homilies

on the liturgy of the Sundays and feasts

by joseph f. wilson

A unique guide

22nd Sunday of the Year-September 1

Purpose: (1) to show the uniqueness of the Catholic Church, and
(2) the importance of being a Catholic.

n The lady was possessed of a serene, radiant faith, and one day she explained to me just how she had come upon it. She was raised in the Methodist Church, in a broad-minded, tolerant, liberal Christian family. One day, she found herself at a civic association dinner, seated next to the local Catholic priest, and as the evening wore on and the priest seemed so affable, she could not let pass the opportunity to ask him about aspects of Catholicism which puzzled her. Why did the Catholic Church insist upon so many things of secondary importance? Surely, the only thing our Lord cared about was that we believe in him, love each other? And the priest smiled at her and said, "And so, it is not important whether there are seven sacraments, or three, or two? Or whether Christ is there upon the altar in the Eucharist, or just symbolized? Is it all truly that unreal, as though we have dreamed it all up, and it doesn't matter what we really believe at all?"

It was a pleasant conversation, in which they agreed to differ; but months later a searing sorrow brought it back to her mind. Her brother announced that his marriage was ended. "I was heartbroken, Father, I'd lost part of my family, too," for she had loved her nieces dearly, and she felt certain that the breach was not irreparable if only her brother had extended himself to repair it. But worse was to come, as she attended her brother's second wedding, to a twice-divorced woman, in the little Methodist Church where they had all grown up. "I stood there that day, Father, and I realized that my brother thought that he wasn't married to my sister-in-law any longer because he didn't feel like being married. That was it. And I remembered what that priest had said to me at that dinner: and I suddenly understood." And shortly she was sitting in that priest's parlor, finding out more about the Church which didn't teach that what was true depended upon how one felt about it.

The Gospel passage appointed for today is even more interesting if you consider it in context. The sixteenth chapter of Matthew is of special interest to Catholics, for just before this scene we have today Jesus bestows the primacy upon St. Peter, the first Pope. "You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church," Jesus says to him.

And the very next thing Peter does is make the most awful mistake-he tries to rewrite the job description of the disciple! Jesus predicts his Passion, and Peter-perhaps a bit flushed by what Jesus has just said to him, as I suppose anyone would be-speaks up to say, No, sireee! Let's not hear any such thing. None of this Passion and Death stuff-none of this fruitfulness-of-suffering! I won't have it! This must never be part of Your path.

It's the most awful mistake-but also the most common, and even the most understandable, in the whole life of the Church. We all make this misstep, in one way or another-the priest who rebels against the legitimate command to assume a new assignment or to amend his imprecise teaching; the religious who has a list of rationalizations justifying why a "changing world" has rendered much of the Church's prescriptions for her community's lifestyle obsolete; the husband who hides behind the demands of work to justify the withdrawal of intimacy from his spouse and children. "Surely, God is not asking this of me! He wouldn't!" We rewrite the Gospel, without even realizing it-for surely God sees these things the way I do? Who was it who said, "God has made man in his own image and likeness, and man has returned the compliment"?

Recently I was sitting in the waiting room of a lawyer's office, waiting until he was free to see me, when my wandering eye spotted a bright yellow sign next to the typewriter on the secretary's desk: "KIDS!! Sick and Tired of being harassed by your STUPID PARENTS??!! ACT NOW!! Declare Independence, Move Out, and Get a Job while you still KNOW EVERYTHING!!"

There is a great deal of wisdom in that sign. Even my strongest feelings and emotions can be in serious error. If I forget that, I leave myself open to the worst kind of slavery-slavery to the self. We've all heard the saying, "The doctor who treats himself has a fool for a patient." That is not simply true of medicine; it's true of the Faith as well. True wisdom requires that I be very aware of how easily I can deceive myself, how easily I can talk myself into doing what I want, and thinking that it's right.

In my own ministry, how deeply grateful I am for the teaching office of the Catholic Church! Where I might be tempted to focus upon some doctrines and soft-pedal others, excuse or overlook some sins and emphasize the consolations of the Faith over its challenges-well, there is the Church! In her Lectionary she puts the whole of Scripture before me to preach on, not just the parts I like; in her discipline she calls me to prayer and commitment, to confession as well as Eucharist, to penance as well as celebration.

Some years ago there was an Anglican bishop, a man whom I respect highly, speaking to a congregation about a situation in his church which he deplored: the legislature of the church, originally intended to deliberate on canons and procedures, was determining and changing doctrine-voting on whether to permit the ordination of women, remarriage after divorce, the blessing of homosexual relationships. "We cannot vote into existence or out of existence the Kingdom of God," he pleaded. As I watched his presentation on videotape, I realized anew what a priceless blessing the magisterium, the teaching office of the Catholic Church, really is. The currents of our culture are stronger than ever before, and they affect Catholics just as surely as anyone else. If it were not for the promise of Christ to be with his Church, to preserve her from error, those currents would swamp our Church just as surely as they would our individual lives. We would be trying to vote into and out of existence different aspects of the Kingdom of God.

Of course, people outside of the Church as well as within find her witness wearying. "Get with it," they say regularly, "Get with it!" It's embarrassing to belong to an institution so out of step! But why do you suppose, in our day and age, that the Church's teaching provokes such hostility?

Often, I suspect, it is the hostility of those who recognize the truth on some level, but refuse to admit to it. Who can tell the full effect upon our society of the witness of the Catholic Church to the sanctity of human life, to the sacredness of marriage, to traditional sexual morality? What would be lost to us all if that steady teaching voice were not there, reminding society of truths many would prefer not to remember?

I remember an experience which every priest will recognize. A young man who had come to see me about a personal matter had embarked upon a neat little speech about his own views on the Church's teaching about sexual morality. "It is really unbelievable that you think premarital sex is wrong," he smiled at me. "Is it really," I smiled back. "Tell me, why are we talking about this?" He seemed a bit stunned. "If your life is going so well, with your set of values-why are you here, talking about this? I certainly didn't bring it up."

A couple of hours later, we had talked our way through a long, sordid history of sin and superficial "relationships," and had reached the point where he admitted that the teaching of the Church bothered him because he desperately wanted it not to be true-yet his way hadn't worked at all.

Today I see him at Mass every Sunday with his little daughter, and I know that he has been prayerfully and patiently putting back together the pieces of his life. He is a very different man from the one I first met in the office that day-much more peaceful. He would be the first to express gratitude that when he needed support and guidance, he knew where to find the Catholic Church.

Suggested readings: Catechism of the Catholic Church, 830-856.

Another Christ

23rd Sunday of the Year-September 8

"A" Readings: Ezek. 33:7-9 Rom. 13:8-10 Matt. 18:15-20

Title: The Mature Christian (A)

Purpose: to hold up the Gospel ideal: (1) each of us another Christ;
(2) acting as Christ; (3) seeing Christ in others.

I once found myself in the South Bronx in New York City, a neighborhood the name of which was synonymous with urban blight a few years ago. I was on an errand, visiting a school, and spent an hour in the company of a young teacher. Thinking back on our meeting afterwards, I reflected on how deceiving appearances can be. In appearance he was clean-cut, in manner quiet, reserved and pleasant. Nothing about him struck me as extraordinary when I first met him.

Yet once we were in his classroom, and he began to show me the projects on which his students were working and to talk about the extracurricular activities in which they were engaged, this was suddenly a different person. He literally came alive, bursting with enthusiasm before my eyes. A handful of students were roaming in and out of the room on errands, and we encountered a few more in the hall, and all the while I was struck by the easy familiarity with which he related to them, and the enthusiasm with which they greeted him. The contrast between the middle-class world in which he had grown up and the poverty of the area which surrounded him must have been great-yet here he had found his niche, and it was easy to see that this was so by the sheer joy and energy which radiated from him.

One of the things which strikes me about the life of our Lord is that he did so many things differently from what most might expect-even to the choice of the place where he would minister. I suspect that a marketing executive would have thought his choice of venue a pitiful waste of his talent. Rome beckoned, the great seat and center of empire. Athens beckoned as well, the center of the cultural world of the time, seat of philosophers and artists. Most people would, I think, assume that either one of those locations would prove to be a better spot for launching a world movement than backwater Palestine, one of the most despised provinces of the Roman Empire. Imagine the splash which someone with the talent of Jesus of Nazareth could have made at one of the great centers of the ancient civilization.

From that point of view, our Lord's life is very instructive.

For example, consider the significance of the "hidden years" of his mortal life. He was perhaps thirty years of age when he began his public ministry-the great majority of years he spent here were therefore "hidden," and even the Gospels record almost nothing about them. "What a waste of time," one might think; and yet, evidently, not to our Lord. He has done all things well, and in his plan it was important to spend thirty years virtually hidden before beginning his three years of public work. In his plan, it was good that his public ministry should take place in that province which seemed so insignificant to the eyes of the world. It was fitting that he should spend so much time with, lavish such attention on the poor, the downtrodden, the outcast. I'm convinced that we have here a crucial part of the message of Jesus.

So many people today skim over the surface of life. They are like dog-paddlers on the surface of the ocean-content to remain on the surface, unaware of the depth of great riches and surprises down below. In some ways, our culture seems to hold this out as an ideal-the unattached, the uncommitted, free to wander here or there, unfettered by anything which would prevent their "going for it," whatever "it" might be at the moment. We often idealize that kind of freedom. But, is that so very free?

I once knew an elderly religious brother who, in the early years of his adulthood, had committed himself to teaching youth. When I knew him, he had been doing that for over fifty years, more than thirty in the same school. There was a vast number of things he'd never done. He had never traveled, gone to Europe, made a pile of money, married, seen grandchildren. I'm struck now with how limited and incomprehensible his life would seem to most people today-for, you see, it was anything but. He had deeply influenced generations of young men through his work with them in speech and debate and even the chess club. In surprising ways he was the center of much of the school's life-and after he had died one of the members of his community told me that they had not realized how much he had contributed to community life until he was no longer there.

This is one of the lessons of the life our Lord chose to live among us. It is perfectly possible to live a life uncommitted and superficially free, sliding from experience to experience, from possibility to possibility. But it is only when one makes a commitment, when one commits oneself to the particular part of the vineyard to which God has called one, that it becomes possible to live deeply, to delve into life and experience the satisfaction and reward of a profound commitment. Only thus does one become truly free; paradoxically, the freest man I ever knew possessed the interior freedom to live out those vows as a teaching brother, faithfully and deeply.

And that is the kind of person who has the deepest, most lasting influence. St. Francis de Sales knew what he was talking about when he pointed out that one soul is diocese enough for a bishop. If we just look at the Gospels, we see on every page evidence of the profound effect our Lord had on people. If we would seek a reason, one certainly would be that he dealt with each person as an individual, saw beyond the faults, the weaknesses, the sins and the stereotypes. If we could but learn to imitate that in him, we would not only be seeing Christ in others-we would be Christ for them.

I once knew a man whom I considered to be someone with a rich interior life. He was an artist, and an art teacher, and if you've ever known a genuine artist you know that they see things far differently and deeper than the rest of us. He was the uncle of a good friend of mine, and the first time we met he said, "Well, Father, how long have you been ordained?" Now, most people don't really know what to say to a priest about the priesthood. They might gush, "Oh, that's wonderful," or ask, "How can you give up . . . ." This gentleman was different. Upon my saying, "Oh, about two years," his eyes lit up, he looked straight at me and said, "And, does it get better every day?"

Well, you see, that has indeed been my experience, in ways which I couldn't begin to describe here. But I will never forget that man who looked beyond the stereotype "priest" to consider with sympathetic, appreciative interest what my personal experience of it might be. On that day, I think, I caught a glimpse of the way our Lord could transform a life with just a look, a question, a gesture of understanding. To have met him was, I would imagine, to have genuinely encountered him, and to have been encountered by him.

"Love is the fulfillment of the Law," Paul tells the Romans in the second reading today. We will bear witness to that truth by the loving, generous lives we lead, if only we are content to be in the place in the vineyard where he has placed us, content to let him shine through our lives.

Welcoming others

24th Sunday of the Year-September 15

"A" Readings: Sir. 27:30-28:7 Rom. 14:7-9 Matt. 18:21-35

Title: The Mature Christian (B)

Purpose: to show how the mature Christian relates to others-always forgiving, always judging kindly with the mind of Christ.

"Mike is very generous and good," a friend said to me once. "Very generous and good. He will do anything for you. But he will tell you that he's going to do it, and he will make sure you know that he's doing it, and afterwards he will thoughtfully remind you . . . ."

We have a phrase about the gift with no strings attached-the gift freely given, with no ulterior motives, the gift offered by the person with no hidden agenda. These phrases all point to an observable fact: so often the way people deal with each other is rooted in self-interest and self-promotion. People easily and early learn to be cynical about the real motives of others, a cynicism reinforced by entertainment and literature, as countless movie plots and novels revolve around betrayal, manipulation and back stabbing.

It can all make life seem so dreary. "It is not good that man should be alone," God said at the creation; our personal relationships with each other should be one of the great and rewarding joys of this life. Instead, all too often our relationships are marred by sin and disappointment, misunderstanding and self-interest, and what should be one of life's great consolations becomes instead a source of much sorrow.

It is no surprise that so many were drawn to Jesus during his public ministry. As one reads the Gospels, there is an almost palpable sense of joy and freedom which leaps from the page. In the presence of Jesus, people glimpsed the possibility of a deeper, more intimate relationship with the Father. He taught them with great freedom, delving deeply into their Tradition and bringing forth for his hearers both the wisdom of the tradition and the fruit of his own prayer.

His relationships with others were marked by an astounding freedom. He did not hesitate to sit down to table with sinners and outcasts; it was he who spoke to the Samaritan woman at the well; he lived in the closest of communities with his disciples. When he prepared them for their first missionary journey, he exhorted them never to focus upon what they were to receive for their labors, but rather to freely give to others the gift which had been given them in the Word. There was easily as much avarice and stupidity in the time of Jesus as there is in our own day, for human nature has not changed. Yet in his Presence, it was possible to be refreshed by an experience of what life should really be about; he brought back his hearers to the meaning of life, and by example and word showed them how to live that meaning.

What we see in the life of Jesus, we see in the lives of his true disciples as well. Take, for example, one of the most beloved of saints, Francis of Assisi. Arriving on the scene in a troubled and decadent period of the Church's life, the generous soul of Francis pierced right to the heart of the Gospel and was transfixed by love for Christ. If you pick up the Rule Francis left for his friars, you will see that the first sentence sums up the entire Franciscan way of life: "The Rule and Life of the Friars Minor is this: namely, to observe the Holy Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ by living in obedience, without property, and in chastity." Nothing could possibly be more simple-and it was the very simplicity and clarity of Francis's vision which moved the hearts of so many thousands of his contemporaries to leave all things and follow him. In the presence of Francis they glimpsed the possibility of a simple, direct, intimate and loving relationship with God through Christ: the very pages of the Gospel had come alive in the thirteenth century! Though its origin in a poor beggar might have seemed to the worldly an unlikely starting point, a tremendous renewal began which swept through the Church, and in the Gospel communities of the little brothers of Francis people were reminded once again of what God had originally intended our relationships to be.

Now, this poses a challenge to us-to you and to me, who would be the disciples of Jesus today. It is all too easy for the Church to forget that she exists for those outside of her as well as for those within. We can be effective at saving the saved, but the vast majority of humanity is not in the fellowship of the Church at all. Our Lord's final words to us before his ascension exhorted us to go out to the whole world with the glad news of salvation-but what is it that will compel them to listen?

We find it, I think, in the life of Jesus, and of Francis-we find a clue to it in the alienation of so many around us. We need to be understanding, welcoming, forgiving. It is perfectly possible to hold fast to one's beliefs, yet refrain from using the Gospel as a blunt instrument to hit people over the head with! In a world where so many relationships are marked by calculated self-interest, and so many are dragging around burdens of sinfulness which I fear often keep them from approaching us for fear of our judgment, there is greater need than ever for the welcoming, understanding love of Christians.

One of the great blessings of my first parish assignment was that we heard confessions every day. This is very unusual now, although once it was common-and we've lost a great deal by the growth of the absurd schedule where a parish offers perhaps an hour of confessions once a week and "by appointment." The only thing that tells us is that the Sacrament of Reconciliation is not a priority in that parish! It takes almost no effort for the priest to step into the confessional after his morning Mass, to see if anyone will come.

But the rewards! Suddenly the priest is accessible, and to those who would prefer anonymity. The grace of forgiveness is there, counsel available at what might be just the right moment. Last Good Friday, for example, I was almost to the end of a busy three and a half hours in the confessional when a penitent entered. His was the story of a man who had made many mistakes, and had spent many months painstakingly putting back together the pieces of his life. He knew, he said, that returning to the Faith would be part of that, and his first step towards that was to decide to make the long drive back to his home state, to his home town, to make a visit to the church where he'd grown up. When he walked in he was startled at the number of people who were there in midafternoon; then, looking around, he realized that we were in the confessionals. And he said to himself, "Oh, Lord! Don't tell me that I can actually go to confession today!" What a grace it was that we were there at that graced moment!

Every encounter people have with a disciple of Jesus is potentially a moment of welcome, of hospitality, of healing and understanding. If we could change potentially to actually, I think we would be surprised at the deep reservoir of longing within others which would be tapped. Drawn not just by the truth of the Gospel and the clarity of the Church's teaching, but by the understanding welcome of which they could be sure, they would come because in our fellowship they would find the Lord Jesus-and that, after all, is why we are a fellowship at all!

Truly grateful

25th Sunday of the Year-September 22

"A" Readings: Isa. 55:6-9 Phil. 1:20-24. 27 Matt. 20:1-16

Title: The Mature Christian (C)

Purpose: to show how the mature Christian relates to the things of this world: without attachment, with simplicity and generosity.

When I was young, I read a book which many of you, I'm sure, have read as well-The Story of a Soul, the autobiography of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the Little Flower. She regarded the book as a record of the favors which God had granted to her, and in it she sets forth her spiritual doctrine, her Little Way.

Now, if you have ever read The Story of a Soul, I have another book which I could not possibly recommend to you too highly. It is called St. Thérèse of Lisieux by Those Who Knew Her. The way in which these two books complement one another is just fascinating, because the latter contains the testimonies of those who were witnesses at the process of beatification. In it one finds the answers of Thérèse's blood sisters, her sisters in the convent, and others who had known her to the questions put by those charged with investigating her sanctity.

The autobiography explains her spiritual way in terms which are deceptively simple, and from an early age there were a few things in it which stood out vividly in my memory. They were simple ways of living for God, which she included in her book as an example. When the sisters were doing the laundry, for instance, she would always take the less desirable place-outside in the courtyard during the cold of winter, inside in the hot laundry room during the summer. When someone replaced a charming little cup of which she had grown fond with an ugly, chipped one, she offered up the privation and made do with what she had. The idea was that she was not called to go out and look for heroic penances: she simply offered up what she had, whatever God sent her way, as perfectly as possible.

Thinking of the life of privation lived by a cloistered Carmelite, I thought such sacrifices unnecessary and overly strict-until I read Thérèse by Those Who Knew Her. That book taught me that the saints knew what they were doing. It was a revelation to me, for it fleshed out and filled in the picture of the circumstances in which Thérèse lived. For the first time I found out that the Lisieux Carmel was a seriously troubled community, governed by an erratic superior and with a number of sisters who were clearly neurotic. Suddenly I began to see that The Story of a Soul was lived out in a strictly enclosed community of nineteen very imperfect women.

And I saw Thérèse's "little way" in a new light. Imagine if one were living in such a situation, in such a close-knit community, and were not trying to cultivate an attitude of detachment-if one were cherishing the memory of slights, and jealous of others' influence, and possessive of what one was given to work with. Such qualities are unattractive in the wider world, but they would conspire to make of the cloister a deadly environment indeed. By embracing, in her little way, an approach which outsiders might easily view as excessively self-denying, Thérèse was actually arming herself to live a more serene, fruitful, joyful life in her community. Her "little way" of holiness was actually genuine wisdom.

It was a wisdom we can all learn from. We could easily make the mistake of thinking that our "real world" is utterly different from that cloister, but actually those inside the enclosed walls have the same human nature as those outside, and most of the same faults, although they might be manifested in a different way. If you find at your place of work that you are weary of dealing with overbearing or inept executives, touchy and inefficient co-workers, poor working conditions-well, you might find that you have more in common with a cloistered religious than you'd expect! And the same virtues cultivated by Thérèse can be of help here as we deal with the things of this world: detachment, simplicity and generosity.

An excessive attachment to the things of this world can impoverish one's life as nothing else. It manifests itself in various ways: one might be restlessly seeking always to acquire more and more, never quite satisfied with what one has. Or, one might be inordinately attached to having one's own way, or constantly seeking influence over others, or engaging in emotional manipulation. It robs one of interior peace, and it also destroys one's relations with others. With this kind of approach to life one person can destroy the tranquillity of a home, of a parish or of a religious community, can introduce a destructive element with far-ranging effects.

Today's Gospel is an interesting one, from that point of view. I would suspect that most people, upon first reading it, react immediately with the thought, That's unfair! Why should those who only worked an hour get the same wage as those who toiled all day? The workers hired first are standing there complaining.

But, complaining about what? They had agreed to work for the usual wage, and they had received the wage. Suppose that the owner of the vineyard was a philanthropist at heart; that he was moved with concern at the thought of the families of the men who had failed to secure work that day? Doesn't that put a slightly different construction on the whole scene? Wouldn't one think it mean-spirited of someone to be jealous about help given to the genuinely needy?

And what if one were to take it one step further. Instinctively, I can understand the annoyance of those hired first; perhaps I'd share that annoyance if I were one of them. But, what if I were one of those who had needed a job, and was hired last?

That changes the picture, doesn't it? Instead of placing myself among the most worthy in the parable, I must now put myself in with the least, and suddenly I realize how grateful I would be for the owner's largesse. I had no right even to expect a place in the vineyard-just to be there at all is an unmerited privilege-and here I am, being paid over and above what I have earned.

That is the key to a serene, fulfilled life, is it not? To be mindful of what one has received, instead of being fixated on what one has not yet managed to grab; to be careful that, whatever I may possess, my possessions do not possess me; to be watchful for opportunities to lighten the burdens and gladden the lives of those around me, rather than brooding over slights and jealous over the influence of others. Living a life that is in the deepest sense eucharistic-Eucharist in the Greek means "thanksgiving"-a life which begins with gratitude for all that God has done for me, and that seeks to live for him in return. That is true freedom; that kind of life will be genuinely joyful. It was the kind of life lived by our Lord himself. When he said in the Gospels, And you, when you have done everything that has been required of you, say, "We are but useless servants, and have only done what we have been commanded," I think he was imparting to us the most practical, sound bit of advice for living a full life. "Don't get too caught up in yourselves," he might have said. "Be grateful for what you have received, for it means you have all the more to give."

The prophetic role

26th Sunday of the Year-September 29

Purpose: to teach (1) the meaning of prophet; (2) the major and minor Old Testament prophets; (3) how in a sense we are to be prophets.

It must have been within the first three years after my ordination that the fortune cookie told me, "Soon your career will take off very suddenly!" Today, after ten years of priesthood, my cassock is innocent of any trace of purple piping, let alone of brighter hues, yet this does not mean that fortune cookies cannot score a bull's-eye. "Forget the entanglements of love. Forget not to practice charity," was a more recent one. I carried it in my wallet for quite some time!

No one takes them seriously, yet fortune cookies are fun. There is something tantalizing about the idea of piercing the veil which covers the future, of knowing what is to come.

Usually, we think of the word "prophet" in that way-we use it to refer to one who predicts the future, like the tough-guy police detective Kojak played on television by actor Telly Savalas, who would look menacingly at the alleged perpetrators and growl, "Greeks do not make threats. They utter prophecies."

In Scripture, however, the role of the prophet is a different matter, and we see what the prophet does in the first reading from today's Mass. "Hear now, House of Israel," Ezechiel thunders, "Is it my way that is unfair, or rather, are not your ways unfair?" Foretelling the future would be comparatively easy. The job of the prophet is to speak the Word of God to the People in the here and now. It is therefore a much more demanding task. It involves uttering the challenge of God's Word in the present circumstances.

We easily forget that the religion of the Jews was unique in the ancient world. The religion of the pagan Greeks and Romans involved ceremonies and mythology, and was mixed up with the virtues of patriotism and loyalty to the state, but there was no morality involved at all. For moral reflection one would turn to the ethicists, the moral philosophers. One would not expect moral guidance from the temples of Zeus and the other gods.

Hebrew religion was different. God had made it clear on Sinai that the people were to be holy, as he is holy. The Jewish faith is unimaginable without its rich tradition of ethical reflection, and the Hebrew prophets played a central role in the unfolding of that tradition. Through their preaching the people were constantly challenged to "Do justice, love mercy, walk humbly with your God," to remember that it is mercy God desires, not sacrifice; to aspire to build a nation where the Law of God was honored and the poor treated justly. We're all familiar with the quote from Karl Marx, the philosopher of Communism: "Religion is the opiate of the people." Did you know that this is not the whole sentence? What Marx actually wrote is quite different, and quite true: "Religion is the opiate of the people where the prophetic voice is absent."

As I said earlier, I would consider that a far more demanding role than that of a fortune-teller. To speak the needed truth, to utter the needed challenge in the present moment carries with it all of the risk of any confrontation. One has only to look at the suffering endured by the prophet Elijah when Israel had strayed far from the covenant under King Ahab and his Queen, Jezebel, and all of the true prophets of Israel had been slain except Elijah alone; or at the opposition Jeremiah endured for predicting the ruin of Israel because of its infidelity to the Law, or simply to think of the last and greatest of the prophets-John the Baptist-and the end he met at the hands of Herod.

But the prophetic role does not disappear with the beheading of John the Baptist. It has occurred and recurred in every age of the life of the Church, for the very profession of the Christian faith involves witnessing to the reality of God and the demands of the Gospel to a world which all too often resents being reminded about both. Francis of Assisi launched a reform movement in the twelfth century simply by a prophetic lifestyle of joyful poverty which reminded decadent churchmen of the message of the Gospel. When Archbishop John Fisher and Thomas More stood against the efforts of Henry VIII to cut the Church of England off from the Catholic Church in the sixteenth century, theirs was a lonely but powerful witness which echoes in England to this very day. When the deadly pall of secularism hung like a dark cloud over nineteenth century France, the miraculous ministry of the Curé of Ars, St. John Vianney, drew one hundred thousand pilgrims a year to his tiny mountain hamlet, where they experienced the mercy of God and were reminded of the reality of his presence. Think also of the Martyrs of Uganda, those young African converts who willingly gave up their lives rather than accede to the immoral demands of their King, thus bearing prophetic witness to Christian morality.

The twentieth century has rightly been called the Century of Martyrs, for never before have so many been called to offer their lives in witness for the Faith in places as different as Eastern Europe, China, North Korea, and Africa. Only in heaven will we know how many souls were affected by the witness of ordinary, faithful souls during this century who loved life, but loved their Faith more.

When I think of prophets in our day, I think of the ministry of Pope John Paul II. What more dramatic illustration of the compelling power of the Gospel could one possibly want than the utterly astonishing enthusiasm with which he is received, especially by young people, even in the most secularized of western societies? I think also of the humble, simple witness of Mother Teresa. When she stood there before the King of Sweden and the Swedish Academy in the humble habit of her community and pleaded with the world for the lives of the unborn, everyone present knew full well that here was a woman who had sacrificed everything to love the poorest of the poor-a living witness to the sanctity of all life, a prophet to our time.

Have you ever stopped to consider your own prophetic role? You surely have one. There is one thing of which I am absolutely certain: in our age lay witness is absolutely crucial. There are many, many people in this world who will never be convinced by anything I say. I can see it in their eyes: Oh, he's a priest. He has to say that. On a daily basis, the work of proclaiming the Gospel in our day is done most effectively through the daily witness of committed lay disciples: the hard-working father, the loving mother, the generous neighbor, the diligent teacher; an honest co-worker always ready to lend a listening ear or a helping hand; the prolife volunteer opening her home up as a "safe house" for a pregnant woman. The thought of being a prophet might at first seem startlingly uncomfortable: it wasn't exactly the first career choice of the Hebrew prophets, either! But it is a role which is ours since the day of our Baptism.

To point to God by the lives we lead-surely this is the most important thing we can do for the time in which we live!

Suggested readings: Catechism of the Catholic Church, 64; 218; 702-720.