last day. For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him. Just as the living Father sent me and I have life because of the Father, so also the one who feeds on me will have life because of me.”

It is clear that Jesus really does mean to give us his flesh and blood to be our food and drink. This is the literal truth, and not merely a figure of speech. But how is this possible? In the most Holy Eucharist Jesus gives himself to us, not in a cannibalistic sense as some have criticized (and as a hyper-literal interpretation might lead us to believe); but we receive Christ sacramentally. In the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, the bread and wine are transformed in their substance—their inner reality—into the living and life-giving Body and Blood of Jesus Christ, while only the appearances of bread and wine remain. When we receive Holy Communion, we do not eat a piece of dead flesh, but we receive the whole Christ, risen from the dead and living for evermore. He comes into our being to dwell within us and to give us, as he promised, eternal life.

It’s good to reflect on the truths contained in the pure and simple words of Jesus—words which he spoke to his disciples in the synagogue of Capernaum. Throughout history and into the present day, these truths have been questioned and challenged and reinterpreted, even by those who profess to be Catholic. But his word is true, and he meant what he said. He gives us this wonderful gift of himself because of his infinite love for us. He wants to be in relationship with each one of us in the most intimate way possible. In the ordinary course of nature, when you eat something, that food becomes part of you—it is absorbed into your system and becomes part of your very being. But when we feed on Christ in Holy Communion, we become what we receive—we are transformed into the Mystical Body of Christ becoming members of that Body, and increasingly conformed into his divine image.

Because of our Lord’s promise (and his word cannot be broken), the Real Presence of Jesus Christ—his Body and Blood, soul and divinity, whole and entire—is an objective reality at every Mass. He will come to this altar whether we believe it or not. But the effect this will have on our lives largely depends on our faith. If our faith is simple and pure, like that of a child, the transforming power of the most Holy Eucharist will have a tremendous effect in our souls. If our faith is weak, if we simply go through the motions without giving much thought to what we’re doing, then the fruits of the Mass in our lives will be greatly diminished and correspondingly weak. If our faith is bad, marked by doubt and unbelief, then our unworthy reception of Holy Communion can even bring about condemnation. This is also true if we presume to approach Holy Communion with unconfessed serious sin in our lives.

This is why it is vitally important that we examine our hearts each time we approach Holy Communion to be sure that they are conformed to that divine wisdom of which today’s first reading spoke: “Let whoever is simple turn in here; to the one who lacks understanding, [wisdom] says, come, eat of my food, and drink of the wine I have mixed! Forsake foolishness that you may live; advance in the way of understanding.” Our merely human wisdom and understanding can never grasp these truths. We could only know about our Lord’s Eucharistic presence because he himself revealed it to us. May he then help us to believe with pure and simple hearts and to receive him with great love and devotion.

2 Kings 4:42-44 Ephesians 4:1-6
John 6:1-15

Fr. Timothy W. Castor (preached on Sunday, July 26, 2009)

Throughout Year B in the three-year cycle of readings, we normally hear the Gospel of St. Mark at Sunday Mass. But today we take a break from Mark and we begin a more-or-less continuous reading through the sixth chapter of Saint John’s gospel. This will last through the 21st Sunday in Ordinary Time—a total of five weeks in a row. This chapter of sacred Scripture is very important to us as Catholic Christians, because it contains St. John’s teaching on the Most Holy Eucharist. In this chapter, the beloved apostle recalls a particular lesson which was given by the Lord while he was teaching in Capernaum. It is known to us today as the Bread of Life Discourse.

The stage is set for this important teaching with an amazing miracle which takes place on a grassy hillside along the northern shore of the Sea of Galilee. It is, of course, the feeding of the 5,000—one of the very few of miracles which is recorded in all four Gospels. It’s absolutely essential, first and foremost, that we understand that a real miracle took place here. This is crucial to our understanding of the event itself, and of the teaching which followed. I cannot stress this strongly enough, because of a certain false idea which has been circulating in sermons and publications over the last several years—an idea which strips this event of its miraculous nature. It is the suggestion that the feeding of the 5,000 consisted only in a gesture of human kindness and generosity. That when the people saw Jesus begin to share the food he had at hand, they were inspired to do the same with the food they had brought. And so there was no real multiplication of loaves and fishes, only a redistribution of the food which was already there. This idea, while it might hold a certain attraction for modern people, really amounts to a denial of the miraculous, a denial of Christ’s divinity. And thus it must be condemned as a most dangerous and blasphemous distortion of Sacred Scripture. Jesus really did multiply the loaves and the fishes, and he did so as an exercise of his divine power, showing that he truly is Lord of all creation and the provider of all our needs.

In today’s Psalm, we hear the words, “The eyes of all look hopefully to you, and you give them their food in due season; you open your hand and satisfy the desire of every living thing.” The Lord indeed provides for all of his creatures—first on the material plane, providing all that they need for physical survival. But for those creatures created in his own image, the human race, his providence goes much further. Because for you and for me he also provides for our spiritual needs. In other words, God feeds not only the body, but also the soul. And, when you think about it, food for the soul is far more necessary.

This physical, earthly life is very short, and, for each one of us, it soon comes to an end. At that time, the soul will separate from the body and enter into eternity—eternal happiness with God in heaven, or eternal punishment and separation from God in hell. In this state, the soul awaits the resurrection when it will be reunited with its body, glorified and incorruptible. Since eternal life lasts forever, and because what we do in this life determines where we will spend the life to come, it’s important that we give proper nourishment to our souls even while we live this physical life on Earth. This nourishment comes to us through the grace of God, primarily in the sacraments of the Church, and in a life of fidelity to the Gospel marked by frequent prayer and by service to our neighbor.

This is precisely what Saint John wishes to convey to us in this sixth chapter of his Gospel. He illustrates the providence of God by recounting the miracle in which Christ fed a vast number of people—5,000 men plus their wives and children. He takes care to point out to us that this occurred near the time of the Passover. This is no coincidence because Christ instituted the Holy Eucharist during the time of Passover, transforming that Jewish ceremonial meal into the sacrificial feast of his own most precious body and blood.

Curiously enough, St. John does not give us an account of the Last Supper with the institution of the Eucharist like the other evangelists do. Instead, he uses the miraculous feeding of the 5,000 as a springboard for teaching us that Jesus will give us his own flesh and blood to be our spiritual food and drink in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. This teaching will unfold for us in the weeks to come, and so I won’t jump ahead of myself today.

The take-home lesson for us on this Lord’s Day is that our King and God, Jesus Christ, will provide for all of our needs if we but trust in him. He is able to take something small and insignificant, and transform it into something great and wonderful because it is touched by his divine power and love. Our own talents, our own gifts might seem rather worthless—and, left by themselves, they can’t accomplish very much at all. But, like the small lunch of the boy in today’s Gospel, when we give our gifts over to God he transforms them and manifests his mighty power through us, bringing glory to his name.

That boy could have kept his food to himself—he would’ve gone home satisfied but everyone else would’ve been hungry. With faith and trust, he gave up the little that he had, perhaps thinking that he would go hungry. But Jesus took those few loaves and fishes and provided more than enough for everyone to be filled. He can do the same with you, with your life. Give your heart to him and let him transform you into a beacon of his love.

Exodus 16:2-4,12-15 Ephesians 4:17,20-24
John 6:24-35

Fr. Timothy W. Castor (preached on Sunday, August 2, 2009)

Year B of the three year cycle of readings is the year of Saint Mark. Accordingly, during the Sundays of Ordinary Time this past year we have been hearing a more or less continuous reading of Saint Mark’s Gospel. This was interrupted last week when, during the 17th through 21st Sundays of Ordinary Time, the Church gives us the sixth chapter of John for our Gospel readings on Sunday. This chapter is extremely important because it contains St. John’s teaching on the Most Holy Eucharist. You see, the other evangelists—Matthew, Mark, and Luke—tell us the story of the Last Supper, when Jesus instituted the sacrifice of his Body and Blood in the Holy Mass. But Saint John doesn’t tell us that story. Instead, he draws from another incident in our Lord’s life—a particular teaching he once gave in the synagogue at Capernaum. This teaching has come to be called, “the Bread of Life Discourse,” and it is recorded in this sixth chapter of his Gospel. The chapter begins, however (as we heard last week), with the miracle of the feeding of the 5000. This is the “set up”, so to speak. It provides the background—the context—in which our Blessed Lord teaches the people about the sacrificial meal he is to establish in the Holy Eucharist.

Today’s Gospel begins where last week’s left off. The great multitude of people have been fed and are satisfied; and, as is often the case where a good meal is involved, they are entirely delighted with their host. In fact, they want to make Jesus their king. Why? Anyone who can provide food like that for so many people ought to be a political leader—think of all the social problems he could solve! But Jesus slips away before the throng is able to have its way with him. When the crowd finally catches up to him (in the fishing village of Capernaum, probably near the synagogue), they demand more: “Show us more signs! More miracles! Give us more food!”

Our Lord is not about to give in to their idle demands. Instead, he rebukes them: “You are looking for me… because you ate the loaves and were filled. Do not work for food that perishes but for the food that endures for eternal life, which the Son of Man will give you.” This isn’t the response they wanted to hear. But the people are pleased with Jesus just now, and so they’re receptive to his teaching. Tell us more, they say: “What can we do to accomplish the works of God?” Jesus has them right where he wants them. They truly desire to know the will of God; they really want to do it. And, deep down, this is what we want too, isn’t it? Of course it is; so listen closely to what Jesus says. His words to the people in the synagogue at Capernaum are meant for us as well. “This is the work of God,” our blessed Lord tells us, “that you believe in the one he sent.”

Jesus is about to begin his discourse on the bread of life—the most profound teaching he has ever given on any topic. And he prepares his hearers with one word: “Believe!” You must believe in me, he tells them. You must have faith, because what I am about to tell you is going to require a lot of faith. What I am going to say beggars the imagination. It is beyond ordinary human belief; it defies reason. In fact, many of you today and throughout the centuries to come will stop following me precisely because of what I’m about to say. So believe in me! Trust in my word! Open your hearts! Because I am going to open for you the deepest mystery of God’s grace—a mystery which will bring you life and holiness—a mystery which will enable you to live forever.

“I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me will never hunger, and whoever believes in me will never thirst.” Thus our Gospel today ends—and thus begins our Lord’s discourse on the Bread of Life. In the weeks to come, we will hear this discourse unfold as Jesus teaches the people about the Most Holy Eucharist—that in the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, the bread and wine are miraculously transformed in their substance to become really and truly the living Body and Blood of Jesus Christ our Lord. The bread and the wine cease to be, only their appearances remaining, and what lies before us on the altar—what is given to us as our food and drink—is Jesus Christ himself, our Lord and our God. It is an amazing concept, but it is true! And so, what Jesus says to the people in Capernaum, he says to each one of us: “Believe in me!”

After they left Egypt, the people of Israel began to lose their faith, and they complained bitterly against Moses for having brought them out into the desert to starve to death. Despite their doubts and complaints, God was gracious to them and bolstered their faith by giving them the miracle of manna—bread from heaven, suited to every taste, which fed the vast throng of people for forty years as they wandered in the wilderness. An even greater miracle is given to us as we wander through the wilderness of this life toward our promised land of eternal happiness in heaven. Not merely the bread of angels, but God himself is given to us as our food. We cannot perceive this with our senses—it is only with the eyes of faith that we can see Jesus in the Most Holy Sacrifice of the altar. There are many today who have lost their faith, or who simply cannot believe that this ancient teaching could possibly be true. But it is our Lord’s own words which ratify it: “believe in the one God has sent. My Father gives you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is that which comes down from heaven and gives life to the world. I am the bread of life.” This was his message 2,000 years ago—this is his message today. Believe and you will live.

1 Kings 19:4-8
Ephesians 4:30-5:2
John 6:41-51

Fr. Timothy W. Castor (preached on Sunday, August 9, 2009)

Today is now our third installment of our reading of the sixth chapter of St. John’s Gospel, the Bread of Life Discourse, the most sublime teaching of our Lord concerning the Holy Eucharist. This teaching began two weeks ago when we heard the story of the feeding of the 5000 in which our Lord miraculously provided food for a vast number of people. Last week, our Lord told the same people that to do the work of God requires that they believe in the one God has sent; and that the one he has sent—his own beloved Son, Jesus Christ our Lord—is in fact the Bread of Life, come down from heaven. Today, we hear the reaction of the crowd and that they are offended at our Lord’s words, “How can he say, ‘I have come down from heaven’?” You see, the people think they know who Jesus is—they know his parents, they know where he grew up. So how can he make such an extravagant claim as to say that he came down from heaven? But he will make even greater claims that this.

He reveals that the faith required to believe in him is itself a gift: “No one can come to me unless the Father who sent me draw him, and I will raise him on the last day…. Amen, amen, I say to you, whoever believes has eternal life.” In other words, not only does the Father send his son from heaven to be the source and sustenance of our spiritual life, but then he draws to himself—to heaven—those who believe in the Son with the faith he himself has given.

How will God sustain this faith—this spiritual life? By giving us his own flesh to be our spiritual food: “The bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.” This is a remarkable statement—an earth-shattering statement. No religious leader ever spoke like this before. In the Gospels for the next two Sundays, Jesus will elaborate on this and we will hear the reaction of the people and of his own disciples. But for now, let’s meditate on the logic of this statement.

Many of you right now might be hungry, some of you might even be thinking about the meal you will enjoy after Mass. I confess this is a distraction I myself experience from time to time. This happens especially on Sunday mornings when I haven’t had breakfast and I celebrate the 8:30 Mass. During the quiet moments of the Sacred Liturgy, I sometimes catch myself daydreaming about an Egg McMuffin or a nice stack of pancakes. Of course, our hearts should be focused on prayer; but I suppose these distractions are only natural, because this is the way our bodies are made. We need food to live. We get hungry, and we must eat to perform even the simplest duties of life, and we must eat properly and well.

In today’s first reading, the Prophet Elijah is on the run for his life from the wicked queen Jezebel. He reaches a point where he thinks he can go no further—he is weak and hungry and discouraged—he wants to die. Instead of answering his prayer for a quick and easy release, the Lord provides miraculous food for him: water and bread—but not just any bread. He has two short meals, “then strengthened by that food,” the story tells us, “he walked forty days and forty nights to the mountain of God.” Elijah was on a journey and his faith wavered. But God strengthened his faith and his very being with miraculous food—food for the journey.

We too are on a journey—a journey through the trials and discouragements of this life to the eternal happiness of heaven. We need food for this journey—food which we cannot provide ourselves. This is why, week after week and every holy day of obligation (and even more frequently if we wish), we approach the altar in this Holy Sacrifice of the Mass to receive the living Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ—the Food which he himself promised to sustain our spiritual life; the Food which he has miraculously transformed from the ordinary food of everyday life. You see, the Mass is not just a pretty religious ritual or visual aid to help us remember Christ’s death. This is a sacrificial banquet absolutely essential to our spiritual well-being. And those who neglect to feed on the Body of Christ, soon find their life in Christ withering and dying. But here’s the best part: As long as we are not conscious of any unconfessed mortal sin, we can receive this wonderful food every day we come to Mass. And when we do so, we can claim the promise spoken by Jesus himself: “I am the living bread that came down from heaven; whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.” May the Lord create in our hearts a great hunger for this heavenly food and purify our hearts so that we may receive this food often.

How to make a 24-hour retreat.

Jeremiah 23:1-6 + Ephesians 2:13-18 + Mark 6:30-34

“Come away by yourselves to a deserted place and rest awhile.” These are the words of Jesus to his disciples. Older translations of the Scriptures, such as the King James and the Douay-Rheims, rendered this verse, “Come apart into a desert place and rest a little.” A professor of mine in college, training young people for ministry, used to say, “if you don’t come apart and rest, you will come apart.” Jesus himself made this recommendation to his own disciples, and on the basis of this verse, the Catholic Church has legislated that, each year, her priests are to make a spiritual retreat. Moreover, Canon Law stipulates that every priest entrusted with pastoral duties, may take four weeks of vacation every year.

I think most people would agree that those who care for the souls of others should take time out in order to care for their own souls. But this recommendation doesn’t apply just to priests. Every member of the Christian faithful—whether lay, ordained, or consecrated in religious life—is involved to some degree in the work of the apostolate. Each one of us, by virtue of our Baptism, has a share in the royal priesthood of Jesus Christ. We are intercessors. Through the example of our lives and the words that we speak, we bring Christ to the world and we bring the world to Christ. All of us are involved in ministry; and so all of us should take time out of our busy schedules for personal spiritual renewal. This is accomplished first and foremost through daily prayer—a few quiet moments set aside each day to place ourselves in the presence of God and to separate ourselves from the concerns of daily life. This is absolutely essential for our spiritual growth and our effectiveness in witnessing Christ to others. Spiritual reading is an excellent form of prayer. The Bible should be our primary source in this regard, and a good way to read the Bible is to follow the daily Mass lectionary, which is available on-line and through various publications. Of course, if you can actually go to daily Mass, this is the best prayer of all. And, there are many other forms of prayer available to us as well: the Liturgy of the Hours (the official prayer of the Church), the Rosary of our Lady, the Chaplet of Divine Mercy, to name just a few. Our Catholic tradition provides a rich banquet of spirituality—something suited to every temperament and every need.

But what about this idea of a spiritual retreat, such as the kind priests have to make every year? Is this option also available to the laity? I strongly believe that it is, and that the world would be a much happier place if more Christians availed themselves of the opportunity to come away and rest. You don’t have to take a week at a time—for many, this really would be impossible. But I think that nearly everyone, if they put their mind to it, could set aside a 24-hour period once or twice a year for the purpose of a spiritual retreat. It might take some finagling—a few favors from friends to watch the kids or to take care of the animals—but, with the exception of nursing mothers, it can be done.

So how do you do it? First of all, don’t try this at home! There will be too many distractions. Instead, choose a destination away from your daily routine—a monastery such as St. Martin’s in Rapid City or Blue Cloud Abbey is a good choice; maybe you have access to a private cabin in the Hills or near the river; even a tent in a campground or a quiet motel room will work. But try to choose a location where Mass will be available nearby. Leave home in the evening, begin your retreat with the Rosary or night prayers, and then get a good night’s sleep. In fact, sleep in the following morning, but not too late. Get enough sleep so that you are refreshed and well rested. Make sure you have some good spiritual reading with you, including the Bible, and use that throughout the day. But don’t make it simply a day of study—that would be dull and spiritually unhelpful. Begin the day with Mass, if possible, and then have a good breakfast. On the other hand, if you find that fasting is helpful to your prayer, then by all means do that. Don’t try to make a schedule for the day, but let the day divide itself naturally, through the promptings of the Holy Spirit, into periods of reading, periods of meditation and reflection, periods of formal prayer with the Rosary or a prayer book, and periods of rest. Don’t forget also to take time for physical recreation during the day—a walk, for example, or even a bike ride. For the entire 24 hours, the following things are absolutely banned: radio, TV, Internet, newspaper, magazines, novels, and other secular reading. During a longer retreat, you might be able to fit some of these things in by way of a break. But with only one day, it’s essential that you keep your heart and mind focused on God and the things of God. Otherwise, it will just be a day off, and not a retreat. In the evening, end the day with a prayer of thanksgiving, and return home refreshed and renewed.

It might sound like a lot to fit into one day. But, as the day unfolds, you’ll find that there’s plenty of time to do all these things. You see, for most modern Americans, our attention span is just too short to concentrate on one thing for any length of time. So, if you do each of these things in short bursts of activity, a lot can be accomplished. I urge each of you to give this a try sometime this year. Perhaps you are planning a vacation (or even on vacation right now). Set aside a day of your vacation schedule for just this purpose, or take a personal day off from work for a retreat. I promise you, if you utilize the time wisely, you’ll be glad you did.

Pastors of souls need time off occasionally in order to perform their ministry well. All of us, in order to live the life God calls us to, need to make a Sabbath rest from time to time in order to refresh our souls and to renew our spirits. This should not be just a luxury for the few, but a regular facet of every Christian’s life. May the Lord guide your discernment as you seek that rest in order to serve him more faithfully.

After a long and inexcusable absence from blogging, I’m finally jumping back into the fray. It’s the First Sunday of Advent, a new liturgical year, so it’s a good time to begin again. One of the reasons I stopped updating my blog was that I had no indication anyone was reading it! Then I gave a talk in Rapid City in October, and a few folks scolded me (justly) for slacking off on the blog. If you read the blog, would you do me a favor? Please register by clicking the link in the sidebar to the right. You don’t have to register to read the blog, but it give me an idea of who’s out there. So, on with the show. Here’s my homily for today:

Homily — 1st Sunday in Advent, Year C

Jeremiah 33:14-16 1 Thessalonians 3:12-4:2 Luke 21:25-28.34-36

Fr. Timothy W. Castor