Previous Weeks' Homilies
2002 2003
So, Jesus needs to get from Point A to Point B: from Galilee to Jerusalem.
And this passage records the responses he received from those he met along
the way.
The first group, the Samaritans, won’t have anything to do with this
trip
because of where Jesus is going - Jerusalem.
“No way!” they cry. “Worship in Jerusalem? Never! We wouldn’t
go there if you paid us!”
Others are ready to jump on board:
“Take us, Jesus - we’ll go anywhere with you!”
But Jesus warns them that this trip won’t be easy.
They may have been pleased to follow him up until now,
but he tells them he’s going to lead them
on a path they didn’t choose, to a destination they may be reluctant
to reach.
And still others answer the Lord’s call, but fail to understand
that the choice to follow Jesus will, of its nature, eliminate some other
choices.
“We want to follow you, Jesus ------ but we want to stay home, too!”
To these Jesus says,
“If you want to follow me then you make be asked to leave behind
what you cherish the most -
even things as dear to you as your family and the place you call home.”
Of course, with hindsight,
we know that the road to Jerusalem was the road to the cross,
and on this journey Jesus surrendered everything - even his life.
We, on our journeys, are asked to surrender things, too,
but few of us are asked to give up as much
as Jesus gave up for us.
There was nothing fair or just about the journey Jesus walked for us!
He was an innocent victim:
his life was traded by religion and politics for 30 pieces of silver.
He had done NOTHING wrong:
he preached good news, he healed the sick, he raised the dead,
he comforted those in pain, and he revealed his Father’s love.
And still he was asked to give up everything he had
out of love for the likes of us.
HE is the one we follow.
HIS is the path we walk.
OURS is the grace and strength he offers us for the journey.
If your journey or mine seems too much,
and if Jesus asks more of us along the way than we are ready to give,
then we need to come to his table - to be nourished with the life he surrendered
for us.
He is with us here; he is with us every step along the way; and he will meet
us at the journey’s end:
with arms opened wide in welcome for us who follow him, wherever he leads
us.
-Rev. Austin Fleming
Homily for the 12th Sunday in Ordinary Time - June
20, 2004
Zechariah 12:10-11; 13:1 Galatians 3:26-29 Luke 9:18-24
I remember being taught when I was a child
to bow my head when I passed by St. Mary’ Church in Danvers, my home
town.
I was also taught that no such bow was necessary
when passing the Maple Street Congregational Church,
just around the corner from St. Mary’s.
The reason for the difference, I was told,
was that while St. Mary’s reserved the eucharist in a tabernacle,
the Maple Street Congregational Church did not.
I was learning, as a child,
that it wasn’t just a building we acknowledged by bowing our heads
but rather the presence of Christ reserved within.
It wasn’t the building - it was who was inside that made the difference.
We spoke then, as we still do,
of the presence of Christ in the tabernacle,
but over the last 50 years our understanding of Christ’s presence
has been beautifully transformed and expanded.
You might remember me saying recently
at one of our First Communion liturgies
that the word tabernacle goes back to the Hebrew scriptures and the
story of Israel.
What made Israel special among other tribes
was that their God was not one content
to “dwell in some heaven light years away”
but was, rather, a God who “pitched his tent” or “tabernacled”
among his beloved people.
The Jewish people carried with them the Ark of the Covenant,
a tabernacle containing the stone tablets Moses received on Mt. Sinai:
a tabernacle of God’s presence traveling with his people,
housed in a tent like the Jews themselves.
There may seem to be something scandalous about God living in a tent:
such an unworthy dwelling for the Maker of heaven and earth.
But that’s what God chose.
God was content with a tent!
And then God chose to dwell among us in a Word,
made flesh, in the womb of a young woman
where God tented for 9 months
and was then born in our own flesh and blood:
divinity dwelling in humanity.
But our God was inexorably determined to get closer and closer to us,
and so chose to dwell in the bread and wine of the eucharist
so that ultimately he might tabernacle himself not only among
us,
but now inside us, in the communion of eucharist.
Before we take the eucharist from the altar to the tabernacle
(to reserve it for the communion of the sick and for prayer)
the eucharist, the Lord’s presence,
is first “tabernacled” in the heart of the people of God
who are God’s dwelling place in the world today.
Just as it is easy to confuse the building we call the church
with the people who are the church,
so is it easy to confuse the building which is Our Lady’s church
with the people who are Our Lady’s Parish.
Make no mistake about it:
this building, this sanctuary, this altar, this tabernacle
are as dear to me as they are to you.
But every Catholic church has a sanctuary, and an altar and a tabernacle.
(I’ve even heard that the Catholic church in Concord center has all
these things, too!)
But only Our Lady Help of Christians Church has inside it
the people of Our Lady Help of Christians Parish.
And as I was taught as a child:
It isn’t the building - it’s who’s inside that
makes the difference!
This fall, this building will close and its people, like good Jews,
will fold their tents and journey to a new place.
And their God will make the journey with them.
We know this because God is the beginning of our journey,
and God is with us every step of the way along our journey,
and ultimately, God is the end of our journey.
The journey down Route 62 from here to Concord center is short and easy,
but the journey of our hearts making that same trip
may be much longer and more difficult.
Allow me to paraphrase just a little St. Paul’s words
from today’s second lesson:
Brothers and sisters:
Through faith you are all children of God in Christ Jesus.
For all of you who were baptized into Christ
have clothed yourselves with Christ.
There is neither Jew nor Greek,
there is neither slave nor free person,
there is not male and female;
there is not West Concord and Concord Center;
there is not “us” and “them;”
for you are all ONE in Christ Jesus.
The presence of Christ in the eucharist, in the tabernacle,
is always worthy of our reverence, our bow, our genuflection.
And the presence of Christ in his people,
whoever and wherever they might be,
is also worthy of our reverence and respect and love.
This fall, the Catholic people in Concord will come together as one
and will be called, with the help of God’s grace,
to create and to fill a new, larger and stronger tent,
a greater tabernacle of God’s loving presence among us.
It will be the eucharist, above all else,
that will help us make that journey
and work in communion with one another
-for the sake of the gospel and the mission of Christ’s church.
May the nourishment of the Lord’s table, here in our beloved house
of worship,
strengthen us for the journey we are called to make
to the table we will be called to share.
Rev. Austin Fleming
Three years ago, on Easter Sunday morning,
a young family was seated in the front pew.
Among their children was their youngest, a boy of 3.
His name is Ben.
Just before singing the Lamb of God,
Ben began to fuss a bit and his mother tried to hush him.
As I held up the large bread for all to see,
Ben turned to his mother
and in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear told her,
"He's just going to break it."
A soft chuckle spread through the congregation
and we began to sing, "Lamb of God..."
In the Easter crowds I didn't get to see Ben's family
as I greeted folks after Mass
so when I got home I called right away
and when Ben's mom realized who was on the phone
she began to apologize profusely.
I interrupted her and told her how absolutely thrilled I was
at what Ben had said!
"Imagine," I told her, "he's only 3 years old
and he already understands that we come to Mass
to break something!"
And I was thrilled!
Over centuries, and with the introduction of small precut hosts,
we have lost a sense of the heart of what we do with bread at Mass.
We've forgotten that there was a time
when Christians referred to the eucharist as "the breaking of bread."
Ben knew what he was talking about!
Everyone knows Leonard Bernstein's West Side Story.
Perhaps some of you know another of Bernstein's compositions,
MASS: a theater piece for singers, players, and dancers.
Here the composer takes the Roman Catholic Mass
and stages it musically and dramatically and creatively.
At a pivotal moment in the production, the singer playing the priest
takes the chalice and plates from the altar
and hurls them down to the floor, where they crash and break.
The audience is hushed by his action and in the quiet,
in a cracking voice, he sings,
"How easily things get broken..."
When originally produced,
Bernstein's piece was reviewed by many as sacrilegious,
but the truth is that this Jewish composer, like our little friend, Ben, got
it!
Ben and Len understood that what we do in the eucharist
is all about brokenness:
about breaking and mending... breaking and healing...
-We gather at this table in the shadow of the One who was broken for us.
-We gather at the table of the One who, on the night before he died,
took the bread, broke it, and said, "This is my body..."
-We come to this table in our brokenness:
physical, emotional and spiritual brokenness.
We often get that backwards.
We often think we have to have ourselves all put together,
even perfectly put together, in order to receive the eucharist.
But the reverse is true.
We come here in all our sorry brokenness,
hoping, praying, trusting that somehow sharing
in the brokenness of Jesus
will bring us the wholeness
we so much need and desire.
The bread broken at this table is broken for our healing.
These days, our parish has a lot of brokenness to bring to the Lord?s table.
We come very much in need of mending and healing.
We do not feel whole - we feel torn apart, broken in spirit.
If ever we needed the brokenness of Christ to heal us - it is now.
With seven other children, Ben, the little boy I told you about,
received his first communion last Sunday at the 11:30 Mass.
That first communion celebration
was the last first communion in the history of our parish.
But it was not Ben's last communion.
Ben has ahead of him
a lifetime of communion with his broken Lord.
Whatever brokenness might come into Ben's life,
wherever he might be,
the table of Christ's broken bread will be there
for mending his heart.
And for us, too, as broken as that thought leaves us feeling.
And I can assure you, it leaves me feeling broken, too...
If ever there was a broken spirit for us to bring to the Lord's table
it is the one that burdens us now.
Ben's wisdom is a gift to our community,
and it was the prayer of this community
that led Ben to the wisdom that was his at three years old.
In the Hebrew scriptures we read that
"Wisdom has built herself a house
and gathered her children around her table to nourish them."
She gathers us now, in our brokenness.
May the nourishment of this table mend and heal and sustain us.
May the wisdom of a child teach us and give us strength.
-Rev. Austin Fleming
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