From the Catecheses by Bishop St. John Chrysostom shared by Fr. Richard Hinkley.

The power of Christ’s blood

If we wish to understand the power of Christ’s blood, we should go back to the ancient account of its prefiguration in Egypt. Sacrifice a lamb without blemish, commanded Moses, and sprinkle its blood on your doors. If we were to ask him what he meant, and how the blood of an irrational beast could possibly save men endowed with reason, his answer would be that the saving power lies not in the blood itself but in the fact that it is a sign of the Lord’s blood. In those days, when the destroying angel saw the blood on the doors he did not dare to enter, so much less will the devil approach now when he sees, not that figurative blood on the doors, but the true blood on the lips of believers, the doors of the temple of Christ.

If you desire further proof of the power of this blood, remember where it came from, how it ran down from the cross, flowing from the Master’s side. The gospel records that when Christ was dead, but still hung on the cross, a soldier came and pierced his side with a lance and immediately there poured out water and blood. Now the water was a symbol of baptism and the blood of the holy eucharist. The soldier pierced the Lord’s side, he breached the wall of the sacred temple, and I have found the treasure and made it my own. So also with the lamb: the Jews sacrificed the victim and I have been saved by it.

There flowed from his side water and blood. Beloved, do not pass over this mystery without thought; it has yet another hidden meaning, which I will explain to you. I said that water and blood symbolized baptism and the holy eucharist. From these two sacraments the Church is born: from baptism, the cleansing water that gives rebirth and renewal through the Holy Spirit, and from the holy eucharist. Since the symbols of baptism and the eucharist flowed from his side, it was from his side that Christ fashioned the Church, as he had fashioned Eve from the side of Adam. Moses gives a hint of this when he tells the story of the first man and makes him exclaim: Bone from my bones and flesh from my flesh! As God then took a rib from Adam’s side to fashion a woman, so Christ has given us blood and water from his side to fashion the Church. God took the rib when Adam was in a deep sleep, and in the same way Christ gave us the blood and water after his own death.

Do you understand, then, how Christ has united his bride to himself and what food he gives us all to eat? By one and the same food we are both brought into being and nourished. As a woman nourishes her child with her own blood and milk, so does Christ unceasingly nourish with his own blood those to whom he himself has given life.

An Easter homily shared by Fr. Richard Hinkley from Bishop Melito of Sardis.

The Lamb that was slain has delivered us from death and given us life

There was much proclaimed by the prophets about the mystery of the Passover: that mystery is Christ, and to him be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

For the sake of suffering humanity he came down from heaven to earth, clothed himself in that humanity in the Virgin’s womb, and was born a man. Having then a body capable of suffering, he took the pain of fallen man upon himself; he triumphed over the diseases of soul and body that were its cause, and by his Spirit, which was incapable of dying, he dealt man’s destroyer, death, a fatal blow.

He was led forth like a lamb; he was slaughtered like a sheep. He ransomed us from our servitude to the world, as he had ransomed Israel from the hand of Egypt; he freed us from our slavery to the devil, as he had freed Israel from the hand of Pharaoh. He sealed our souls with his own Spirit, and the members of our body with his own blood.

He is the One who covered death with shame and cast the devil into mourning, as Moses cast Pharaoh into mourning. He is the One that smote sin and robbed iniquity of offspring, as Moses robbed the Egyptians of their offspring. He is the One who brought us out of slavery into freedom, out of darkness into light, out of death into life, out of tyranny into an eternal kingdom; who made us a new priesthood, a people chosen to be his own for ever. He is the Passover that is our salvation.

It is he who endured every kind of suffering in all those who foreshadowed him. In Abel he was slain, in Isaac bound, in Jacob exiled, in Joseph sold, in Moses exposed to die. He was sacrificed in the Passover lamb, persecuted in David, dishonored in the prophets.

It is he who was made man of the Virgin, he who was hung on the tree; it is he who was buried in the earth, raised from the dead, and taken up to the heights of heaven. He is the mute lamb, the slain lamb born of Mary, the fair ewe. He was seized from the flock, dragged off to be slaughtered, sacrificed in the evening, and buried at night. On the tree no bone of his was broken; in the earth his body knew no decay. He is the One who rose from the dead, and who raised man from the depths of the tomb. 

Hosánna fílio David: benedíctus qui venit in nómine Dómini, Rex Israel: Hosánna in exscélsis.

Hosanna to the Son of David; blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord, the King of Israel.  Hosanna in the highest.

This antiphon, taken from Matthew 21:9, provides the first words sung before the Procession or Solemn Entrance that precede the Mass of Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord.  The cry hosanna hearkens to Psalm 118 which originally would have been used to accompany a liturgical procession of the Davidic king into the temple for sacrifice.  Hosanna originally meant an entreaty for help: “O Lord, save!  Grant us salvation!”  This is how the word hosanna is used throughout the entire Old Testament. (See Ps 118:25)    However, by the time of our Lord it had assumed the meaning we generally associate with it: “Praise and Glory!”  Psalm 118 is further quoted by the crowd of disciples when they sing, “Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord.” (Ps 118:26)  While these are the only portions of Psalm 118 that are directly quoted here, the entirety of Psalm 118 casts light on the meaning of this messianic action by Christ and his followers.  We recall that Psalm 118 is used on the following occasions liturgically: The Easter Vigil, Easter Sunday, the 2^nd Sunday of Easter and the 4^th Sunday of Easter.  It is also used every Sunday in the Liturgy of the Hours.  For the Church, Psalm 118 is a “resurrection psalm” perhaps the “resurrection psalm” par excellence.  I would like to invite you to read Psalm 118 now, a psalm Christ would have known by heart, and consider how the words of that psalm contextualize the procession, the crowd’s activity, the city’s perplexity and ultimately the messianic mission Christ intends to accomplish in the coming days.  I’ll leave you now to read Psalm 118.

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Stunning, is it not?  Christ, mounted on a colt, Israel’s true king is he who, “conquers the Daughter of Zion, a figure of his Church, neither by ruse nor by violence, but by the humility that bears witness to the truth.” (CCC 559) So consider Christ meditating on these words of the psalm: “In danger I called on the LORD, the LORD answered me and set me free… I shall not die but live and declare the deeds of the LORD….  Open the gates of righteousness; I will enter and thank the LORD….  The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.  By the LORD has this been done; it is wonderful in our eyes.”  The children of the Hebrews quote the psalm; Christ fulfills it.  The pilgrimage of Christ that has Jerusalem and his Pasch as its culminating goal began in the amenable and immaculate womb of the Virgin Mother thirty-three years before.  All the mysteries of the Nativity, the hidden years, and public ministry of the Lord have now entered into their final and climactic days.  The pilgrim, Priest-King of Israel, assuming the form of a slave, meets his people and allows them to ascend with him to the place of sacrifice and encounter with God, knowing full well how the intense suffering predicted in the Psalm are to be fulfilled.  Yet as it is soon to be revealed, that place of sacrifice and encounter is no longer a temple built by human hands, but the true Temple: Jesus Christ.

In the course of the liturgy today, we observe how the cries of “hosanna” are replaced with cries of “Let him be crucified!”  The expression of exultant praise is abandoned and yields to rejection and condemnation.  As much as these two expressions are opposed to one another, recalling the original meaning of hosanna with its evolution from: a cry for salvation to an expression of praise and then followed by the sentence that Christ suffer and die: all this reveals the Wisdom of God for us and that of the Paschal Mystery.  To save us (hosanna) God allows himself to be annihilated in the flesh (crucified), and in this the glory of God shines forth (hosanna)!  And while our Salvation and the glorification of the Father is something God achieves through himself and his own might (Ps 118:15-18; 23) one of the fruits of the Procession with Palms is that he allows us sacramentally to join him in his triumphant entrance, to join him in procession to the altar of sacrifice, to accompany him into his Passion, Death, Resurrection, and thereby discover anew the reason for all things.

The heart of the Procession of Palms is to be found interiorly, in a soul that meekly follows our King and boisterously cries out that the Lord is glorified in his saving works.  This heart of the Procession is never beyond our reach.  Let us acclaim him in our hearts, let us acclaim him through the sacred liturgy, and let us orient ourselves to the Lord, moving each day this week towards the full celebration of the Paschal Mystery.

Fr. Richard Hinkley

And when he was made perfect, he became the source of eternal salvation for all who obey him. ~Hebrews 5:9

“Made perfect” It’s an odd expression to assign to our Lord, isn’t it? To be made perfect suggests that Christ was not perfect, was imperfect. Could this be? Some would like to argue that Christ, with respect to his character and virtues, was imperfect. Like the flawed heroes who have become more and more commonplace and popular in our imagination, an imperfect Christ is more relatable, so goes the argument. This line of reasoning, though, runs into serious dilemmas. If Christ’s humanity is the vehicle that achieves our own perfection, how is Christ’s own humanity perfected? Do we need then “another Christ” to serve as the perfector of what is lacking in Christ? Clearly that is absurd. When we are sick with a disease, we don’t want another invalid to empathize with us, we want a doctor who can heal us. So it must be with Christ.

So what does it mean when Christ is described as having been “made perfect?” On the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, Pope Benedict XVI proposed the following text that helps unlock for us the meaning of this expression:

Let us return to the words of the Letter to the Hebrews which say: “Although he was a Son he learned obedience through what he suffered”. Christ’s priesthood entailed suffering. Jesus truly suffered and did so for our sake. He was the Son and did not need to learn obedience but we do, we did need to and we always will. Therefore the Son took upon himself our humanity and for our sake he let himself be “taught” obedience in the crucible of suffering, he let himself be transformed by it like the grain of wheat that has to die in the earth in order to bear fruit. By means of this process Jesus was “made perfect” in Greek, teleiotheis. We must pause to reflect on this term because it is very important. It indicates the fulfilment of a journey, that is, the very journey and transformation of the Son of God through suffering, through his painful Passion. It is through this transformation that Jesus Christ became the “high priest” and can save all who entrust themselves to him. The term teleiotheis, correctly translated by the words “made perfect”, belongs to a verbal root which, in the Greek version of the Pentateuch, that is, the first five Books of the Bible, is always used to mean the consecration of the ancient priests. This discovery is very valuable because it tells us that for Jesus the Passion was like a priestly consecration. He was not a priest according to the Law but became one existentially in his Pasch of Passion, death and Resurrection: he gave himself in expiation and the Father, exalting him above every creature, made him the universal Mediator of salvation.

Passiontide begins today. The liturgical texts and rites point with ever increasing intensity to the life-giving celebration of the Paschal Triduum. Accompanying and passing over with our Lord sacramentally in this journey, we seek to be “made perfect” like him too. Your suffering united to Christ’s provides you with fitting rubrics for exercising your baptismal priesthood, consecrated in Jesus Christ and forming with him one, fragrant oblation to the Father.

Fr. Richard Hinkley

By the rivers of Babylon there we sat weeping when we remembered Zion. ~Ps 137:1

The responsorial psalm that most of us will hear this Sunday is taken from Psalm 137. Here, the psalmist recounts the sullen memories of exile in Babylon and consequently the alienation from Jerusalem. It is difficult for us to appreciate the spiritual trauma of the event, when in 587/6 B.C. the armies of Babylon (and its ally Edom) conquered Jerusalem, destroyed the Temple, and led off into exile a significant portion of the population. The Babylonian Exile marked not only a brutal end to Judah’s political autonomy – a national tragedy – along with all of the disruption to social and family life, but it was a most critical moment of the people Israel’s understanding of their relationship with God. How could this have happened? Was the covenant finally over? Were the promises the Lord made to Israel abrogated? Whose fault was it? The end of the monarchy and temple seemed to suggest that God had at last abandoned his people on account of their wickedness and spiritual adultery to the covenant.

If St. Augustine is right and: “singing belongs to the one who loves,” then we find the inability to sing among Israel’s captives as a sign of both Israel’s sorrow at its loss and anger towards its captors. While we heard this Sunday only verses 1-6 of Psalm 137, verses 7-9 signal a radical change of tone from one of sympathetic lament to unbridled rage. Various interpretations of these graphic verses are proposed, and while we could never advocate infanticide of one’s enemies as justifiable, the psalmist certainly gives voice emotionally to the degree of pain and injustice he and his countrymen had experienced with the exile.

The generations of prophets – those before, during, and after the Babylonian Exile – came to understand that the loss of Zion and the exile in Babylon were a consequence of Israel’s sins. Israel was comfortable maintaining the outward appearances of fidelity to the law through the Temple cult and holy days, but this was all and exterior exercise in self-righteousness. The failures of Israel to maintain the integrity of the covenant – especially in terms of its moral precepts – resulted in the need for God to allow a radical punishment and moment of purification so that Israel might come to its right senses anew.

I imagine that to some extent we have all had moments of “Babylonian Exile” in our lives. Whether they were brought about by our own sins, or the sins of others, the sensation that my life has been thrown into total disarray and there is no sign of things returning to normalcy is nauseating and depressing. We look back at what we once had and can only sit and cry bitterly. If we are in the midst of such moments the need to rely on others and God above all is paramount. God never abandoned Israel, though tragic events were allowed to occur in order to bring about conversion in Israel. Some in Israel were innocent of the crimes the brought about the exile, like Jeremiah, and yet the sufferings he experienced only served to purify their faith. God does not abandon you or me. But for the moment as we weep, we remember: not merely the past, but that God is ever faithful and will restore that which is brought low.

Fr. Richard Hinkley

We have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ. ~Rm 5:1

“The tranquility of order” is how St. Augustine defines peace in The City of God.  This order results when something finds that for which it is searching.  The dog experiences peace when it finds its bone.  The runner experiences peace when he finds the finish line.  The human being experiences peace when he finds his home.  Ultimate peace is to be found in God alone, and truly only once we have completed our journey to God.  Often times we confuse peace with concord or agreement.  We believe that if we are able to arrive at the same opinion as another, to agree with another, this is peace.  This is how most in the world conceive of peace, like the Pax Romana, or other periods devoid of armed conflicts and marked by social stability.  Though peace does indeed include concord and agreement, these are not peace.  “Our hearts are restless, until they rest in you.” St. Augustine’s confession clarifies that merely agreeing with everyone around us is not enough to find peace.  We have to find God first.

Pope St. Paul VI once said: “If you want peace, work for justice.”  Justice is a necessary step towards reaching peace, for justice removes obstacles to that goal.  Justice alone, though, is still insufficient.  If we want peace, world peace, it will not come through government programs or the efforts of NGOs.  Peace, ultimate peace, is through Christ alone.  It is a peace that is first experienced, not as a global reality, but an inner reality.  In justice, now is the time to remove those obstacles to God’s peace within us: vice.  Our Lenten disciplines have as their ultimate objective God’s peace in our hearts.  The first step towards a more just social order is my deeper conversion, turning more intensely to the One who died for me, a sinner. 

Fr. Richard Hinkley

If God is for us, who can be against us?
~Rm 8:31

During the season of Lent, we hopefully engage in some degree of self-reflection: what have I done for Christ? What am I doing for Christ? What will I do for Christ? Not infrequently, when confronted with our sins, assuming we are willing to acknowledge them and take ownership for the ways in which we fail to respond to God’s continual offer of friendship and grace, we become overwhelmed. For many of us, our sins are all too visible to us. Often times, it is easier for us to come up with a list of our faults and failings rather than our virtues and strengths. When we examine ourselves in our “spiritual mirror” we see nothing but defects. We are nothing but an object of divine wrath.

The words of encouragement from St. Paul in the Second Reading this Sunday, from his Letter to the Romans, need to be taken to heart seriously by all of us. God is on your side! He wants you to conquer with him (Christ the Victor – Christos Nike). He is your greatest fan and supporter, and loves you with a love that is greater than any love you will ever have for yourself. We call the Holy Spirit the Advocate for a good reason. While we can frequently engage in self-depreciating and self-destructive exercises, allowing our past sins to dominate our self-assessment, we forget that God is ever loving us and desiring that we move beyond self-hatred (which in the end is ultimately rooted in a form of spiritual pride), and consider how much God desires us to succeed spiritually. With God as our greatest proponent, can anyone or anything really be considered an opponent? Our greatest enemy is truly ourselves, but only if we fail to recognize the good God has done for us, is doing for us, and will continue to do for us, if we but allow him.

Fr. Richard Hinkley

It’s Lent—and your covenant is “up for renewal.” A covenant is an agreement that binds two parties. In today’s First Reading from Genesis, we hear of the agreement God makes with Noah never again to destroy the earth by water. In return, Noah and his family were to populate the earth.

In every Mass during the Eucharistic Prayer we hear Christ’s words, “This is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant….” In Christ, the ancient relationship between God and humankind has taken on a human face.

Why do I say Lent is a time to renew your covenant? Well, in centuries past, Lent was observed as a time of penance. With the renewal of the catechumenate—the process of becoming a Christian—the Church now sees Lent as a time of preparation for those to be baptized at Easter, and a time of renewal of baptism for all the rest of us. The Lenten penances we choose—and they’re still appropriate—are signs of “covenant renewal,” our pledge to deepen our commitment of love and service. 

In Mark’s Gospel this Sunday, Jesus calls us to that kind of repentance and renewal. In the Lenten Sunday readings this year, listen for the theme of “covenant.” In these weekly reflections, I’ll be pointing out the “covenant connection” from each Sunday’s Scriptures.

Sunday reflection by Father Greg Friedman, from St. Anthony Messenger Press, find it on the web at Franciscanmedia.org.

A common experience of human illness—no matter how serious—is isolation. A simple cold or the flu can cut us off from other people. A common experience of healing comes when the human touch of another shatters our isolation: the touch of professional healers or the embrace of friends.

Mark’s Gospel knows this human experience. In today’s story, Mark shows Jesus reaching across a huge cultural barrier to touch and heal a leper. For Mark this story is one of many that identify the mission of Jesus as a struggle against evil, manifested partly in human sickness and suffering. Sickness doesn’t mean the sick person has necessarily sinned, rather illness is part of the evil that Jesus is battling.

The story of the healing of the leper is full of emotion. We sense God’s power at work. The man is invited to re-connect with the community, signaling the end of his isolation through a ritual visit to the priests. The power at work in Jesus cannot be kept secret. Word spreads far and wide.

How have you or I become isolated from the community of believers? How is Jesus calling us to re-connect? At Sunday Eucharist we’re invited to lay aside our isolation, and to witness to one another what Christ has done for us.

Sunday reflection by Father Greg Friedman, from St. Anthony Messenger Press, find it on the web at Franciscanmedia.org.

When disasters–personal or communal–occur in our world, it’s likely that religious people will be asked: What does God have to do with this?

This short reflection can’t hope to answer that question, but perhaps today’s Sunday readings can help. In the First Reading, we hear from that Biblical expert on suffering—Job. It’s a short description of Job’s—and humankind’s—miserable condition. If we read more of the Book of Job, we discover that it doesn’t try to resolve the question of human suffering either. Rather it ends by bringing us face to face with the very mystery of God. With Job we’re invited to turn ourselves over to God, and to trust in God’s infinite wisdom and care for us.

The Gospel personalizes that invitation. Mark depicts Jesus embarked on a journey that again and again brings him face to face with evil: manifested in the sin and suffering, sickness and death Jesus encounters in the world. Each time he proves himself master over evil–the one who brings God’s forgiveness, the healer of human suffering. Eventually he conquers death itself on the cross.

What does God have to do with human suffering? The best answer I know is God’s answer–Jesus himself–the only answer we need.

Sunday reflection by Father Greg Friedman, from St. Anthony Messenger Press, find it on the web at Franciscanmedia.org.

I have a seminary classmate who will occasionally chide me when we’re having a conversation—or rather, when he’s talking to me. If he perceives me not really paying attention to him, he’ll say, “Gregory, are you in my world?” What he means is, “Are you listening to me?”

Listening is crucial. When it comes to the word of God, listening is absolutely essential. Today’s First Reading and Gospel share the theme of “listening.” Moses tells the people that God will raise up a prophet for them. God is giving them a prophet since the people were too frightened when they heard God address them directly—the people feel that a human intermediary would be easier to listen to. But Moses warns them: They’d better listen to God’s prophet in that case—not listening will have consequences!

In the Gospel Jesus performs an exorcism. In doing so, he demonstrates that even the unclean spirits whom he drives out listen to him. The people who witness the event are amazed at all this and Jesus’ fame spreads. He’s the fulfillment of that request from the people long ago. He’s prophet par excellence, speaking God’s word. But even more: He is God’s Word enfleshed. Hidden in the Gospel story is the unspoken question: Will we listen to him? Will we choose to be part of his world, the Kingdom of God which Jesus is bringing into our midst?

Sunday reflection by Father Greg Friedman, from St. Anthony Messenger Press, find it on the web at Franciscanmedia.org.

How about a real “fish story” from today’s Sunday Scriptures? Hello, I’m Franciscan Father Greg Friedman with the Sunday Soundbite for the Third Sunday in Ordinary Time. 

A fish story is usually an outlandish, exaggerated tale. Our First Reading fits the bill—part of the story of Jonah. Besides featuring a pretty big fish, it tells a rather fantastic account of the instantaneous conversion of the ancient pagan city of Nineveh!

Scripture scholars see the story as a kind of folk tale—short on history but long on spiritual truth: God calls each of us—even if we’re reluctant prophets like Jonah. Jonah resisted God’s invitation to preach to the Ninevites and wasn’t all that happy with the outcome. Perhaps he would have enjoyed a dose of fire and brimstone rather than the mercy God shows the repentant Ninevites.

The story of Jesus calling the fishermen in today’s Gospel is no tall tale. Unlike Jonah, Simon and Andrew, James and John respond instantly, and willingly leave all to follow Jesus.

These readings make me think of my own “vocation story.” How did God call me? How have I responded? I know I haven’t always been immediate, willing, or whole-hearted in my response. Luckily, God seems to keep on calling, continuing to invite me to my own personal conversion. God always offers me yet another opportunity for a change of heart. And that’s no fish story!

Sunday reflection by Father Greg Friedman, from St. Anthony Messenger Press, find it on the web at Franciscanmedia.org.