1. The monks of Norcia, Italy experienced a series of earthquakes that destroyed their ancient church in the Italian, mountain town. The town was also devastated. A year later, an inspiring chapter is told from the rubble.

    "I give no thought to what lies behind but push on to what lies ahead. My entire attention is on the finish line as I run toward the prize to which God calls me – life on high in Christ Jesus." -Philippians 3:13-14 

    In 1880 St. Benedict returned to his small, mountainside, hometown in the form of a white granite statue in the principle town square. The Italian founder of Western Monasticism and arguably one of the most prominent saints in the Catholic Canon gestures with one finger toward a globe and a pile of books at his feet, and with his other hand strongly extended, the chalky, bearded likeness strains all fingers both outward and upward.

    It is as if he came back, to the world he left at 20, to tell us something.

    A series of earthquakes, most notably a 6.5 magnitude upheaval on October 30, 2016, toppled this Saint's hometown. The square is now dominated less by quaint restaurants, smiling tourists, and resolute 13th century church edifices, but by stainless steel braces fastened to newly-poured concrete pads, rounds of nylon straps wrapping wood-encased corners of towers, and a sobering silence on the faces of would-be tourists.

    Pity might be the first feeling drawn forth in a visitor. Surely despair or sorrow is not foreign to locals, either.

    But if one heads out of town to visit the men who continue to follow the Rule of St. Benedict, a long walk on a solitary gravel road terminates at a monastery filled with young "brothers"—as the locals say—monks who left their homeland in search of the spiritual life their beloved monastic father prescribed for them centuries before.

    And what is truly astonishing isn't their likewise crumbling church piled and held up next to their simple new quarters, or even the beautiful views of Italian towns dotting the valley below, but how pity seems so foreign to these monks.

    “One year from the first earthquake our mission as monks is clearer than ever: to live as witnesses to the power of the truth that God is love. The suffering and death of Christ on the cross,” writes Prior Benedict Nivakoff, OSB on the monastic community's blog last month, “is the only answer to our experience of suffering and death. God let His only Son die for us out of love. Every time we look to Christ in our suffering, in our own moments of loneliness and sadness, we can experience that love and have real hope, real joy. We can experience a joy that stands even when buildings fall, a joy that perseveres through tragedy."

    There has been heartache and sadness living in tents in the shadow of what remains of this precious church, but those feelings recede against the power of Christ. These monks aren't primarily caretakers of a physical building, as noble as taking care of churches can be. They are first and foremost Christians. And Christians are defined primarily and maybe summarily by one thing: being called by Christ to come to know Christ. This is so even if it means—and perhaps principally by forsaking everything else in the world for Jesus Christ alone. Beloved, historic Church buildings included.

    Back in town, like the monks of Norcia today, the statue of St. Benedict stands resolute, unshaken, untouched. And maybe that is because Saint Benedict, like the men who take his name and follow his Rule today, really isn't attached to anything else in the piazza or in the world. His 1880's likeness mirrors his life. It is founded on the firm ground of Christ alone. Now, having returned to his hometown, he gestures today—both in his statue and more importantly through his modern day "brothers"—reminding the shaken people of Norcia and of our world one thousand five hundred years later of the truly, indeed only important thing.

    “Prefer nothing whatever to Christ.” -Rule of St. Benedict 


    First photo by the Monks of Norcia as they dedicated their new chapel: nursia.org. Subsequent photos of Norcia taken by me on October 5, 2017 in Nursia, Italia








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  2. Today I received a video from my sister of my almost 1 year old niece walking. If you have watched younger siblings or nieces or nephews take their first steps, you know how exciting it is. As I watched, the Gospel for this weekend came to mind, and I wondered, “Why do we even want to take steps at all?”
    In the Gospel story of the storm at sea (Mt 14:22-33), Jesus has fed his disciples with the Bread of Life, and sends them on a boat to cross the sea. They have been called, taught, fed, and sent. They should be content, right? Then, when a storm comes, Jesus approaches them while walking upon the water and declares, “Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid.” The Lord is present to them, though perhaps at some distance, and he assures them to not fear the storm or his apparently ghost-like appearance. They should be content, then.
    But Peter isn’t. “Peter said to him in reply, ‘Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water’.” And Jesus says, “Come.”
    What is it about our nature that will not be contented with settling? My niece has everything she needs: family, shelter, food, and if she isn’t happy, a simple wail will send her mother or father, or her many aunts and uncles running to her aid.
    And yet she is not content. None of us were. That's why we walk today.
    Perhaps Peter’s example not only offers us consolation of identification—that other follower of Christ also desired “more” than simply being not afraid, but perhaps Peter also offers us a lesson, instruction: follow that desire for more.
    You have heard the call of Christ to follow him. You have been fed with his Sacrament and instructed in his teaching. And you have been sent for his work. “Take courage,” Jesus says to us today, for it is Him who you, like Peter, might recognize in that desire of your heart. “Do not be afraid.”
    But perhaps more importantly, listen to the instruction of Christ to “Come.” Whatever the longing of your heart for growth in knowledge, virtue, charity, hope… when you find that divine spark within your soul calling you beyond contentment, swiftly lift yourself to your shaky, 1 year old legs, step out of the boat, and go.
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  3. I’ve been living and breathing the Italian language and culture for three weeks in Siena, and I’ve noticed something: when I immerse myself in the language by listening to locals speak, reading things in Italian, and playing my Italian language games on my phone, I’m much more likely to have the right words when my Italian nonna (grandmother) asks me a question.
    But I’m not speaking only to prolonged immersion.
    Even during the 20 minute break in our 3-hour morning class – when I get on my phone to check social media in English or have conversations with others in English, I am much less likely to have Italian on the tip of my tongue when class resumes than when I take a walk in silence or only speak Italian on break.
    This weekend we are given selections from 2 Peter 1:16-19 and Matthew 17:1-9, and each reminds us of the Transfiguration of Jesus of Nazareth before his disciples.
    Imagine what that experience might have been like: clouds breaking open, time standing still, seeing all  of your actions (your virtue and your sins) pass before your eyes in an instant as you confront Truth Himself with the eyes of your body and the eyes of your soul. Finally, you hear a thunderous voice both describe Jesus and then command action from you: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to him.”
    10485963_10104455175923668_128277267352687913_o
    Descending Mount Tabor after visiting the Church of the Transfiguration
    As the disciples descended that mountain, I wonder whether they argued about local politics of Rome and Israel, whether they recounted stories about being angry at someone in the market yesterday, or whether they had any words of malice at all.
    Probably not.
    Because when someone is surrounded by divinity, that person is so much more likely to become divine. When a man or woman or child confronts this ‘morning star rising in his or her heart’ (2 Pt 1:19), the only thing we will be able to produce with our mouths – and with our lives – is something filled with that same grace.
    Jesus instructs his disciples, “Do not tell the vision to anyone until the Son of Man has been raised from the dead.” Yet how could their actions after such an encounter with the divinity of Christ not permeate their thoughts, words and actions even if unspoken directly?
    Maybe its time for a little ‘language immersion’ for us all. What daily habits or actions do you have that pull you out of your immersion in the Christian life? What could you download on your phone, post on your fridge, or add to your daily routine that would help you to keep living and breathing the divine life?  Maybe it’s time each of us met Christ in prayer or in charity so that we might be immersed in the language of the transfiguring Gospel of Jesus Christ.

    Images taken on December 23, 2014 on pilgrimage to Mount Tabor, Israel
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  4. Start Digging - Homily
    Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    Siena, Italy – July 30, 2017
    1 Kings 3:1, 5-12; Matthew 13: 44-52

    Today’s Gospel parable from Matthew 13:44-52 is a powerful story. A man is digging in a field and finds a great treasure. He buries it, and then, in great joy, he sells everything in order to buy the field wherein his treasure is buried. 

    I grew up on a farm surrounded by other farms. What is this guy doing digging in a field that isn’t his? My parents and other farmers would likely have some strong words for a trespasser digging in their fields, but Jesus holds the man up as a model. Why?

    In today’s first reading, from 1 Kings 3:1, 5-12, King Solomon is invited to make one request of God in a dream. Solomon responds with, “Give your servant, therefore, an understanding heart to judge your people and to distinguish right from wrong.” 

    This might raise alarms in our Biblically-trained minds. Didn’t Adam and Eve get expelled from the Garden because they sought a similar prize by eating from the forbidden tree of the knowledge of good and evil? And, Didn’t James write – of course after Solomon’s time – that “there is but one lawgiver and judge; who are you to judge you     neighbor” (James 4:12)? So how could a man seek to endeavor in the field of God’s own knowledge and governance?

    Because unlike someone trespassing in our fields on earth, God has given us everything to be ours, too. His fields of grace and life are our fields, and Jesus wants us to start digging.

    Adam and Eve are expelled for taking what was not given to them. In pride, they steal the fruit, and therefore are punished. Solomon is offered a gift of grace, and he accepts the gift humbly, likewise the man in the parable longs for something more in his own life, and so he takes initiative to look for that which his heart desires. He starts digging. 

    We are, too, are invited into the very life of God in Jesus Christ: “I have given them the glory you gave me” (John 17:20-24), and we are granted “all things that pertain to life and godliness” (2 Peter 1:3-7). But being offered the gift of God’s grace is only that: an offer. We must do like the man in today’s parable and start digging. 

    If you are looking for the grace of greater understanding of theology or Church teaching, Google YouTube videos on the topic(s) or go on Amazon.com and purchase a NABRE Bible or Catechism. 

    If you are seeking greater consolation in the face of a personal difficulty, seek out family and friends with whom you can pray, or perhaps search out your childhood rosary and give it a thumbing.  

    If you are seeking greater peace in understanding God’s will, dig up some of the less-effective time of your day and spend it in Adoration or spiritual reading from St. John Paul II or St. Mother Theresa, or your own patron Saint. 

    And if you seek the poverty of spirit with which King Solomon and so many Saints were animated, start searching for this great treasure by getting rid of worthless treasures of this world first. They only hold us back.

    As Pope Francis so often reminds us, when we have found the true treasure of the life of Christ, we will be animated with joy. In this joy, then, we will also find strength and freedom to sell everything else to build new lives in the fields of God’s grace.


    The Hidden Treasure (Le trésor enfoui)    , by James Tissot, 1886-1894, Brooklyn Museum

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  5. Choosing Joyful Burdens - Homily
    Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
    Sts. Peter & Paul Parish, Haubstadt & Holy Cross Parish, Fort Branch, Indiana – July 19, 2017
    Romans 8, Matthew 11

    Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,
    for I am meek and humble of heart;
    and you will find rest for yourselves.
    For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.

    Jesus uses “yoke” imagery: "Take my yoke upon you and learn from me..." A "yoke" takes two to carry, like a team of oxen pulling a plow. So Jesus is asking us to share his burden, to suffer His Cross with him.

     But how many of us want to do that? Being yoked with Christ doesn’t sound like an “easy” or “light” prospect. So we look for what we think will be an easier, lighter path.

     For example, I went to the eye doctor to get a pair of glasses as I begin this new round of studies soon. I see almost 20/20 without glasses, but I was convinced that getting a pair just in case would be better than being in Italian classrooms and potentially unable to see well. As I ran through the various eye tests, my doctor asked whether I ever had trouble with catching the wrong next line in a book I was reading, and I confirmed that to be true. But I asked why it didn’t happen terribly often. He told me old me that my eyes are not quite level with one another (by fractions of millimeters). Then he said, “Your mind is inherently lazy. If it can work out the difference to make your eyes seem level, it will.”

    This comment got me thinking. How else does not only the human body, but the human soul become yoked under what's less than ideal?
    • We gossip in our group of friends  rather than stand up for the truth of love, of dignity, of respect.
    • We build robots or assembly lines so that their muscles feel less fatigue, or maybe just fib a little about what time we got to work or how many miles we drove or how much money we made this year before taxes.
    • Some of the younger people present know the times and ways to post on their Twitter and Instagram accounts so that the maximum number of impressions are made and therefore popularity might increase with less effort.

    It’s just who we are: we avoid suffering by finding the quickest or surest way to rest. And all of the above are “suffering”, that is, each presents an experience we undergo.
    • Our eyes adjust to light or level or depth
    • Our lips adjust to the direction and subject matter of conversation so that we can remain in the group
    • Our minds adjust to find a more proficient way to do our jobs or to cut corners
    • Our desire for being desirable adjusts to the algorithms of social media timing, impressions, and activity
    But do we think about what these adjustments do?
    • Our eyes get so used to moving the words to make it easier to read that when we get new glasses headaches follow.
    • Our lips become so used to speaking ill of others that we create muscle memory for it—not in our mouths, but in the muscle tissue of our hearts.
    • Our adjusting to an easier route to the end result at work creeps into adjustments at home, with our family, when we listen only for a minute and then turn our attention to the television or our phones; or it creeps into our life of faith when we look for the quickest route to fulfill our Sunday obligation by measuring which Mass might be the shortest, and sometimes leaving after Communion because we think ‘it’s over, really.’
    • And we make adjustments in all of our relationships as we chase social media fame by listening less to what our friends are actually presenting to us, either explicitly or just in their manner of being, instead wandering about in our thoughts contemplating where we might take the best selfie with them or how to caption a video.

    In other words, in an attempt to make life easier or better for ourselves, we become slaves to ease, to belonging, to laziness, to our own glory.

     And this is what is most interesting. In moral actions, we end up choosing to be yoked with one of two people: we choose the yoke of sin or the yoke of virtue. The yoke shared with the Evil One or the yoke shared with Christ.

     Today Jesus invites us:
    Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened,
    and I will give you rest.
    Take my yoke upon you and learn from me,
    for I am meek and humble of heart;
    and you will find rest for yourselves.
    For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.

     Are you tired of laboring? Are you burdened? Or better yet, what burdens you? What once appeared light and easy but is really the heavier burden of sin? What is one thing you wish you lived in a more Christian way?

    St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans reminds us that “if you live according to the flesh, you will die, but if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body, you will live” (Rom 8:13).

    Similarly, in one of his Catechetical Instructions, Bishop St. Cyril of Jerusalem writes, “If there is any slave of sin here present, he should at once prepare himself through faith for the rebirth into freedom that makes us God’s adopted children. He should lay aside the wretchedness of slavery to sin, and put on the joyful slavery of the Lord, so as to be counted worthy to inherit the kingdom of heaven.”

     St. Paul’s and St. Cyril’s injunctions remind us that we will suffer—that is, we will undergo things from without that are not chosen, and that often cause pain, that are ‘burdens’. So, St. Cyril writes, we can choose: shall we choose “the wretchedness of slavery to sin” or “the joyful slavery of the Lord”?


    Human beings are fallen creatures. We tend toward sin like water running down the slightest of slopes. But unlike water, we were not created to run down to the lowest point in creation. We were made for its heights. All who labor and are burdened, come to Christ, and share his yoke, and he will give us rest.
    Image: Mosaic in the apse at Monreale Cathedral, Palermo, Sicily (12th century)
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  6. Independence Day — Homily
    Sts. Peter & Paul Parish, Haubstadt, Indiana — July 4, 2017

    Matthew 8:23-27

     Every year on July 4, we gather and cook and eat and swim and boat and light and watch and in so many ways celebrate Independence Day, the Fourth of July. We celebrate freedom, but what sort of 'freedom' are we celebrating? 

    In one of my moral theology classes in college seminary, we learned about two different types of 'freedom'. On one hand, there is the freedom of indifference. Under this understanding of liberty, each person can choose what is good and how they wish to attain it. Whether some action or goal is objectively good, that is, a universally true or beautiful or good thing in itself, is unimportant. What matters is that we are independent, at liberty to decide and act. 

    Some might think this type of freedom is sufficient. After all, 'this is a free country'. Why should you care how I choose to live my life? It doesn't hurt you. You should be indifferent toward what I choose in my freedom. 

    Even if we've not heard someone say those exact words, and most of us have, we have heard some version of that. I bet most of us have even said some version of that ourselves.

    But is that what freedom is about? Is that why we celebrate Independence Day? 

    Did our founding fathers draw a line in the sand with our neighbors across the sea because they wanted each person to be able to do whatever one chose to do regardless of its moral implications? Did thousands of people die in battle so that each one of us could celebrate getting to choose mundane things and hope that others would be indifferent toward how each of us lives? And do men and women enlist in our Armed Forces because they are in different to how their fellow Americans will choose to live back home?

    No. People sacrifice for a cause, for something good, in and of itself. And that's what we celebrate – not freedom of indifference, but freedom for excellence. 

    Millions of people from scores of nations have immigrated to this great, American land, and each woman and man and child has wanted something good. They want to be free.

    And yet by our everyday actions, we celebrate and habitualize things that make us less free, enslaved even. We make our whims or preferences or banal urgings into 'gods' when we indifferently choose those over choosing excellence.

    We choose to hit the snooze button three times rather than getting up to get our prayer time in before we leave for work, and we become a slave to sloth. 

    We choose to gossip or laugh at an unkind joke rather than standing up for truth and goodness, and we make popularity or vanity our new idol.

    We desire pleasure in some form, and instead of fasting from what we consume or see or chase, a momentary (or not so momentary) urge has caught us in a trap. 

    Each of us is constantly bombarded with choices, and unless we know that which will make us excellent, our freedom will not only be indifferent, but our freedom might even be taken away by our actions.

    In a series of essays published in 1994, Wendell Berry writes that making sacrifices or practicing discipline is "a refusal to allow the body to serve what is unworthy of it." Said another way, we must know our ultimate aim, and once we know where we are going, we can decide the best, most excellent route for getting there. And that's how we will be free.

    True freedom isn't getting to hit "snooze" but being able to wake up before your alarm goes off, with time to pray and clean a little before heading out the door. That's freedom.

    True freedom is being so comfortable about being kind that when others are gossiping, your first thought is to share a flattering story of the person about whom they are talking (because you are so often looking for the good in others that you have a story ready at hand). That's true freedom.

    Freedom for excellence is recognizing an urge for banal or even improper desire and naming it before your hands or eyes or mind moves in its direction. That is true freedom. It's freedom to be who God created you to be: full of love, a Love in whose image you have been made. 

    In today's gospel reading from Matthew 8, a violent storm comes upon the sea. Although all in the same boat, Jesus is asleep while his disciples are 'terrified'. These men are not free to be at peac; not free to trust; not free to have faith. Instead, the world as it is presenting itself to them overtakes them, enslaves them. But Jesus, who knows that pain and death shall not win, is free to rest peacefully in sleep. 

    Perhaps our own celebration of Independence Day could be bolstered by our Lord's example... that the Fourth of July be a day of refocusing on our ultimate goal and taking one, disciplined step in the direction of holiness. Independence Day might then become a day of being just a bit more free for what ultimately endures. 


    Image: Christ Asleep in His Boat by Jules Joseph Meynier (1903) Musee Municipal, Cambral, France
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  7. There is something deeply satisfying about finishing a good book. This feeling is even more whole when upon turning the final page and closing the now-worn pages, you can sense that a new chapter will begun to be written because of the content you’ve poured over for some time.

    Such was the case for me with John Paul the Great by Peggy Noonan. 

    It was the last second to last weekend in April, and I was in Omaha, Nebraska for the wedding of a close friend of mine from FFA days before seminary. Brady was taking Katie as his wife, and I was asked to come concelebrate the wedding and to give the homily.

    Thursday evening at rehearsal, I felt a little out of place. At 29 years old, there were certainly no other Catholic priests in Brady’s (or Katie’s) chosen group of witnesses. In fact, although feeling dissimilar, I was amazed at the mix of all the people Brady had chosen to be in his wedding party: body-building buddies from Nebraska, a Capitol Hill staffer from California, an Iowan agribusinessman, and then there was an old friend of mine, Jimmy. An oasis, I hoped.

    He, his gentle wife, and I sat together at the rehearsal dinner. Jimmy and I never had spoken at length, but our paths had crossed and our circles of acquaintance and experience overlapped more than not. However, we were not of the same Christian denomination, and while I found an island of connection amidst the driven bunch, I wondered whether I might not have a deeper connection after all. 

    We passed over the usual fare of chicken, steamed beans and career paths, and then our conversation went deeper. And better.

    We discussed ‘why Catholics do / believe / think that’ — one of my favorites, so long as the inquirer is not hostile —and Jimmy and his wife were certainly not. Then Jimmy told me he had read a book about Pope Saint John Paul II by Peggy Noonan, a former speechwriter for President Ronald Reagan  and a widely-read columnist for The Wall Street Journal. He told me that I just had to read that book, and when priest hears a non-Catholic 30-something telling him to read something about a Saint, I knew I wanted to buy that book.

    Today, I turned the final page over a ham-salad sandwich, orange jello and some steamed carrots at a cloistered monastery in Whitesville, Kentucky. I felt so satisfied. But not just because I finished the book. Sure, finishing chores at one’s house or cleaning the last fish for supper or crossing the finish line in a 5K all gift us with a sense of accomplishment, but I found myself nearly tearing up at one of the final paragraphs on the second to last page. 

    This book moved me. It touched my heart and mind. Stories about the heroically virtuous life of the pontiff stirred my own desire to live courageously. Tales of JPII's responses to a spectrum of propositions, questions, and comments offered fodder for how I might better respond to others. And, while I do not agree completely with the author's opinion of everything about the Church's past and present, Noonan's bold voice in some chapters was a breath of fresh air amidst often hearing the world talk around very important things rather than directly to them.

    I take notes in the front covers of my books on 4x6 inch yellow Post-Its, and this book has notes filling two (and a few notes that didn’t fit onto the Post-Its). As I re-read the insights I gleaned from this easy-to-read reflection from Noonan, I realized why I feel such completion having read it: the words the author used to paint the picture of a great shepherd and now Saint of the Church were words that helped me understand myself better—better as a Catholic, better as a man, better as someone growing up surrounded by modernity, and even better as a priest who has recently been summoned to leave two beloved ministries for the sake of something else. 

    There is something satisfying about finishing a good book, and this feeling is amplified when that feeling of satisfaction is the seed of motivation. 


    Go read Noonan’s John Paul the Great. Or don’t. Read about Saint John Bosco by F.A. Forbes or about Saint Therese of Lisieux in her own Story of a Soul, or read about some other Saint from another great writer. But whatever you do, do not let opportunities for growing in holiness pass you too often. That learning might inspire you to rewrite or at least inspire a more saintly chapter in the story of your own life. 

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  8. The Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity — Homily
    Sts. Peter & Paul Parish, Haubstadt and  Holy Cross Parish, Fort Branch, Indiana — June 11, 2017
    Exodus 34, 2 Corinthians 13, John 3


    Today we celebrate Trinity Sunday. Are you excited?

    At Christmas nostalgia about "what it might have been like" fills our minds, and we await the moment of putting the Christ-child into the manger scene. At Easter we rejoice in the spring colors and flowers, the candle-lit vigil, and the proclamation of the Resurrection. Most of us even feel something (inspiration or consolation) when we are celebrating the Feast of All Saints, All Souls, or Thanksgiving (which is not a Church holiday but State one). 

    But what about today? Well, I want to make the case that upon hearing “Trinity Sunday,” we might lift up our hearts in consolation because of what this Feast Day means for us. Here is why: 1) an all-powerful God acts unlike powerful human beings; 2) God's perfection of love seems to require a trinity of persons with whom to share it; and 3) God's own trinitarian dimension of life ought to motivate how we live our lives.

    First, God doesn't act like a worldly god. This is important. God is all-powerful, uncreated, sovereign, and infinitely beyond everything else in the universe. What would stop such a supreme being from self-centeredness, authoritarianism, or being stingy? Think about it. Smart, charismatic, wealthy men and women throughout history have been far less powerful or rich or supreme than God, and yet have used their position for self-service. Some are doing it now in different corners of the globe. Maybe each of us have fallen prey to it in our own lives from time to time.

    Yet we have a God who does not self-serve. We have a God who did not choose to remain alone in his fortitude and might. On the contrary, Moses proclaims the truth of our God for us in the first reading from Exodus 34: “the LORD, a merciful and gracious God, slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity.” Merciful. Gracious. Slow to anger. Kind. Faithful. The point here is that although people may become corrupt because of power, God’s power lies in his love.

    This yields our second point: God's perfection requires that God loves perfectly, and charity cannot be done on one's own.

    Richard of St. Victor developed a beautiful exposition on the love in God in Book Three of his work The Trinity. He writes, “[W]here there is fullness of all goodness, true and supreme charity cannot be lacking. For nothing is better than charity; nothing is more perfect than charity. However,” and this is profound, “no one is properly said to have charity on the basis of his own private love of himself. And so it is necessary for the love to be directed toward another for it to be charity.” Richard of St Victor is arguing that if God is charitable (loving), then it must be perfect love, and it isn’t perfect love if it isn’t shared love. Do we follow? Ok. So, God must be something other than one solitary man sitting alone. However, it isn't enough to love something "lower" than oneself. A hermit cannot be said to love truly if he or she has but a pet or slave but no equal human being in his or her circle. Therefore, Richard of St. Victor continues, “so that the fullness of charity might have a place in that true Divinity, it is necessary that a divine person not lack a relationship with an equally worthy person," In other words, for God to be God, that is, completely perfect, God must love someone as great as God. Through Revelation, we have been told that God is three persons in One God, and so such love as Richard of St. Victor addresses can exist. I would like to go a little further on this point – that God's love must be shared – because it leads us to how we ought to live (which is our third point).

    Commenting on Richard of St. Victor, Jesuit Gerlad O’Collins writes, “To be perfect, the human dialogue of mutual love must be open and, in fact, shared with a third person; the love of two persons is thus fused by a third,” who for the Trinity is the Holy Spirit. O’Collins points out the insight of Richard of St. Victor in understanding God’s triune love: “Certainly, in only a pair of persons there would be no one with whom either of the two could share the excellent delights of His pleasure.” 

    This can be likened to a family. If a man and a woman enjoy the pleasures of true love, how could they possibly convey their delights to the other fully? Would not one’s own delight in that love cloud his or her understanding of the other’s experience? Thus, they share their love with someone else not part of that pair, namely a child(ren). The child(ren) then also returns that love to each of the parents. Further, I wonder if this desire to share the delights between two persons with a third is, in part, why teenage couples and young mothers share photos and videos on social media even while in the presence of the one they love.

    When we realize the love found in the relations in God, our understanding of God and of how we operate changes. If God is perfect love, and if we are made in God’s image, then our love should look like God’s love. Cardinal Kasper writes, “True love is not obtrusive; it respects the other’s being other… In becoming one with the other, love creates and grants space to the beloved, in which he or she can become themselves.” Cardinal Kasper points out that this means our love should not be possessive of the other or demanding of the other. Rather, our love should be a gift to the other, a space for that person to become more fully him or herself. Each person of the Trinity—although one in being—doesn’t intrude upon the space that allows each person to remain distinct. The Father gives the Son everything (John 3:35). The Son respects doing the Father's will (Luke 22:42). The Son ascends so that the Holy Spirit can dwell among and within the Church (John 16:7). When we better understand how God loves, we, too, can begin loving more perfectly in our own lives. 

    I'll conclude with a thought from Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI. He wrote much about God's love, especially found in his encyclical letter Deus Charitas Est ("God is Love"). The Holy Father's comments might give us hope that we can indeed love like our God in whose image we have been created: "Love is possible, and we are able to practice it because we are created in the image of God." And not only is love possible, but love is asked—commanded us by God, and this "'commandment' of love is only possible because it is more than a requirement. Love can be 'commanded' because it has first been given'." John's Gospel reading this weekend tells us what that loves looks like: "for God so loved the world that he gave his only son so that anyone who believes in him might not perish but have eternal life" (John 3:16). It looks, not like a powerful dictator, but a loving servant.

     Knowing that this is our God – loving, trinitarian, and in whose image we are created – should give us great joy for lifting up our hearts on this Feast Day of the Most Holy Trinity.



    Image: Rublev's icon of the Trinity, Tretyakov Gallery, 15 century, tempura 
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    Labels: Father Holy Spirit Homily Jesus Love Trinity


  9. Memorial Memories Article
    Fr. Tyler R. Tenbarge, Chaplain
    Published June 2017


    Your Faith & Your Family
    If the students at Memorial are any indication of the lives of their parents and of alumni and supporters, then it’s clear that we all want a more ‘devout life.’

    Whether you’re a cloistered nun or a traveling father of three, who doesn't want a more meaningful life, a closer relationship with God?

    And yet we too often spend more time watching “The Voice” and scrolling through Facebook than we do reading the Bible or thumbing a Rosary. I wonder whether many of us simply don’t think our lives are capable of becoming—truly—holy.

    The Devout Life
    The Introduction to the Devout Life, first published in 1619, is a book on the spiritual life by Saint Francis de Sales and is nearing its 400th anniversary. In this book, Saint Francis writes, “No matter where we are, we can and we should seek a life of perfection.”

    “God commanded the plants, at the creation, to bear fruit each according to its kind (Gen 1:11). Similarly, he commands Christians, the living plants of his Church, to produce the fruits of devotion, according to each one's ability and occupation.” So, he continues, “Devotion is to be practiced differently by the nobleman, the workman, the servant, the prince, the widow, the young girl, the wife. Even more than this, the practice of devotion has to be adapted to the strength, life-situation, and duties of each individual.”

    His words are still true today. 

    If a priest never allowed himself time with Christ in solitary prayer and silent retreats, how would he bring the peace of Christ to others? At the same time, if a father or mother spent all day in a chapel and thereby neglected his children who still need to be fed, financially supported, and cheered on at sports and at plays, wouldn't we think there was something tragically wrong? Saint Francis de Sales says that such an attempt at devotion would be “ridiculous.”

    “When it conflicts with any person’s legitimate occupation,” writes Saint Francis, “it is without doubt false…Not only does [true devotion] not spoil any sort of life-situation or occupation, but on the contrary enriches it and makes it attractive.”

    And who doesn't want an enriched, attractive life!

    Practical Ideas
    So, how can you and your family become more ‘devout’? What could you do—that is in line with your “ability and occupation”—to come closer to God? Here are some ideas:

    • No matter whether you are with only one family member receiving bags at a Chick-fil-A drive-through, or if you’re all home for a birthday dinner, pray together before your meal.
    • On the way home from Mass on Sunday, leave the radio off, and ask everyone what was one thing that struck them about the music, readings, prayers, or homily at Mass.
    • Kneel down beside your spouse at your bedside and say a few heart prayers aloud before you go to sleep.
    • Instead of a six-day vacation, make it five days, and spend that extra day with your family at a soup kitchen, nursing home, or going through your clothing to make a donation to those in need.

    Holiness isn’t for a select few. And thank God for that! A holy life—or to use Saint Francis de Sales’ words, an “enriched”, “attractive” life—is possible for every one of us, and for our families. What are you willing to do today to receive that kind of life?

    These excerpts were taken from Part 1, Chapter 3 of the Introduction to the Devout Life by Saint Francis de Sales. To read more from this text, visit the free online resource:  http://www.philothea.de/devout-english.html 
    Photo by Reitz Memorial High School

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    Labels: Family Holiness Practical Value Prayer


  10. PENTECOST SUNDAY- Final Homily in Newburgh
    Saint John the Baptist Parish, Newburgh, Indiana – June 4, 2017
    Acts 2, Psalm 104, 1 Corinthians 12, John 20
    Listen to this homily from the 5pm Mass Sat, June 3

    I have been at St. John the Baptist Catholic Parish for about a year now, and my time as your associate pastor comes to a close this weekend. A priest-friend of mine who has moved several times recommended that I use my last homily to share what I see as the strengths of the parish — or what makes SJB “SJB”.

    So what is it about St. John the Baptist that makes this community so alive? Such an inspiring place?
    It could be that this place loves to gather and talk. After nearly every Mass on nearly every weekend and even on weekdays people gather in little clumps all over the church body, the narthex, the grassy areas, and the parking lot because it seems we just enjoy time with family and friends when we come to God’s house. Could it be the sense of community?

    Or we could point to the devotion of so many men and women who have dedicated and continue to dedicate weekends for Cursillo retreats. At SJB, if you haven’t been on Cursillo, you may be soon. These men and women are on fire for Christ and His Church. If you didn’t know this, our parish has more than twice as many people who have been on a Cursillo faith formation weekend than any other parish in the diocese. Could it be the fire with which the faith is lived by the 500-some people who make piety, study, and action central to their daily lives as Catholics?

    Maybe it’s our ministries: our large school with a strong Catholic identity, caring teachers, involved parents, and talented kids; our thrift store with Mother Teresa’s own love being shown today—right here, across the yard every week—by parish volunteers who reach out to those who have a little harder row to hoe in life? Or maybe it’s our nursing home ministries, or hospital volunteers, our adoration army or daily Rosary warriors.

    Maybe it’s our quick-witted pastor and his issue with Kentucky, or our wise associate pastor emeritus; that’s Fr. Henry’s official title now.

    Or perhaps our strength as a parish is found in our big celebrations: hosting the Diocesan White and Blue Masses for medical professionals and law enforcement, or the Women’s Conference that drew people from some 200 miles away. Maybe it’s found in the angelic hour of singing by the choir anticipating the midnight bells on Christmas Eve or the Boy Scout’s fire and the candlelit church and the baptismal procession and the sung Eucharistic Prayer of the Easter Vigil, or in the International Mass where our true catholicity—our universality, diversity—was on display.

    Could it be the generosity of Saint John the Baptist that makes us powerful? That, together, we pledged $2.3 million exceeding our goal while also giving more than last year for spontaneous needs in our almsgiving fund and $8k for our sister parish all within a few months and still not seeing our collection go in the red? I don’t know about you, but that generosity is astounding.

    Is it any of these things or maybe some combination of these things that make St. John’s what it is? Let’s look at the Scripture readings this weekend. God’s Word gives us answers.

    We celebrate the Feast of Pentecost today, and we hear about what happened in the coming of the Holy Spirit from several sources.

    From St. Paul’s Letter to the Corinthians, the emphasis is on oneness:
    There are different kinds of spiritual gifts but the same Spirit;
    there are different forms of service but the same Lord;
    there are different workings but the same God
    who produces all of them in everyone.
    Different.  Same. That’s part of the power of Pentecost—that we are all “in one Spirit” though we may be quite different in the “part” we play in the Body of Christ.

    Or the Gospel reading, where Jesus bursts, seemingly teleports through the heavy, locked doors of fear to show himself to his disciples. “Peace be with you… Receive the Holy Spirit. Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.” Forgiveness is the first directive Jesus gives after bestowing the Holy Spirit.

    So we have oneness and forgiveness presented to us as part of the power of Pentecost. But that first reading…
    When the time for Pentecost was fulfilled,they were all in one place together.And suddenly there came from the skya noise like a strong driving wind,and it filled the entire house in which they were.Then there appeared to them tongues as of fire,which parted and came to rest on each one of them.And they were all filled with the Holy Spiritand began to speak in different tongues,as the Spirit enabled them to proclaim.
    Now there were devout Jews from every nation under heaven staying in Jerusalem.At this sound, they gathered in a large crowd,but they were confused because each one heard them speaking in his own language.They were astounded, and in amazement they asked,"Are not all these people who are speaking Galileans?Then how does each of us hear them in his native language?We are Parthians, Medes, and Elamites,inhabitants of Mesopotamia, Judea and Cappadocia,Pontus and Asia, Phrygia and Pamphylia,Egypt and the districts of Libya near Cyrene,as well as travelers from Rome,both Jews and converts to Judaism, Cretans and Arabs,yet we hear them speaking in our own tonguesof the mighty acts of God."
    I love this. The power of the Holy Spirit in this reading is found in speaking the languages of others. And I don’t like this because I’m going to have to learn a new language soon—although, Holy Spirit, I wouldn’t mind the help! What is so powerful about this reading is that every person is being reached. People from all over, presumably old and young, rich and poor, educated and simple, highly-ranked and humble—everyone around them is speaking a language that reaches them.

    And so maybe that’s the power of our parish—your parish—that each person here tonight—including me—has experienced the “mighty acts of God” through others sitting right beside us.
    SJB is a place

    • Where servers can be 5th graders or 50-year-olds.
    • Where we hear the piano and the organ, the flute and guitar and drums, and they all speak to different people.
    • A place where people are being reached by their vocational calls: a boy who is almost 12 tells his parents he doesn’t understand why he needs to learn about the birds and the bees in health class because “I’m going to be a priest!” and a soon to be eighth-grade girl is quietly discerning religious life.
    • It’s a place of many languages: a community of social justice visionaries and of people who call themselves conservatives.
    • A place where is spoken the language of 60-year-old pew-rights habits and pews being filled for the first time by more than 36 new families who have joined us since January. 
    • It’s a place where the language of large families who add twins as number 9 and 10, and of a 90-something-year-old husband spends three weeks or more at the bedside of his wife until he sends her home this past week.
    • A place where some appreciate funny stories from a wise ole priest every Sunday at 11AM, where some are reached by family stories from an earthy, involved uncle priest, and where some have been reached by me.
    • A place where mothers gather in the lower level, fit 50-year-olds gather in the gym, and a club of men gather anywhere they can cook, drink beer and serve.

    The power of Pentecost is, at least in part, found in the languages that reach us. And I wonder if that isn’t the greatest strength of St. John the Baptist Catholic Parish in Newburgh, Indiana: that… that we have all been reached. Me included.

    It’s been a year since I said, “Hello, I’m Father Tyler Tenbarge, and I’m your new priest.” And here we are a year later, at the end.

    I am so grateful for Pentecost, for without this day, the disciples may have hidden in fear, and there would have been no proclamation by the apostles. Without proclamation, there would have been no conversions. Without conversion, no growth of the Church, and without a Church growing, there would have never been a Saint John the Baptist Parish in Newburgh, Indiana.

    So I guess it’s pretty easy to share the strength of this parish. It’s that you let the Holy Spirit come to rest on you here and to speak the languages that reach so many.



    Image: The Holy Spirit window at St. Peter's Basilica, Vatican City, Rome
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    Labels: Homily Pentecost
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