Passion Sunday- Procession

I only gave this short homily after reading the Gospel for the Procession at our last Mass for Passion Sunday.

Reading: Luke 19:28-40

The procession we are about to undertake is not just something that happens before Mass, like a prelude, or an added-on extra. It is part of the Passion Sunday liturgy, an integral part. Mass has begun. Liturgy is our way of participating, even now, in the Paschal Mystery referenced at the start of our gathering.

Processing is different from just walking. A procession has a distinct destination. Our ultimate destination, of course, is eternal life with Christ. Our procession today is the procession of Jesus' triumphal entry into the holy city, which culminates with entering the Temple. Our church building symbolically represents the Temple just as we represent those hailing and lauding Jesus and Father Andrzej symbolically represents Christ.

Today, if you're processing without a palm branch, you're not processing. It makes no sense to process without a palm branch. These branches are blest, making them sacramentals. As such, they are signs and symbols of your own recognition of Jesus as Messiah, Savior, and Lord. Far from being incidental to this part of the Passion Sunday liturgy, the palm branches are an essential element of it.

During this procession, the sound that should be heard is our joylful singing- All glory, laud, and honor to You, Redeemer King. If we don't cry out, maybe the stones will.

Sisters and brothers,
like the crowds who acclaimed Jesus in Jerusalem,
let us go forth in peace

"You Just Walk on In"

Earlier this week I ran across the blog of the brother of someone with whom I attended high school. I know, "Luke, I am your father's brother's former roommate." But, I make connections where I am able. What can I say?

I am not going to name the person or the blog. Reading this person's reason for blogging, I was thrown back a bit on how confusing life often is and also back on my own reasons for continuing this very small-time online effort. Couple this with reading Kierkegaard and George Pattison on Kierkegaard and you have a invitation to just write something. So, here I go.

I don't write because I think I have it all figured out. I write to help me figure things out. Perhaps more acuurately, I write just see what my own viewpoint is after some reflection. The metaphor I have most often used to describe my own reason for blogging is that is has served me as a vehicle of growth over the years.

At least for me, growth is not a steady progression. It is more of a two-step. I am no expert in dancing. The only dance I ever really learned how to do was the polka: 1-2-3, turn; 1-2-3, turn, etc.

Seeking meaning is important. But this seeking is just that, seeking. Answers, for the most part, are provisional. What is it I seek? Well, truth, I suppose. Or, if you want to play amateur metaphysician: Truth.

Seeking the truth usually makes me realize how off my preconceptions are. By this, I don't mean always wrong, through sometimes they are. Usually very incomplete and somewhat myopic.

Used under the provisions of the Creative Commons License

Kierkegaard railed against the philsophical and theological systematizers of his day- Hegel being his chief but by no means only target. Kierkegaard priviledged reality over theory. Reality can't be confined to a system.

When I consider the pontificate of Jorge Bergoglio, I see this same dynamic at work. His approach is very Ignatian. Since he's a Jesuit, this should come as no surprise.

Religion can either broaden your view or narrow it. True religion, it seems to me, should broaden you, opening you up to people, to reality. Faith is not a shortcut to the truth. Anglican theologian John Macquarrie was very good on this point. At the root of a truly Catholic, that is, universal perspective, is the idea that faith and reason have the same source, namely God. And so, ultimately, the two cannot stand in opposition.

How one sees things is a matter of perspective. What premises lead you to your conclusions? What presuppositions to bring to the matter at hand? Are you willing to admit, especially to yourself, that you may be wrong or at least not entirely correct?

I suppose scripture and tradition, which, at least on a Catholic view, together constitute divine revelation stand in relation to each other in similar way as do faith and reason. Revelation constitutes the content of faith. And so, this is what Catholics bring to the table in the often dialectical encounter with reason.

Nonetheless, like Kierkegaard, I remain a convinced Christian, a Catholic Christian, albeit one with some noticeably Lutheran tendencies. Like, Kierkegaard, I am convinced that subjectivity, what might more poetically be called "the heart," is what matters most. This is not some unconditioned subjectivity, not by a long stretch!

Perhaps stretching things a bit (but only a bit), "heart" aligns with spirit as used by Paul. In this Pauline sense, spirit is opposed to flesh. In the apostle’s writings, flesh is not body. Spirit is not opposed to body. Together these form a God-created unity.

As Christians we're not dualists- although dualism has been a distorting feature of Christianity since its beginning. “Flesh” in these passages is a translation of the Greek word sarx. Greek for body is soma. Sarx, then, is something like an impulse, urge or craving as opposed to true desire- that for which you really and truly long.

Your heart is the criterion by which you judge. This requires ruthless honesty with yourself. This is hard because we are masters of self-deception. It is also difficult because the flesh exercises its pull on us in a variety of ways.

Our traditio for this final Friday of Lent is Brother Tom singing "Don't Knock." Next Friday, which is Good Friday, is not Lent. It is part of the Triduum, which is its own liturgical season.

Fifth Sunday of Lent- Homily for Third Scrutiny

Readings: Ezekiel 37:12-14; Ps 130:1-8; Romans 8:8-11; John 11:1-45

“Lazarus, come out!”¹ Today, my dear Elect, Christ addresses these words to you. You see, the scriptures cannot be read merely as tales of incredible things that happened a long time ago. If the inspired words of the Bible aren’t somehow addressed to us, then what good are they?

Take our first reading from Ezekiel. Contextually, it is addressed to ancient Israel. God promises to bring them back from exile. Just as Israel experienced God in their exodus from Egypt, by their return from exile, they will come to know, yet again, that the LORD is God.

To a degree, scriptures must transcend context. Exile is life apart from God. Perhaps the main effect of exile is alienation. The hallmark of what we might call “existential alienation,” a state of being all too familiar in our day, is meaninglessness. Returning to God, which, Saint Augustine tells us, is also a return to oneself, ends alienation.² You don’t so much return to God as God gently pulls you to Himself.

This is why the apostle, in our reading from Romans, insists that it is necessary for the Spirit of God, the Spirit of the one who raised Jesus from the dead, to dwell in you: to give you life. This life in the Spirit is what Saint Augustine, in his letter to Roman widow Proba, called the life that is truly life. To Proba, who was wealthy and influential, Augustine wrote:

It becomes you, therefore, out of love to this true life, to account yourself desolate in this world, however great the prosperity of your lot may be. For as that is the true life, in comparison with which the present life, which is much loved, is not worthy to be called life, however happy and prolonged it be…³

The “true life” is life in the Spirit, which is a gift from God, a gift you, our Elect, are preparing to receive through the life-giving Easter sacraments. As you emerge from baptism, Jesus says,

Chastin, come out!      Ty, come out!      Emily, come out!
Seth, come out!      Brianna, come out!      Austin, come out!      Sharon, come out!

But as you move toward baptism be aware of something Friedrich Nietzsche noted: “only where there are graves are there resurrections.”⁴

This insight of Nietzsche’s draws our attention to a part of our lengthy Gospel reading that is normally overlooked. After being notified of the illness of His good friend, Lazarus, and after delaying two days, Jesus says to His disciples, “Let us go back to Judea.”⁵ Why Judea? Judea is where Bethany is, where Lazarus lives with his sisters Martha and Mary. They must go because Lazarus has died.

Jesus’ disciples make a reasonable objection: “Rabbi,” they say to Him, “the Jews were just trying to stone you, and you want to go back there?”⁶ His answer is a prolonged “Yes.”⁷

The Raising of Lazarus, by Léon Bonnat, 1857 (photo: Public Domain)

Doubting Thomas gets a bad rap for his refusal to believe that Jesus was resurrected based on the say-so of his fellow disciples. Let’s be real, if someone, even someone you trusted, told you that someone who you knew was dead had come back to life, how likely would you be to believe it? It’s incredible.

What happens next in today’s Gospel, I think, redeems Thomas from his bad rap and his unbelieving rep. In response to Jesus’ determination to return to Judea where he and his followers would be in danger, it is Thomas who says, “Let us also go to die with him.”⁸

The cross is the doorway to eternal life. To be called forth, you must first die. Thomas certainly seems to grasp the latter half of this. The main paradox of being a Christian is that to truly live you must die.

Especially in our time and in our culture, it’s quite common to leap to the happy conclusion. But just as between today and Easter lies our commemoration the Lord’s Passion and death, so between now and resurrection lies death and not merely physical death. As we sing in a verse of a popular Lenten hymn:

As you did hunger bear and thirst,
So teach us, gracious Lord,
To die to self, and so to live
By your most holy word⁹

While it is important, like Thomas, to know what it means to die with Christ, it is more important to learn what it means to live in Him, which is to live for Him, which means letting Him live through you. As Saint Paul wrote to the Galatians:

I have been crucified with Christ;
yet I live, no longer I, but Christ lives in me¹⁰

Not just to our Elect, but for all Christians: your new life should be different from your old one. For those of us already baptized, confirmed, and communed, Lent is a time during which we prepare to renew our own baptismal promises, to renounce sin and so live in the freedom of the children of God.

Do you think Lazarus lived the same way after being raised from the dead?

---

1 John 11:43.^↩
2 Saint Augustine. Confessions, Book VIII, Chap X.^↩
3 Saint Augustine. Letter 130 (AD 412), Chapter 2.^↩
4 Frederich Nietzsche, Thus Spake Zarathustra. Second Part, XXXIII, “The Grave Song.”^↩
5 John 11:7.^↩
6 John 11:8.^↩
7 John 11:9-15.^↩
8 John 11:16.^↩
9 "Lord, Who Throughout These Forty Days."^↩
10 Galatians 2:19b-20.^↩

"...once you have recovered..."

I am still reading my way through the twenty-second chapter of Saint Luke's Gospel using The Jerusalem Bible. It's interesting to read a short section and then just reflect on it. Today's section was one that comes after Jesus tells the Twelve that one of them will betray Him (Luke 22:31-34). The Lord does not designate which one it might be. This causes these men to wonder amongst themselves, "Who is it?"

Between the short section about His betrayal and the one I read and reflected on today is the section where Jesus settles the dispute about which of them is the greatest. This section contains Jesus' words "I am among you as the one who serves" (Luke 22:27). Stated a bit more literally, the Lord tells them, "I am among you as a deacon."

After this, turning to Peter, Jesus tells him that Satan desires to "sift all of them like wheat"- to crush them into powder and scatter them. The Lord then reassures Peter by telling him that He has prayed for him, assuring him that his faith would not fail. Then Jesus makes an elliptical statement telling Peter than once he has turned back, he needs to strengthen his brethren.

As readers, we know to what Jesus is referring: Peter's denial (something He makes explicit in this passage after Peter pledges loyalty come what may). The Jersualem Bible uses the word "recovered" as in" "...I have prayed for you, Simon, that your faith may not fail, and once you have recovered, you must strengthen your brethren."

Among the insights to be gleaned from these inspired words is that faith is a gift from God, a grace, a supernatural virtue. In other words, it isn't merely a choice made by someone, anyone, to believe. Faith comes from God and is fortified and nourished by God. Christ nurtures and nourishes your faith through the sacraments, which are privileged and sure means of God's grace. As the Concluding Prayer for Friday in the Fifth Week of Lent has it:

O God,
who have prepared fitting helps for us in our weakness,
grant, we pray,
that we may receive their healing effects with joy
and reflect them in a holy way of life

This, too, anticipates not only Peter's betrayal but the Lord's forgiveness of his betrayal. The tenth verse of Psalm 51, the Miserere, the penitential psalm prayed on Fridays throughout the year as the first psalm of Morning Prayer, sets this in relief beautifully:

You will let me hear gladness and joy;
the bones you have crushed will rejoice

Crushed, but not ground into powder and scattered- restored and recovered, not disintegrated.

When I survey the wonderous cross
On which the Prince of glory died,
My richest gain I count but loss,
And pour contempt on all my pride

Monday of the Fourth Week of Lent

Readings: Isaiah 65:17-21; Psalm 30:2.4-6.11-13; John 4:43-54

It’s easy for the Good News to become old news. Yeah, we’ve heard these stories, parables, psalms, and histories many times. Maybe even some of us have preached them many times.

From creation, God has been doing something new, something truly incredible. For somewhere around three decades, this newness dwelt on earth in the flesh. True to His promise not to abandon us or leave us orphans, the Word made flesh sent His Holy Spirit.

Rather than trying to imagine the Holy Spirit as someone separate from Jesus Christ, perhaps the best way to think of the Spirit, to borrow words from Catholic Bible scholar Luke Timothy Johnson, is as “the mode of Christ’s resurrection presence” among, in, and through us until He returns.

God’s kingdom, as our reading from Isaiah indicates, is not only something completely new but quite beyond our imagination. In relation to our Old Testament reading, our Gospel today is a case-in-point, a demonstration of what God is doing through Christ by the power of their Spirit.

Before getting to the miracle of Jesus curing royal official’s son, it is important to deal with His rebuke. Word of the miracle at the wedding feast, which, like today’s pericope, took place in Cana of Galilee, in addition what Jesus had done while in Jerusalem (in between was His encounter with the Samaritan woman) had spread through the town. So, when the royal official came looking for Jesus to ask him to accompany him home and heal his son, who was near death, Jesus seems to recoil a bit.

Rather than responding to the man’s plea to go with him to heal his son, the Lord chastises His fellow Galileans for needing signs and wonders to believe. Jesus was not going to go the house of the royal official to create a spectacle, to perform a trick. He resisted being a circus seal. In fact, Jesus never goes to the royal official’s house.

Nonetheless, Jesus told the concerned father “your son will live.” That is all that those hanging around Jesus in Cana were able to witness; no signs or wonders, just a few words. Believing Him, the royal official set off for home. His journey must’ve been a long one because he does not seem to meet up with his servants until the following day.

His servants tell him the good news of his son’s healing. This is the second (of seven signs) contained in the Gospel According to Saint John, which is sometimes referred to as “the Gospel of Signs” (we will hear the seventh sign this Saturday in the Gospel for the Third Scrutiny of the Elect). This second sign is obviously very low-key.

Because it is low-key, this sign provides us with a deep insight into just how the Lord usually works: in small, quiet, but profound ways. In addition to being symbols, sacraments are also signs (if sacraments are not both signs and symbols, then they are literally nothing- slightly out-of-context quotes from Flannery O’Connor notwithstanding).

The sacrament of sacraments, of course, is the Eucharist. If you’re unable to discern the efficacy of this sign, what makes you think you’d be able to discern others? Has it become old, rote, mechanical?

As the old catechetical definition reminds us, the point of the sacraments is to impart grace to our souls. Grace is nothing other than God sharing divine life with us. Therefore, in receiving grace, we receive God. Isn’t this the very concrete point of Holy Communion?

The mystery of life in Christ is that Christ can live in you (Col 1:27). Otherwise, how you can fulfill the purpose of attending Mass, at the end of which you are sent forth on mission?

I read something today that struck me as very fitting for this point of Lent, the point at which maybe the newness has worn off and many of our good intentions haven’t been realized. What the author of this short piece sought remind his readers is that, in essence, Christianity has

always been about Jesus. Loving Him. Following Him. Trusting Him. But somewhere along the way, we pile on expectations, stress, and distractions, and before we know it, we’re exhausted—trying to do for God instead of just being with Him (West Salem Four Square Church blog post “Back to the Simple Things”- emphasis in original)

Beyond the rebuke of the spectacle-seekers of ancient Cana is the faith of the royal official who simply believed Jesus when He told him “your son will be healed.” Not knowing how or when this healing might occur, yet trusting in the Lord, the man went on his way.

In every Eucharist Jesus gives you His pledge of eternal life. Giving is the key word. You can’t earn eternal life. It’s not what you can do for God but living in the reality of what God has done for you in Christ. This is the life of the Spirit, the life the inspired author of Isaiah seeks to evoke.

Starting, stopping, restarting- tales of blogging

A year ago tonight, the Church celebrated the Paschal Vigil- the Great Easter Vigil. After posting something for Good Friday, I could not bring myself to post anything or log into any social media site/app/platform/shitstorm for quite a while- from the end of March to the middle of June to be exact. Over that time, I simply hit pause on my online engagement.

Since that blessed time, my relationship with social media has changed and lessened. Social media does not work the way most people think it does. Facebook, X, Instagram, Tik Tok, etc. are not the digital agora. Far from it. You can't beat the algorithms. We've become irretriably meme-ized. IRL, social media simply does not work.

I remember how weary I had grown of online engagement last 30 March. Several times over the course of last year I seriously considered downloading my back-up file for this blog and saying "So long!" For some reason, I was unable to do that. Something kept telling me I would regret it.

August of this year will mark my twentieth anniversary of starting this blog. July of 2026 is my anniversary for starting to "blog" (nice verb) in earnest. While these significant milestones added to my reluctance to call it quits, they were not the determining factors. Over those weeks and months, as I considered whether to blog or not to blog, I thought about switching to a fancier platform.

Wordpress was all the rage for a while but it has faded. Several years go, I set up everything up to blog on Wordpress under the title Diaconal Digressions. This time around, I considered moving to Substack but I have no desire to monetize my writing. What I have to offer (which is not much), I offer for free.

In the end, I like simply Blogger. If nothing else, it keeps my html skills sharp. In any case, this platfrom is the home and digital habitat for Καθολικός διάκονος. Since recommitting to this effort at the start of the current liturgical year, I have been surprised by how much I am enjoying this again. It's been a true rejuvenation. It took me several years of blogging before I realized that the best benefit I derive from this is personal growth.

I know this is a blog post about blogging (Yawn!). Since I noticed that my moratorium began a year ago, I thought I'd observe it by indulging myself a bit. I am more than grateful for the surprising number of kind email notes and comments I have received from readers telling me how what they have found in this little cyberspace has helped, encouraged, and challenged them.

Since I am already blogging about blogging, I would note that with this post and tomorrow's, which will be my homily for Monday of the Fourth Week of Lent, I will have posted seven more times than I did the first three months of 2024, prior to my hiatus. So, I will press forward and see where the road leads us. For anyone reading, I appreciate your time and attention. I pray you derive some benefit from spending time (virtually) here.

Fourth Sunday of Lent- Homily for Second Scrutiny

Readings: 1 Sam 16:1b.6-7.10-13a; Ps 23:1-6; Eph 5:8-14; John 9:1-14

In our fast-paced overly entertained culture the phrase “cut to the chase” is often used. What does it mean to “cut to the chase”? It means, let’s just get to the action, no explanation and no context needed and none wanted. This can be the case in preaching when the urge to go right to the Gospel reading takes over. This is especially true when, like today, the Gospel reading is a long one.

Of course, the Gospels are the heart of Sacred Scripture because “they are the principal witness for the life and teaching of the incarnate Word,” our Lord Jesus Christ¹ Certain depictions of the Sacred Heart aside, it’s a bit weird to think of a heart without a body. Jesus has a context that is neither incidental nor accidental.

During Lent, readings from the Old Testament lay out salvation history from beginning to the promise of the New Covenant.² Unlike Ordinary Time, during Lent, pains are taken to harmonize the epistle reading with the Gospel. Our reading from 1 Samuel shows that throughout salvation history God doesn’t choose according to human criteria. Instructing Samuel in his choosing among Jesse’s sons who would replace Saul as king, God tells the prophet:

Do not judge from his appearance or from his lofty stature…
Not as man sees does God see,
because man sees the appearance
but the LORD looks into the heart³

The Responsorial Psalm is also a reading. Our Psalm for this Mass with the celebration of the Second Scrutiny, is Psalm 23. Even in a time of increasing biblical ignorance, this Psalm remains the best known of the one hundred and fifty inspired compositions.

“The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.”⁴ Perhaps the best way to understand this might be: “Because the Lord is my shepherd, I have everything.” Jesus + nothing = everything. This is what each of the three people who figure prominently in our readings for the three Scrutinies demonstrate in different ways.

Before it is anything else, true faith is a matter of the heart. As Romano Guardini insisted: “In the experience of a great love, all that happens becomes an event inside that love.”⁵ Now, this sounds “intellectual,” but it isn’t. It is descriptive of experience. All someone needs to understand this is to have been in love. A familiar quote, usually erroneously attributed to G.K. Chesterton, provides some clarity: “Let your religion be less of a theory and more of a love affair.”

“Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind,” Jesus is asked by His own disciples.⁶. Now, this question cuts to the chase! Just as God vindicates Job contra his well-meaning but catastrophically wrong friends, turned accusers, with a few words, Jesus obliterates this immature and even pagan understanding of God.

“Neither he nor his parents sinned,” declares Jesus, destroying their grave error, “it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.”⁷ In his Letter to the Romans, Saint Paul, takes this theologically farther:

creation was made subject to futility, not of its own accord but because of the one who subjected it, in hope that creation itself would be set free from slavery to corruption and share in the glorious freedom of the children of God⁸

Jesus healing the Blind Man, by Brian Jeke

It is crucial to understand that sending His Son as Savior and Redeemer was not God’s Plan B, which went into effect when Plan A failed as the result of the ancestral sin. God only ever had one plan; there is no Plan B. At the beginning of the Easter Vigil, during the singing of the Exsultet, the Church, referring to fall, proclaims:

O happy fault
that earned so great, so glorious a Redeemer!⁹

This is so fundamental that to get this wrong by thinking human beings can frustrate God’s plan, forcing God to double-clutch, leads to the heretical and self-defeating idea that you save yourself by being really good and that you can be really good by trying really hard. This is the road to futility, not salvation.

I ask you, apart from being born blind, what did the man in our Gospel do except testify to the truth of what he experienced after the fact? The answer is simple: he humbly let himself be healed. My friends, your blindness, as well as mine, is so that the works of God might be made visible through us. You are saved by grace through faith in Jesus Christ. This is the Good News!

As He did with the Samaritan woman last week, Jesus reveals Himself to this poor, blind beggar. Thus showing what Msgr Luigi Giussani observed: “The real protagonist of the history is the beggar: Christ who begs for man’s heart, and man’s heart that begs for Christ.”¹⁰

Amazing Grace is a great hymn for the First and Second Scrutinies. The Samaritan woman was lost, alienated from her community, and then found. The man born blind was blind but now sees. Let’s not lose track of the irony that, in the end, it is only the man born blind who truly sees. The light by which he sees is Christ. This is the backward and upside-down theo-logic of the Gospel. This is the wisdom of the Cross, which is foolishness to those who are blind.

In one of the intercessions for you, dear Elect, which we will pray in a few minutes, we ask God “That, contemplating the wisdom of the Cross, they learn to glory in God, who confounds the wisdom of this world.”¹¹ This is the same wisdom expounded by the Lord in today’s Gospel:

I came into this world for judgment,
so that those who do not see might see,
and those who do see might become blind¹²

The purpose of your election to the Easter sacraments is to confirm that though you were formerly blind, you now see by the light of Christ. After your baptism, you will be presented with a candle, lit from the Paschal candle, which is a symbol of Christ. The candle is presented with these words: “Receive the Light of Christ.”

My dear Elect, today these words from Ephesians are addressed to you:

Awake, O sleeper,
      and arise from the dead,
      and Christ will give you light¹²

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1 Second Vatican Council. Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation [Dei Verbum], sec 18.^↩
2 “Introduction to the Lectionary,” sec. 97.^↩
3 1 Samuel 16:7.^↩
4 Psalm 23:1.^↩
5 Romano Guardini, L’essenza del cristianesimo [The Essence of Christianity], Morcelliana, Brescia, 1981, p. 12.^↩
6 John 9:2.^↩
7 John 9:3.^↩
8 Romans 8:20-21.^↩
9 Roman Missal. The Easter Vigil, sec. 18.^↩
10 Luigi Giussani. Speech before Pope John Paul II in Saint Peter’s Square for the Meeting with Ecclesial Movements and New Communities, 30 May 1998.^↩
11 Order of Christian Initiation for Adults, sec. 167.^↩
12 John 9:39.^↩
13 Ephesians 5:14.^↩