Homily: Hearts on Fire

Deacon Tony Cecil Homily: Wednesday in the Octave of Easter, Year C (24 April 2019) Saint Thomas Aquinas Chapel, Saint Meinrad Seminary

Fire—engulfing the historic Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. People on the streets and around the world watch in horror as this masterpiece of architecture glows in the night sky with flames—its spire falling through the roof, and with it, the hopes of many that this cathedral could not be saved.

Fire—the fire of bombs going off in Sri Lanka killing hundreds of Christians—men and women who were coming to worship God on Easter Sunday, boys and girls in their perfectly pressed suits and brand new white dresses and veils, ready to make their First Holy Communion on the holiest day of the year—but then, an explosion of fire.

Fire—burning in a metal pit right outside the church door in central Kentucky, as Spring rains fall from the sky on a gloomy evening. The priest says the prayers quickly—he presses the incense into the candle quickly—he gets a light for the wick quickly—those who will be received into the Church peek out of the door, straining to see this fire—this seemingly ordinary fire—but for them, a fire that lights the way home, the fire that lights the way to conversion, the fire that marks a new beginning, a new life that their hearts have longed for so desperately.

Fire—the fire of a single flame moving into a pitch-black church—fire that is spread from candle to candle until the dark church glows with tiny, flickering lights—light that is not diminished, but only grows stronger as it is shared. Fire that a deacon sings about for several minutes—telling the bodies that fill the church that this fire is something special—that this light is the very thing we long for—this light is what truly overcomes the darkness.

Fire—destructive, beautiful, deadly, magnificent fire.

I’ve been thinking a lot about fire lately—and we’ve seen a lot of fires and a lot of burning in various ways over the last several days.

And then, with today’s Gospel, I cannot help but call this image to mind again. We hear some of Jesus’ disciples talking about the man who walked to Emmaus with them. They say, Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way?

Were not our hearts burning within us—or in other words—were not our hearts on fire? And this man, who was He other than the spark of that flame?

And so it captures my mind again—fire—and I cannot help but question:

What sets my heart on fire?

Is it the story of a priest running into a burning Cathedral to save what to many seem to be insignificant objects—a few wafers and a circle of dead vines—but to him—to us—the most important things to be saved—the Eucharist—the precious Crown of Thorns worn by the Lord at his crucifixion

Is it the Paschal Candle lit the night before in Sri Lanka, now lit once more for funeral Masses for hundreds of people who died for their faith?

Is it the image of a newly baptized adult—finally set free from sin—receiving the light of Christ—their baptismal candle—at the Easter Vigil?

Is it the glow of a cell phone lighting up in the middle of the night because someone is dying and needs their priest?

Is it the dimly lit hospital room filled with loved ones, or perhaps no one, in the early hours of the morning—the priest and the family and the nurses keeping watch with someone as they pass from this life to the next?

Is it the sparkle in the eye of a child as they learn about their faith, and suddenly, something clicks?

Is it the glowing smile of a stranger whom you went out of your way to help in the midst of your busy schedule?

Is it the small light on the outside of the confessional showing that a priest is there—there with an outstretched hand, absolving a penitent who has been away for five, ten, twenty, thirty years?

Is it a priest taking bread and wine and saying, ‘this is my body,’ and ‘this is my blood’, and letting all your worries fade away for even just a moment as he holds in the air the answer to all of your problems, the remedy for all of your pain, the light that casts out your darkness?

To put it simply—whenever we pose this question to ourselves: What sets my heart on fire? the world offers a litany of answers—a drive for success, a desire for wealth, living in luxury, or purely for enjoyment. But for us—for us as followers of Christ—for us who will end up as his priests, and those who will not, there can and should be only one answer to this question:

What sets your heart on fire?

It is the Lord.

The Lord who works in and through us.

The Lord who uses us as his instruments to accomplish his will.

The Lord who is present in the fires, and the tragedies, and the hospital rooms, and the phone calls, and the confessional, and the stranger, and the child, and the priest, and Eucharist.

It can only be—the Lord.

To view the readings for this Mass, please click here.