Homily: 10th Sun. in Ordinary Time, B (2018)

Deacon Tony Cecil Homily, 10th Sunday OT, B Epiphany Catholic Church, Louisville, Kentucky

It was the most beautiful and expansive place that you could ever even begin to imagine. Its grasses were perfectly green and always perfectly cut—trees stood in a stoic serenity along its pathways and trails. There were springs, and fountains, and waterfalls, and the animals and insects and birds filled the place with the zeal of life. Peace overwhelmed everything—from the heights of the skies to the depths of the waters and trenches. It was truly good—in every deep and profound sense of such a simple word.

It was a garden—and in that garden, there were people hiding.

There was the man, Adam—naked and afraid, filled with worries and fears that disturbed and displaced the overwhelming reign of peace—filled with the knowledge that he is a guilty bystander who did not step in to protect when protection was needed—so quick to blame his problems on someone else and their issues. Surely it was not his fault, he says.

Then, there was the woman, Eve—she who let loose of the firm grasp she had on trust and fell into an abyss of fear—the fear that God would not be enough for her, and so now with the bite of forbidden fruit she agrees to fight and do whatever she can to do it all for herself, trusting no one.

And, sneaking through it all is the serpent—that serpent who is quick to trick others for the sake of his own benefit, to reap nothing but the copious consequences of crawling for all of eternity on his belly, his face growing ever more full with grime and dirt—awaiting the enmity he was warned of while occupying himself with the never-ending project of revenge.

We know the rest of the story—they get the boot—they get kicked out that place of total peace and serenity and they lose quite a bit—their security, their peace, their focus. And they are sad, and their hearts are heavy, and now their lives involve toil and pain.

Division had now entered creation. They were separated from the marvelous gardens, cast to the outskirts—not even able to sneak back in if they wanted to because of the great chasm that opened up between them and the garden’s gates, which were now pulled closed and locked.

And so, life began again outside of the garden—but it was different—it wasn’t the same, no matter how much they tried to get back to normal.

Division had entered creation and it was there to stay—it was there to stay through murder, fighting, money, over-ambition, classes, regimes, empires, wars, jealousy, slavery, political fighting, the “us vs. them” mentality, greed, alcohol and drugs, obsession, overly-stated opinions, the list could go on and on and on. Division was there, and is still here.

But—that was them. What about us?

I cannot help but think of questions. I get asked a lot of questions, but among them are two that I get more frequently than any other: Who are you? Why are you here?

It doesn’t bother me—it comes with the territory of frequently being the new kid on the block—these are the basics that others want to know about you—who you are, how you became who you are, why you’re here in this place and in this time.

Usually, the answers are pretty simple—well, I’m Deacon Tony, and I’m a seminarian. I’m in the seminary because I felt called, and I want to serve, and to love—and I’m here, well, I’m here because the Archbishop put me in this place to serve and to love.

But, with the readings today, these answers seem—insufficient, perhaps shallow, simplistic, even a bit dull. They urge on the sometimes-dreary task of self-examination—to really look at these two questions: Who are you? Why are you here?

Who are we?

A lot of the times, we would like to look at the garden, and think of who we are as a personification of the magnificence found within it. Looking in the garden for who we are certainly is like looking into a mirror—but only if we look at those who were hiding.

Ultimately, we are afraid.

It was fear that caused Adam to go into hiding. It was fear that caused him to not speak up and stop what was happening. It was fear that caused Eve to take the bite. It was fear that caused her to lose trust. Even with the serpent, fear was at the center of his action—he was fearful of the love that God had for these creatures, man and woman. He was fearful of the power that they could have, and he has spent every minute since kindling that fear trying to turn us away from God.

And so often, that fear leads to division. We don’t have to look far to see it—division is everywhere. Division can so easily be seen in our world, in our nation, in our state, in our city, in our communities, in our families, perhaps even in this congregation. Just as there was a chasm between Adam and Eve and the gates to the garden, so, too, there are chasms between us and so many others.

And all too often, this is where we stop—we don’t like what we see when we look into the mirror of the garden and so we cover it up, or we turn away from it, or perhaps even shatter it, because the beauty of a painted mask far surpasses what we see in the mirror, which is so often beautiful to everyone but us. We don’t take the chance of going further to discover the deepest truth of who we are and more importantly, whose we are.

And this answers the second question: Why are you here?

Perhaps its an obligation—or a desire to be seen—or maybe we like the community, or the music—maybe even the preaching. Maybe its because someone made us be here—we could simply be passing through town and this was the most convenient time and place for us to attend Mass.

While those may be the surface-level reasons, those aren’t the reasons we are here.

You see, we are here for a much deeper and more profound reason—

even if we don’t realize it.

I believe that we are here: because we desperately desire to get back into that garden; because we know that we are not just people hiding in fear we are not people who gave up and messed up and were cast out of paradise forever.

And how do we know this?

We sang it so beautifully and so proudly just moments ago: With the Lord, there is mercy, and fullness of redemption.

THAT is why we are here—that is why we are together, in this sacred place.

We know that our God is a God of second chances. We know that we cannot overcome our fears and our divisions alone. We know that it is only through the help of God and God alone that it can be accomplished.

We know, and we believe, and we trust what Jesus said in the Gospel, that a kingdom divided cannot stand, that a house divided cannot stand, and that we, persons who are divided in families, and communities, and nations and a world that is divided cannot stand, especially alone.

You see, now we have a chance. That gate was not shut forever, and it is because of the same reason that we are here today, because two thousand years ago, an innocent man who just so happened to be the Son of God stretched out his arms between heaven and earth across the chasm on the wood of the cross and became a bridge over which we cross into paradise. When he cried out those words “it is finished!” everything stopped and locks were broken and chains thrown to the side, and those gates to the garden were thrust open forever.

That is why we are here,

Because when Father takes the bread and wine and says those—exquisite—words, those profound words, those simple words, those life changing words—THIS IS MY BODY, THIS IS MY BLOOD, nothing else can win.

Our worries, Our fears,

Our faults,

Our divisions cannot win, Nothing can overwhelm us, Time itself stands still as he raises from the altar the God of the universe, the Word made flesh who has been made flesh again for us.

And—even if only for a moment—there we are—in the garden.

Not hiding in the shadows of fear, but standing proudly in awe and adoration, standing in the warm light that is what Saint Paul called the eternal weight of glory beyond all comparison. And with eyes of faith, we see what is unseen, we no longer see the transitory, but only the eternal, we see the eternal dwelling of God in heaven—the dwelling of a God who allows us to receive his very person, and to become his dwelling in the world.

Brothers and sisters, we do not belong to our fears, we belong to our God.

And so, do not be discouraged and hide in the shadows—but be brave and step out into the light of glory—a task that is certainly not easy, but one that we will certainly never regret.

May God grant us the courage to make it so.

#homily