Archive for July, 2019

Asking for a Gift to Give — 17th Sunday of Ordinary Time—Year C

July 28, 2019

Remember last Sunday, when Abraham hosted three mysterious visitors from Heaven. Once they had agreed to Abraham’s offer to serve them a meal can you recall the first thing Abraham did? “Abraham hastened into the tent and told Sarah, ‘Quick, three measures of fine flour! Knead it and make rolls.'” How much were “three measures of flour” back then? Through a scripture commentary, I learned that this was about half a bushel, or like twenty pounds of flour. That’s enough to make about twelve of the loaves of bread we buy at the grocery store these days. So, Abraham served about a dozen loaves of bread to three guests. Now I’m as much a fan of unlimited breadstick deals as anybody, but when was the last time you ate four loaves-worth of bread in one sitting? Abraham knew these were extraordinary guests, so he set an extraordinary meal before them. And perhaps he intended to give them all the leftover loaves as a further gift to God.

I wondered about those “three measures of flour” because of Jesus’ parable today: Suppose you have a friend to whom you go at midnight and say, “Friend, lend me three loaves of bread, for a friend of mine has arrived at my house…” So we have a meal with three measures and a parable with three loaves. Three measures of flour for the Lord, and three loaves of bread for a friend. I perceive that these things are connected, but more on that later.

Immediately preceding this parable, Jesus teaches his disciples how to pray. You surely noticed that the Our Father prayer in Luke differs from Matthew’s more familiar version. This is providential. If the two texts were exactly the same, some Christians might mistake Jesus’ example as being our only permissible prayer. But Jesus does not give the Our Father as a magic formula or incantation, but as a model for our approach and attitude to prayer. In Matthew’s version, the prayer begins with “Our Father.” He is not mine, but ours, because he calls us to salvation together. Luke’s version simply begins with “Father”; not “Master,” as though we were merely his slaves; not “Ruler,” as though we were merely his subjects; but “Father,” because we are his children. The prayer’s petitions are direct requests, simple requests, profound requests. For example, consider: “Give us each day our daily bread.” It’s straight-forward, basic, yet deep when you contemplate “our daily bread” as a symbol for all of our constant bodily and spiritual needs. And notice something else that these petitions have in common: “hallowed be your name,” “your kingdom come,” “forgive us our sins.” Each is asking God for something that God already desires for us. They are each a part of his plan already.

Who are we supposed to be like in Jesus’ parable? Surely it’s the persistently asking and seeking door-knocker. Because Jesus says, immediately after this parable, “And I tell you, ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you.”

And who is God represented by in this parable? Naturally, the man in the house whose gifts can be gained through asking. Indeed, God is on the other side of Heaven’s door. And even at midnight, in the darkest hour, we can call on him for help. His children inside, the saints and angels who rest peacefully in his house, join their voices to ours when we persistently ask for good things on earth. But God is surely not like this annoyed neighbor in saying, “Do not bother me… I cannot get up to give you anything.” Jesus’ mode of teaching here is from the lesser to the greater. If this annoyed neighbor can be persuaded to give, how much more can God who already desires to give. Likewise, Jesus says, “If you, who are wicked, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will the Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him?”

The request for three loaves and Abraham’s request for three measures suggests another character like the Lord in this parable: “Lend me three loaves of bread, for a friend of mine has arrived at my house from a journey and I have nothing to offer him.” Mystically speaking, this visiting friend is the Lord. For Jesus says, “Amen, I say to you, whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me.” Jesus says, “Whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me.” And Jesus says to the early Church’s persecutor, “Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting me?” Jesus is mystically present in every Christian and within in his Church. Thinking of God as represented in this parable by both the homeowner and the visiting friend reveals a dynamic that could change how you relate to prayer.

When you pray for some good thing, when you ask some worthy blessing for yourself, someone else, or even billions of people at once, are you not praying for the greater glory of God among us? What prayer would he, could he, possibly grant you that would not also glory him? Furthermore, what can we offer him that is entirely of ourselves? The man in the parable asks his neighbor for loaves for his friend because “I have nothing to offer him.” As St. Paul asked the Corinthians, “What do you possess that you have not received?” It’s been said that to truly make an apple pie from scratch, you have to recreate the universe. Like Abraham asking Sarah for loaves for his holy guests, like the man in the parable asking for a loan of bread, every good prayer—whatever it may be—is asking for a gift to be gifted to the Lord. It’s like asking your dad for money to buy him a gift for Father’s Day. It’s for his own glory, so you don’t have to persuade or coerce him, he loves you and already wants to give. Which raises a question: if God already wants to give, then why doesn’t God always give immediately in answer to our prayers?

Sometimes God waits for the right time to grant our requests. If you bought your mom the perfect Christmas gift, you might desperately want to give it to her right now, but you would realize that the very best time for her to open it comes later. Would you rather have you prayer answered right now or at the best and perfect moment?

Sometimes God is storing up the accumulated reservoir of your prayers so that once the floodgates are opened a torrent will be unleashed. St. Monica prayed for her sinful, wayward son for years, and when he finally converted he was not merely saved but went on to become the priest, bishop, and great doctor and father of the Church we know as St. Augustine of Hippo. Would you rather have your prayer answered in a small way now or in an overwhelmingly incredible way later?

Sometimes it we must pray persistently, rather than just asking once and setting the request aside, for the powerful influence of that continued offering. On one occasion in the gospels, there was a demon afflicting a boy that the disciples could not exorcise. After Jesus cast out the demon his disciples asked why they were unable. Jesus is written to have answered them, “This kind can only come out through prayer and fasting.” Last week we heard St. Paul tell the Colossians, “I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ on behalf of his body, which is the Church”. It’s not that Jesus’ Passion is insufficient, but that God allows our offered sufferings and sacrifices to have a vital role in Christ’s work of saving souls. Patient, persistent prayer is a sacrifice we offer with him.

In conclusion, the Father, our Father, already wants to give, for the praise and glory of his name, for our good and the good of all his holy Church. So let us not hesitate, but let us persist, in asking good things from Him who loves us.

Posted in Homily, Our Father, Prayer, Sacrifice, Sunday Homilies | 1 Comment »

The Highway — Funeral for Alvera “Veda” Hassemer, 88

July 26, 2019

St. Paul’s parish is honored to offer our greatest prayer, Christ’s sacrifice, for Veda. We also hope our prayer may be a consolation to you, who know and love her best. Veda was member of our parish throughout her life, though I never had an opportunity to meet her. For the last couple years she lived in a Chippewa Falls memory care-facility, but her children have told me some of her story. Veda’s Catholic faith, I am told, was the most important thing in her life. Her devotion to our Lord is reflected in today’s readings, which she pre-selected herself for her funeral. I often make note when I preach at funerals that no brief homily can capture the fullness and mystery of a faithful Christian life. But the features and details of such lives can help reveal the truth of Jesus Christ and his Gospel.

When Veda and Arnie got married in 1952, they settled on a dairy farm; accepting the hard, demanding work that comes with milking cows. It happens that their farm was situated a literal stonesthrow away from St. Catherine’s Catholic Cemetery, where Veda’s body will be buried today. Arnie and Veda lived and worked upon the dust of this earth, and in this same dust their earthly remains will lay side by side. But the toilsome labor of farm life and the lifeless stillness of the grave are not the sum of their story. Between the farm and the cemetery there is a road, Highway 64. Arnie and Veda took that road several miles to a new home, here in Bloomer. They did good in this community; he founded his Shoeland and sold his cookies, she nursed at Maplewood and maintained the house, and together they loved and blessed their children.

I’m told that Veda loved animals. Especially, four-legged fuzzy ones. Cows and horses were not her favorites though, and not only because of their lack of fuzz. When her son Michael was two years old, he wandered out near a horse. The horse reared up to kick him, potentially fatally, but Veda intervened. She stretched out her leg into the horse’s path and took the blow. She saved her son and bore the mark for the rest of her life.

Christ is the Good Shepherd, and we are his fuzzy, four-legged sheep. When we were threatened by eternal death, he intervened. He stretched out his limbs and took the blow. He saved us and bears the marks in his body to this day. Our lives are not reducible to a short journey of toil to the grave. Jesus Christ shows us a way, his narrow road, in between. That humble road, his highway, leads to a whole world above inhabited by billions who continue to do good. Jesus would invite us to a new home with him there, until our bodies and this broken world is someday resurrected and restored in him. “Therefore, our God, we give you thanks and we praise the majesty of your name,” and our sadness at Veda’s passing is lightened by our faith and hope in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.

Posted in Funeral Homilies, Homily | Leave a Comment »

Meals with the Lord — 16th Sunday of Ordinary Time—Year C

July 21, 2019

Our first reading from Genesis recalls Abraham at a meal with the Lord. In the story immediately preceding this one, God had renewed his covenant with him. The Lord changed his name from Abram to Abraham, which means “father of a multitude,” and indeed, today more than two billion Christians around the world call Abraham our father in faith. A covenant bond is an alliance which transforms unrelated persons into family. In the ancient world, nations and peoples would form covenants, declaring themselves brothers. Today we rightly call marriage a covenant. And God has established many covenants between himself and members of the human race through salvation history. Something that family members do is eat together. Sharing a meal signifies communion and relationship with each other. Today, after renewing his covenant with Abraham, the Lord visits him for a meal.

Genesis says “the LORD appeared to Abraham,” but, “Looking up, Abraham saw three men standing nearby.” Like when God said at Creation, “Let US make man in OUR image,” Christians detect signs here of the presence of the Holy Trinity. There’s an interesting alternation of singulars and plurals in their dialogue. Abraham says, “Sir, if I may ask you (singular) this favor, please do not go on past your servant….” Abraham offers THEM a meal and THEY reply, “Very well, do as you have said.” Later THEY ask him, “Where is your wife Sarah,” and then ONE of them declares, “I will surely return to you about this time next year, and Sarah will then have a son.” Genesis does go on to call two of these three visitors “angels” but in Hebrew and Greek this word angel means “messenger or representative.” And who are the greatest representatives and messengers of God the Father but God the Son and God the Holy Spirit? Whatever the mystery that was actually at play here, Abraham serves a meal with the Lord and is blessed in the encounter.

In today’s Gospel, the Lord God visits Martha in the person of Jesus Christ. She welcomes him and sets about serving him with food and drink. Her sister, Mary, sits beside the feet of the Lord listening to him speak. And Martha, burdened with much serving, comes to him and says, “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me by myself to do the serving? Tell her to help me.” “Martha, Martha,” Jesus replies, “you are anxious and worried about many things. There is need of only one thing.” Notice how Jesus repeats her name, something seen only a handful of times in the New Testament. Jesus laments over “Jerusalem, Jerusalem” before his Passion, he admonishes “Simon, Simon” at the Last Supper, he cries out “Eloi, Eloi / My God, My God” on the Cross, and he calls out to “Saul, Saul” on the road to Damascus. That’s some extraordinary company she shares. Clearly, Martha matters a great deal to Jesus.

So what was Martha doing wrong? Is it because she was working so hard to serve the Lord a meal? Well, Abraham hastened and hustled to serve too; he ran to pick out a choice steer, get curds and milk, and set these before his guests. Abraham even got others to help him work; telling his wife to make some bread rolls and directing his servant to prepare the meat. The problem wasn’t Martha’s work. It was her mindset, her outlook. “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things.” Why was Martha anxious and worried? Anxiety and worry come from fear. What was she afraid of? Was she afraid of failing? Was she afraid of what others might think? Was she afraid of disappointing the Lord? What are you afraid of? What drives your anxiety and worries? Do you think Jesus will abandon you if things go wrong, if things are less than perfect?

Jesus says, “There is need of only one thing.” What is that one thing? Mary apparently had it sitting at his feet, listening to him teach. She was sharing personal communion with him and receiving from him. And later, when Mary got up to do whatever task came next, I bet that peace remained with her. “Mary has chosen the better part,” Jesus says, “and it will not be taken from her.” If you have gravely sinned, then return to Jesus, go back to confession, and come into the state of grace. And when in the state of grace stop letting yourself get in the way of connecting with Jesus and receiving and enjoying his good pleasure in you. Rest with him, rest in him, even as you work hard for him.

Fifty years ago this weekend, mankind took its first steps on the surface of the Moon. The astronauts journeyed from Earth more than 200,000 miles, through the extreme temperatures of an airless void, to achieve a modern marvel watched and celebrated around the world. But a still greater journey is made, a more incredible wonder is accomplished, when Jesus Christ comes from Heaven to this altar and invites you and me (who remain far from perfect) to share this covenant meal with him.

Posted in Abraham, Christian Perfection, Homily, St. Martha, Sunday Homilies | Leave a Comment »

The Good Samaritan — 15th Sunday of Ordinary Time—Year C

July 14, 2019

Jesus’ Parable of the Good Samaritan is among his most famous and familiar. Yet, like Jesus Christ himself, it has still more to teach us. Today I will share contexts and symbolisms of this parable that you’ve probably never heard before.

Jesus’ story begins, “A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho.” In Wisconsin, we talk about going up to Canada or going down to Madison; for us north is “up” and south is down. But in Israel, the city of Jericho lies fourteen miles east of Jerusalem. The man went down to Jericho because Jerusalem has a much higher elevation. Have you ever seen the Sears Tower (now called the Willis Tower) in Chicago? Picture its height from street-level to the top of its two antennas; now imagine stacking another Sears Tower standing on top of those antennas. From top to bottom, that’s how much a traveler descends when going from Jerusalem to Jericho.

Jerusalem was the Holy City, the place of God’s dwelling. But Jericho, as you may recall, was the city which Joshua at God’s command marched the Hebrews around in a circle for seven days, before blowing their horns and shouting, causing its walls to collapse. They conquered the city which symbolizes sin, human fallenness, and rebellion from God. Jericho, incidentally, is not far from the Dead Sea, the shore of which is the lowest dry land on the surface of the earth—the furthest you can be from heaven above.

“The robbers stripped and beat the man and went off leaving him half-dead. A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. In the same way, a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side.” Who were these men? The Jewish priest would have offered sacrifices at the Temple while the Levite would have assisted there like a sacristan. Why did both men pass by ‘on the opposite side of the road’ as they walked in the direction of Jericho? Perhaps that they thought the motionless body on the shoulder of the road was already dead. Under the Law of Moses, touching a dead body made a person ritually unclean. Whether this was their reason, or they just did not care enough to be bothered, a third man comes along who is both willing and able to help.

“A Samaritan traveler came upon him and was moved with compassion at the sight.” We know that Jews and Samaritans didn’t like each other, but why? Who were the Samaritans? Some five hundred years before the coming of Christ the Babylonians were the superpower of the ancient world. When the Jewish king decided he wasn’t going to pay tribute to Babylon anymore, the Babylonian king was not pleased. He sent his army, sieged Jerusalem, conquered it, and carried off the region’s inhabitants into what is called the Babylonian Exile. Not everyone was taken though; some of the poor laborers, the farmers and vine-dressers, were left behind. To ensure that this Jewish remnant did not rebel again, and to make sure the good land did not go idle, the Babylonians resettled the people of five pagan nations among them.

Seventy years after this catastrophe, after the Babylonians themselves were conquered by the Persian Empire, the king of Persia gave the Jews permission to return to their homeland. When they arrived they found that those who had been left behind had intermarried with the pagans and adopted some of their religious practices. The Jews looked down on these people, these Samaritans, as unfaithful to the Lord. It’s no mere coincidence that the Samaritan Woman at the Well with whom Jesus speaks in John’s Gospel has had five husbands—just like the five resettled pagan nations. This real woman symbolizes her people, with whom Jesus desires to be reconciled and whom he wants to save.

Jesus’ chosen hero for this parable, the Good Samaritan, “approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn and cared for him.” In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells the scholar of the law (and us) to be like “the one who treated him with mercy.” That’s a very important, famous, and familiar lesson, but there is symbolism within this parable which teaches even more.
The man who fell to the robbers represents our human race. Traveling from Jerusalem to Jericho, we were descending from the height of communion with God to the depths of sin. We fell to robbers, to evil spirits and wicked desire. They stripped us naked, depriving us of our previous glory. They beat us and left us half-dead; biologically we were still living, but spiritually we were dead. No one could or would help us. But then our Good Samaritan came – Jesus Christ.

He looked upon us and was moved with compassion. He approached us and poured His blood over us, like wine, to cleanse the wounds of sin. He poured the Holy Spirit on us, like oil, to strengthen us. He bandaged our members with his teachings; and though these disciplines bind us they are for the freedom of full health. He lifted us up on his beast of burden, his own flesh in the Passion, to bring us to the inn. This inn, where the robbers’ victim is cared for until he comes again, is the Church.

You and I are represented by the robbers’ victim brought into the inn for care. But you and I are also represented by the inn-keeper, for we are likewise called to care for others. The Good Samaritan provides two coins to the inn-keeper along with an instruction and a promise: “Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.” In the parable, these are two coins are Roman silver denarii, equal to two day’s wages. Jesus provides for our mission to serve him and our neighbor, for today and for tomorrow, and whatever we expend in time, talent, or treasure in his inn, the Church, will have his divine repayment.

In light of this great parable, ask Jesus to show you your neighbor, who he has entrusted to your care, then “Go and do likewise.” The command which he ‘enjoins on you today is not too mysterious and remote for you. …No, it is something very near to you, already in your mouths and in your hearts; you have only to carry it out.’ You shall love the Lord your God supremely, and love your neighbor as yourself.

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The Great Carpenter — Funeral for James “Jim” Rogge, 55

July 10, 2019

St. Matthew’s Gospel tells us that St. Joseph, the foster-father of Jesus, was a carpenter or craftsman by occupation. He supported his family, both wife and child, as a carpenter, a woodworker, or perhaps a mason, and a builder. And, as his son grew older, Joseph taught him his trade. We read in St. Mark’s Gospel that when Jesus returned to preach in his hometown, the people of Nazareth asked, “Is he not the carpenter, the son of Mary?” Odds are that Jesus the Nazarene was personally well-familiar with the work of preparing timber for his uses.

Every log comes to be from a once-living tree, from a natural canopy or tent of foliage over the earth. But every round log to become fit for the craftsman’s purpose, such as to become a portion of his dwelling place, must be transformed from its original, natural, unfinished state. Before the advent of modern sawmills, this difficult task was done up-close, by hand. First, the rough, brittle, dead bark must be stripped away. In life, this bark served as a protective layer against our imperfect, trial-some world, but in this stripping process this layer is removed and discarded into the craftsman’s fire. From there, the log of wood is hewn (perhaps flattened, notched, or whittled down) to fit its intended purpose. When the carpenter desires to erect a building, each piece, each log or plank, is made to fit with its neighbors, so that the builder’s structure may stand solidly and harmoniously as one. And the greater the carpenter the greater the perfection they desire in their work.

Our Lord Jesus Christ is a carpenter. He is the greatest carpenter. And his work material is the wood of humanity; that is, you, and me, and Jim. The Lord would shape us as he has done with others since ancient times: laboring personally, up-close. As King David said in the psalm: “He guides me in right paths for his name sake. I fear no evil; for you are at my side.” But we build up layers of bark against him and the world, because we’re afraid to trust or we love our faults, yet Jesus doesn’t give up. Our rough, brittle, dead bark must be stripped away, in this life or hereafter.

We must allow Jesus to befriend us – it is supremely important that we befriend him – for as Daniel writes in our first reading and St. Paul in our second, a resurrection and a judgment awaits us all. But if we do befriend the Lord, “we know that [when] our earthly dwelling, a tent, should be destroyed, we have a building from God, a dwelling not made with hands, eternal in Heaven.” As St. Paul told the Ephesians, “Through him the whole structure is held together and grows into a temple sacred in the Lord; in him you also are being built together into a dwelling place of God in the Spirit.”

You probably know of Jim’s faith in Jesus, of his strengths and his weaknesses. Pray for him, that he may be hewn and perfectly fitted with our brothers and sisters in Heaven. And today at this altar, renew your commitment to Christ, so that we and he may remain in the house of the Lord, the master craftsman, forever.

Posted in Christian Perfection, Funeral Homilies, Homily, Jesus Christ, Purgatory, St. Joseph, Work | Leave a Comment »

Consoling the New Jerusalem — 14th Sunday of Ordinary Time—Year C

July 8, 2019

This word of the Lord regarding Jerusalem was spoken through the Prophet Isaiah in our first reading:

“Thus says the LORD: Rejoice with Jerusalem and be glad because of her, all you who love her; exult, exult with her, all you who were mourning over her! For thus says the LORD: Behold, I will spread prosperity over Jerusalem like a river. As a mother comforts her child, so will I comfort you; in Jerusalem you shall find your comfort. When you see this, your heart shall rejoice and your bodies flourish like the grass; the LORD’s power shall be known to his servants.”

When reading Old Testament prophesies, the tone can really widely vary. Depending upon the particular century, the Lord’s message directed towards Jerusalem or the Israelites can be consoling, encouraging, promising good things to come; or denouncing, woeful, declaring punishments to follow. I find it really difficult to place our country and our present time amongst these Old Testament messages. I can imagine the people of our land being pleasing the Lord in many respects and I can see us meriting his correcting chastisement for other reasons. So do the consoling words of Isaiah apply to us? Let me explain how I think that they can.

In Old Testament times, Jerusalem, the holy city, was the place of God’s temple, his dwelling place on earth. But in 70 A.D., the Romans sieged Jerusalem and destroyed the temple leaving not one stone upon another, as Jesus had proselytized and foretold. In New Testament times, Jesus is the Temple. In John’s Gospel, Jesus tells a crowd, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up,” and John notes Jesus “speaking about the temple of his body.” The Body of Christ is the New Temple. The Christian understanding of Jerusalem changes, too. In the Book of Revelation, St. John beholds “the holy city, a new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.” John hears a loud voice from the throne say, “Behold, God’s dwelling is with the human race. He will dwell with them and they will be his people and God himself will always be with them as their God.” So the New Temple is the Body of Christ. And the New Jerusalem is the Bride of Christ. Where is the Body of Christ now and where is his Bride? As New Testament Scriptures tell us, they are present on earth and in Heaven, as his Holy Church.

There are wounds and sufferings in the Body of Christ. This was personally true for Jesus on earth, and it is true for his members. In our second reading, St. Paul writes: “From now on, let no one make troubles for me; for I bear the marks of Jesus on my body.” Paul composed his letter in Greek, and here the Greek word for “marks” is literally “stigmata.” In the ancient world, slaves and devotees of pagan deities were often branded by marks called “stigmata” to indicate to whom they belonged, who they served or who was their god. In a Christian context, “stigmata” has come to mean the miraculous sign or gift of receiving the wounds of Christ, in one’s hands, feet, or side. St. Francis of Assisi experienced the stigmata near the end of his life, and St. Padre Pio bore Christ’s wounds in his hands for fifty years. But what St. Paul is describing in this passage is not necessarily that. In 2nd Corinthians, he enumerates the sufferings he had endured: “Five times at the hands of the Jews I received forty lashes minus one. Three times I was beaten with rods, once I was stoned…” St. Paul greatly suffered in Christ, but many wounds are not physical.

I hate that wolves in sheep’s clothing have hurt and scarred members of the Body of Christ, the Church. I hate that the Bride of Christ I love is denounced as something evil. Perhaps it has never been easy to be a Catholic, but it is hard to be a Catholic today. How are we going to respond? In today’s gospel, Jesus says, “Beg the master of the harvest [that is, God his Father] to send laborers into his harvest.” In other words, we should ask God to raise up saints. In the worst and hardest times in Church history, God has supplied holy saints. And he still lifts up saints in our modern times as well.

In the year 2010, a baby boy was born in Illinois with neither breath nor pulse. The parents prayed for the intercession of another native son of Illinois. That man had grown up in El Paso, Illinois, become a priest and eventually an archbishop, was an excellent preacher and author, and even won an Emmy for his highly-rated, prime-time, national TV show called “Life is Worth Living.” Archbishop Fulton J. Sheen died in 1979, but after praying for his help in saving their son’s life, after sixty-one minutes of no signs of life, their boy began to breathe and show a pulse. Today, James Fulton Engstrom is a fully healthy eight-year-old, and yesterday the Vatican officially announced that his inexplicable healing was a miracle, which clears the way for Archbishop’s Sheen’s beatification in the near future.

Fulton Sheen was a twentieth century saint, but God desires to raise up twenty-first century saints as well. And not just among others elsewhere, but among we ourselves. You and I likely never be beatified or canonized, but we are all called to be saints because we are all called to Heaven, and to begin living the life of Heaven here and now.

Notice how in today’s gospel, Jesus does not send out his missionaries one-by-one but in pairs. He told them to stick together, “stay in the same house.” Why? He wanted them to be a help, encouragements to each other, to be faithful and fruitful. Likewise, we have the fellowship of one another to help us become saints. And we have holy friends who know and love us to help us, the saints in Heaven. And we have our greatest friend who provides the means for our sanctification in himself, Jesus Christ. Let us become saints together. Then the words of Isaiah will be fulfilled among us. All who were mourning over Jerusalem will exult and all who love her will rejoice. In holiness the Lord’s power shall be known to his servants. And we will be comforted and flourish, in the New Jerusalem here on earth and in Heaven without end.

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