Pentecost Always

Wind! Water! Fire!

Sounds like a promo for your favorite weather disaster show, doesn’t it? But wind, water, and fire are all descriptions of the Third Person of the Most Holy Trinity – the Holy Spirit. And when the Church ranks her feasts in order of importance, Easter necessarily comes first, but Pentecost – the feast of the Holy Spirit – is second. So having just celebrated this wonderful solemnity of Pentecost, I hope you are excited. I say again, I HOPE YOU ARE EXCITED!! For receiving the gift of the Holy Spirit is like receiving the gift of a whirlwind in your hands or an eternal fire in your heart. The Holy Spirit is awesome, powerful, amazing, and – to use the contemporary vernacular – incredibly cray-cray!

Jesus himself said to his grieving apostles that it was better that he leave them. Why? So he could bestow on them the Spirit. You know the gifts of the Holy Spirit: wisdom, understanding, awe, counsel, knowledge, fortitude, and reverence. You know the fruits of the Holy Spirit: love, joy, peace, patient endurance, kindness, generosity, faith, mildness, and chastity. But remember too, the Holy Spirit wants to come with fire into your soul to burn away evil and purify for righteousness.

The Holy Spirit wants to blow into your life as a mighty wind to fill your sails and steer your course. The Holy Spirit wants, like a mighty waterfall, to flood your being with grace, light, and every virtue. And this is real. The Spirit truly does move hearts, change lives, and renew the face of the earth. If we sincerely, boldly, and persistently call upon the Spirit, absolutely incredible things can and will happen.

The movement of the Holy Spirit is subtle, mysterious, and uncontainable. Under the power and influence of the Holy Spirit, the weak become strong, the frightened become courageous, the faithless become zealous, and the selfish lay down their lives for a friend. What a blessing it is to be able to call on the Holy Spirit, without fear, no matter what the need.

When prayer is dry and you feel like quitting, call on the Spirit. When confusion reigns, and your path seems unclear, call on the Spirit. When temptation is strong, and your resistance is failing, call on the Holy Spirit. When the vocational call is difficult to discern, call on the Holy Spirit. When times are hard, call on the Holy Spirit. When all appears lost, call on the Holy Spirit. When all else has failed, please, call on the Holy Spirit.

To call on the Holy Spirit is to call upon love. God is love after all. So allow that love to envelope, fill, immerse, and consume your soul, your heart, and your very being. Veni Sancte Spiritus is the cry of the Church. Come Holy Spirit! May he come to you today and forever.

Be assured of my prayers,

Fr. Steve

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On Earth and in heaven

As told by those who were with him in the POW camp, the Congressional Medal of Honor which will be posthumously awarded to Emil Kapaun this week is long overdue. Kapaun was an army captain who came ashore in Korea in 1950 during the first days of the war there. Kapaun was a courageous officer, often exposing himself to enemy fire in order to reach a wounded or dying comrade. He was indefatigable, never seeming to sleep. He was selfless, sharing the lot and the sufferings of the average soldier. And when Kapaun’s unit was being overrun by enemy troops in a battle near Unsan, he chose to stay with his men, even though it meant capture.

It was in captivity that the full scope of Kapaun’s heroism became evident. Life in the prisoner of war camp was brutal. Kapaun and his comrades faced starvation, sub-zero temperatures, dysentery, lice, and grossly inadequate medical care. The communist guards were often cruel. Hope was in short supply. Death was a daily occurrence. In the midst of this hell, Kapaun himself became hope. He rose early each morning to prepare a sorghum coffee. He picked louse by the dozens off the bodies of his camp mates. He stole food and medicine, wryly seeking the heavenly intercession of Dismas, the good thief. He opposed the communist propaganda and challenged the guards. He fashioned bowls from pieces of scrap metal. He forced the hopeless to eat, often giving up his own meager rations. He washed the underwear and clothing of the sick. He buried the dead. He snuck into the huts of the enlisted men to encourage and embolden them. And at the end of their gatherings, Emil Kapaun would always ask, “Do you mind if we say a little prayer?” Yes, Captain Kapaun was also a Catholic priest.

When the guards had grown to fear the moral force of Fr. Kapaun’s presence in the camp, and when they no longer could accept his influence over the men, they sent him to the “death hut.” Men wept as he was taken away. But Kapaun, referring to heaven, reminded them that he was going where he had always longed to go. As he entered the “death hut” he forgave his guards, and then, incredibly, asked to be himself forgiven by them. His captors buried Fr. Kapaun in a hidden, unmarked grave. Even in death, they feared this selfless priest.

I doubt the world will give much thought to Fr. Kapaun this week, but I wish everyone would. He brought hope into a landscape that was dark with despair. He spoke of life in an environment that was haunted by death. And in a place where God seemed so very far away, Kapaun himself became a reminder that he is always and everywhere near. In our own culture of despair, death, and godlessness, Kapaun’s example is an important one. It challenges us to also be instruments of hope, life, and God. The cause of Fr. Kapaun’s canonization is moving forward. Two very compelling miracles, attributed to his intercession, are being investigated. His home diocese of Wichita, Kansas is praying that he be raised to the altars. For the aging veterans who will be present when he receives the Congressional Metal of Honor, they who were with Fr. Kapaun in that camp, no further convincing is necessary. They believe without a doubt that Fr. Emil Kapaun is a saint.

Be assured of my prayers,

Fr. Steve

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Obeying

Undoubtedly, one of the great cultural treasures of western civilization is the original “Karate Kid” film. Okay, maybe I slightly overstate the case, but any work of art that gave us both the Bananarama hit, “Cruel Summer,” and Mr. Miyagi, must at least be rated in the upper half of noteworthy cinematic achievements.

So anyway, if you have inexcusably not seen the picture, it’s the story of a transplanted Jersey teen, who while experiencing uber amounts of teen angst in his new California high school, develops a friendship with a Japanese-American war-vet widower who teaches him life lessons through the medium of karate. The film reaches its exciting and tense conclusion as young Daniel, the teen hero, competes in the final match of the big karate tournament.

In that final match, Daniel is pitted against one of his antagonists, a young man who has honed his karate skills at a dojo run by a cruel and heartless sensei. Daniel is competing with a badly injured leg, and the sensei knows it. So in an attempt to vanquish Daniel and bring glory to his own dojo, the heartless sensei commands his charge to, “Sweep the leg!” Daniel’s opponent hesitates. “Sweep the leg!” angrily commands the sensei again. Will he obey?

In this season of Lent, I do wish to make a God point about what transpires in “The Karate Kid.” Notice that Daniel’s opponent is faced with a choice: does he obey the voice of his sensei, “sweep the leg,” or does he obey the voice of his conscience? Often, we know that something is wrong, we know that something is hurtful, and we know that to do it would be to offend God. But other voices are also calling us. The culture says do it, our friends say do it, and maybe even those we look up to are commanding us to disregard the laws of God. Who do we obey?

The story is not a new one. Although they had seen the miracle of the ten plagues and had been led by God out of pharaoh’s slavery, the people of Israel nonetheless disobeyed him. And they did it repeatedly. Jonah was commanded by God to preach repentance in Nineveh, and he instead ran away. Peter, despite having lived with Jesus Christ, despite having witnessed the Lord’s miracles, and despite having walked on the Sea of Galilee, took disobedience to a high level: “I do not know the man,” claimed Peter.

In Matthew’s gospel, Christ tells us that, “whoever breaks one of the least of these commandments … will be called least in the kingdom of heaven.” How many of these “least” commandments have I broken? How many have you broken? It’s frightening to imagine. Yes, Jesus is full of mercy. Yes, Jesus stands always ready to forgive our sins. Yes, we have the incredible sacrament of reconciliation available for us. But to prove our love – and honestly – to make our lives less miserable, why don’t we just obey in the first place?

God’s commandments are gifts of love. This is true. He tells us not to lie, not to steal, not to miss Mass, and not to be unchaste – not because he wants to take away our fun and make life to be a drudgery – but because he knows full well (remember, he is God) that when we lie, steal and do all the rest, we get hurt. Others get hurt as well. To illustrate this, let’s consider how a good parent acts.

When you or me were three or four years old, maybe that bottle of Drano under the sink looked like a good thing to drink. But you know what, mom and dad loved us too much to let us drink it. Instead they did the unthinkable, they FORCED us to obey. Did they do so because they were mean? Of course not! They demanded obedience because they knew that obedience was a path to life. So even if we were thinking (with our toddler thoughts) that mom and dad were lousy, mean, bitter killjoys, in reality, they were saving our lives. They demanded obedience out of love. God, despite what the culture may be telling us, also demands obedience because of love.

Now that we are no longer toddlers, we must make grown up moral decisions. God demands that we obey him. So we don’t mess things up, he gives us the voice of the Church and her teachings as a sure guide. But the culture begs to differ. The Church is corrupt, it claims. The Church is out of touch with the modern world, it claims. The Church is run by a bunch of old men who want to control you, it claims. You decide, screams the culture. And in that the culture is correct. Do we obey the voice of God or the voice of the media? Do we obey the voice of God or the voice of our peers? Do we obey the voice of God or the voice of our government? Indeed, we must decide.

The Scriptures tell us that obedience to God’s command brings life and not death. Jesus himself reminded us that his burden is easy and his yoke is light. Obedience may require sacrifice, but experience shows that obedience frees us to be fully human and fully alive. Will we obey God? Like the heartless sensei in the “Karate Kid,” maybe today the culture or the devil or our own wounded heart is demanding that we figuratively “sweep the leg.” Whether or not we do it is indeed our choice. But before listening to opposing voices, please at least give God a chance. St. Frances of Rome said that God is “foolishly in love with souls.” If so, he offers obedience as a path of love.

Be assured of my prayers,
Steve

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Ravines

Having grown up in the mountains, I am well accustomed to making my way through the forest. Even as young children, we would play in the woods, the streams, and the hills that surrounded our homes. Sometimes, making our way through the forest was a real slog. Obstacles and potential dangers were not uncommon. The terrain itself could be difficult or even treacherous. But off we went anyway . . .  with one important caveat . . . we only traversed the forest in the daylight. Trying to make our way through the woods at night would be both frightening and dangerous. We never went in darkness.

When it comes to making our way through life, though, almost all of our travel is done in the darkness. How seldom we are able to move confidently through the terrain of daily existence, knowing that each step is made on solid ground. Normally, our every move forward is shrouded in darkness. Frequently, especially as regards sin, the darkness is of our own making. But darkness also descends upon us in the form of sickness, anxiety, doubt or fear. When the darkness is compounded by difficult terrain, our every step becomes dangerous. Traversing the ravines of life – without the benefit of light – is a daunting task indeed.

But we are neither alone nor unaided.

Jesus Christ, our brother, Savior, and friend, is also our light and our guide. When our life travels our treacherous and uncertain, Christ leads us, directs us, and if need be, rescues us. Even in darkness, he knows the way. Even amid valleys and canyons, his steps our firm. We have only to take his hand in trust. From that moment, we are safe.

Mother Julia Verhaeghe, foundress of the Spiritual Family the Work, described it like this:

How great must be our trust! How much must we love Him, more than we can on our own! Only then will we be able to experience how He complements our inability with his goodness and mildness. While we continue on our way, He increases our strength. He does this especially when we have to cross the occasional ravine or face a trial. Sometimes it seems that He finds special joy in hurrying toward us on the other side of the ravine with his tender and compassionate heart, and in consoling us with the words, “It is I, do not be afraid!’ He wants to remove from our hearts the fear that paralyses us and makes us hesitate. When we are concentrated on ourselves, this fear arises and turns us against everything that concerns our faith in Him. He, however, wants to be our strength, our security, our peace and our joy.

We cannot always dispel the darkness of life, but we can pass through that darkness in the security of Christ’s presence. We cannot always avoid the ravines and the difficult terrain, but we can make our way across them with a firm trust in the Lord. We cannot always travel by day, but we can always choose to live in the Light. Thank you, Jesus, and lead us ever on!

Be assured of my prayers,

Fr. Steve

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Angel Greetings

In the days preceding that very first Christmas morn, the archangel Gabriel and his disembodied pals were awfully busy. They had messages to deliver and good news to announce. The Savior of the world was on his way and no time could be wasted. But though the message they carried was beyond wonderful, the recipients of the message received it with varying degrees of trepidation.

Mary, the young virgin of Nazareth, was so very humble that she was overwhelmed by the import of her task. But Gabriel reassured her: “Do not be afraid!”

The elderly Zechariah, hesitant to believe that his barren wife could actually bear a son (and the Savior’s forerunner, no less), felt a more gripping fear. Yet Gabriel comforted him as well: “Do not be afraid!”

And to the simple shepherds, huddled against the cold and keeping watch in the night, the spectacle of countless angel hosts filling the sky must have surely been a source of both wonder and fear. But to them too, the heavenly message was perfectly clear: “Do not be afraid.” The Savior, the fulfillment of all your hopes and dreams, indeed has come to you.

Each of us will celebrate this Christmas season from within the context of our own lives. Some will be together with family and friends, while others will be alone. You may be in front of your own hearth, while another is far from home. One person may greet these holy days from a place of inner peace and serenity, while a different person is haunted by anxiety or guilt. Some may be in a period of closeness to God, while others may feel so very far from his embrace. And like Mary, Zechariah, and the shepherds before us, we too may accept the message of salvation with varying degrees of trepidation.

But the angel’s greeting has not changed: “Do not be afraid!”

Remember why Christ leapt from the glory of heaven to venture into our world – he came for you. If you are poor or lonely he brings the riches of love. If you are ill or distressed he carries the comfort of his presence. If you are lost or enslaved he offers the key to new hope. And if you are afraid, he gathers you into his arms and holds you with an everlasting embrace. Out of love, in peace, and for salvation, Jesus Christ came for you. That is the message of good news which is perpetually announced by the angel hosts. That is the cause of our joy. And it is a message that is so very, very true!

So though the world we live in may be filled with violence, hatred, and unrest, Christ will not permit these evils to win out in the end. Yes, in the world we will have trouble, Jesus warned us that it would be so. But the message of Christmas is a message of hope: if not now then soon, and if not today then tomorrow. The victory has been won by the child in the manger: for the world, for you, and for me.

And so the angel can announce with all joy and certainty – “Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord (Luke 1:10-11).” And in the skies, the hosts of heaven rejoice in splendor.

Merry Christmas and be assured of my prayers,
Fr. Steve

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Double-dare

In your coffee this morning, besides the requisite cream and sugar, maybe there was also an ounce or two of melancholy. Perhaps, when you readied your backpack for school today, along with the textbooks and the iPad, you also found yourself carrying a heavy load of worry. As you updated your Facebook status this afternoon, maybe what you really wanted to say is – “I’m hurting, please help!” And as you pulled the car into the garage this evening, could it be that the SUV wasn’t the only thing running on empty?

There are so many of us who are dealing with anxiety, sickness, worry, heartache, guilt, trouble, and pain. The secular stresses of the Christmas season can ironically add to these burdens. What is supposed to be a time of joy can in reality be a time of turmoil. The darkness of the December skies can be reflected in the darkness of our mood. But as the angel said to Mary, and as the angels later said to the shepherds: “Do not be afraid!”

I dare you. No, I double-dare you. Just try to spend some time with the scriptures of Advent without also growing in hope. I don’t think it can be done! Consider, for example, today’s Mass reading from the Book of Isaiah:

The desert and the parched land will exult;
The steppe will rejoice and bloom.
They will bloom with abundant flowers,
And rejoice with joyful song. 

Strengthen the hands that are feeble,
Make firm the knees that are weak,
Say to those whose hearts are frightened:
Be strong, fear not!

God so very much wants to bring light into our darkness and hope into our despair. He wants to turn our sorrow into joy, and to bring life from death. Let him! Sometimes we can become so accustomed to our discouragement that we wrap it around ourselves like a blanket. God’s Word says otherwise. God refuses to let us remain in sorrow. His prophets preached hope to Israel until that Hope was born at Bethlehem. Since then, the human race has been able – literally – to touch hope. Christ, Emmanuel, God-with-us, speaks words of consolation to those burdened by anxiety, sickness, worry, heartache, guilt, trouble, and pain. And he lives among us, especially in the Eucharist. Advent is a daily reminder of God’s hope.

So I dare you. No, I double-dare you. Allow that hope into your life!

Be assured of my prayers,

Fr. Steve

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Love Conquers

Karol Wojtyla, the future Pope John Paul II, was just a young student when his beloved Poland was overrun by Nazi armies in the autumn of 1939. Six years of brutal occupation were to follow. During those years, Wojtyla was to experience many horrors: the reality of the Holocaust, the illness and eventual death of his father, and the near destruction of Polish culture and society. He would also come to understand that he was being called by God to the mystery of priesthood. While some Poles emerged from the darkness of occupation with spirits that were too damaged to ever freely love again, Karol Wojtyla emerged as a man convinced that love, and love alone, could defeat evil and restore human dignity. Instrumental in moving Wojtyla to that realization was a mystic by the name of Jan Tyranowski. Not only did Tyranowski introduce Wojtyla to St. John of the Cross and the world of Carmelite spirituality, but he helped the young Wojtyla to see that the evil of the Nazis would necessarily consume itself, while love was the path to real and lasting peace among peoples. This is a lesson we do well to remember.

Our contemporary society is often a cold and heartless place. Wars rage between nations and ideologies, but wars also rage between families, friends, and colleagues. Human cruelty remains, while the conscious realization of God’s presence wanes. Individualism and materialism tend to dominate the brighter angels of self-giving, justice, and  compassion. Too many people feel unloved and unwanted. Too many lives are judged to be unimportant and irrelevant.

But love conquers all these ills.

In the short term, it can be emotionally satisfying to respond to injury with revenge, to answer hatred with more intense odium, and to strike out against our enemies with venomous words and violent actions. As fallen human beings, we are capable of all these things. But evil necessarily consumes itself, and when we practice evil, it consumes us. Love, on the other hand, though the more arduous path, gives life.

Jesus Christ was subjected to the full horror of human cruelty: unjustly imprisoned, frightfully tortured, spit upon, mocked, and condemned. In response, he loved his tormentors. And when you and I, by our sin, share in the hammering of nails into the flesh of Jesus, he responds by loving us too. Nowhere is this love of Christ for you and I more manifest than at the altar and in the Blessed Sacrament. Though he is often alone and unwanted in the tabernacle, though his Real Presence is sadly ignored or blasphemed, Christ continues to stay with us, and he offers his unconditional love to all who approach his Body and his Blood.

When is the last time you paid a visit to Christ in the Blessed Sacrament? He is there, you know, thirsting for your love, longing for your presence. When you and I recognize the evil within us, when we know that we have brought pain into this world because of our sins, we may be inclined to run away from Christ. But for the love of God, let’s run to Christ. Love conquers all, remember, including the fear, darkness, and doubt that lives within our very own hearts. God is love. Let him bestow that love and conquer all evil.

Be assured of my prayers,

Fr. Steve

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Ridiculed and Despised

In his famous and exceedingly challenging, Litany of Humility, Rafael Cardinal Merry Del Val (1865-1930) has us pray . . . “From the fear of being ridiculed, deliver me, Jesus; from the fear of being despised, deliver me, Jesus.” Given the cultural climate of our day, those are words we do well to pray often. For when people of faith stand up in defense of their deepest beliefs – abortion is always evil, religious liberty is worth preserving, the Church has a voice in the public square – ridicule, hatred and worse are often close behind. To be a Christian today, a real Christian, a live-what-I-believe Christian, is to be a person who brings down ridicule and hatred upon themselves. But then again, it’s been that way since a handful of Galilean apostles first preached the name of Jesus.

The government’s attempt to mandate that Catholic institutions pay for contraception, abortion causing drugs and sterilizations is the latest effort aimed at the Christian conscience. With the bishops courageously leading the way, many Catholics, fellow Christians of other stripes, Jewish brothers and sisters, and even people of no particular faith, are standing strong and saying no. This is heartening. But what is disheartening, is that polls and anecdotal evidence continue to show that many Catholics actually do not believe that abortion is gravely evil, do not accept the Church’s teaching on responsible parenthood, or fail to understand the dangers of increased secularization. Undoubtedly, in many cases, these folks truly do not know that they are off the path and into the weeds. But in other cases, and probably from time to time in my life and in yours, we fail to swim against the cultural tide for fear of ridicule and for fear of being despised. No one, of course, enjoys being the object of another’s disdain. Very few find it comfortable to be outside of the mainstream thinking. But as Catholics, we have to be outside of the mainstream when the mainstream is a place of ungodly refuse.

194 years ago today, on February 13, 1818, a priest by the name of Paul Liu Hanzuo was executed by strangulation. His government had decided that Christianity was not an acceptable way of living. Throughout history, and until our present day, men and women, religious and laity, young and old, have laid down their life rather than renounce the truths of the Catholic faith. Are we at that point in the United States? Thankfully, no. But can I envision such a day? Sadly, yes. And this is all the more reason why the Church needs us to overcome our fears, overcome our timidity, overcome our hesitations, and be 100% all in, willing to give everything for Christ, Catholics. No more picking and choosing, no more hemming and hawing, no more dancing around the edges of authentic Christian commitment, Christ needs us to plant a flag and stand strong in his name. Always in love, yes; always as peacemakers, yes; but with the real conviction that when Christ promised to lead the Church into all truth – he meant it!

Let us pray for our Church and let us pray for our beloved country. Our leaders, both ecclesial and governmental, need our prayers. And may we support each other in living strong, dedicated, unwavering, sacrificial and beautiful Christian lives. From the fear of being ridiculed or despised, deliver us, Jesus.

Be assured of my prayers,

Fr. Steve

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Encounter and Transformation

If you attended Mass today, you remember hearing Mark’s account of the Gerasene man afflicted by numerous demons, in particular, a demon named Legion. At the request of the demons themselves,  Christ drives them out of the man and into a herd of pigs feeding nearby. According to the Gospel, “The unclean spirits came out and entered the swine. The herd of about two thousand rushed down a steep bank into the sea, where they drowned.” Wow! 40,000 pounds of possessed pork charging headlong into the sea in order to commit communal suicide. That’s a lot to take in on a Monday morning (especially on an empty stomach).

But beyond the striking image of the doomed pigs, consider the previously possessed, but now freed, man. Before his meeting with Christ, the man is described as naked, chained, dwelling among the dead and consumed with anguish. But by the time the account concludes, our friend is “sitting there clothed and in his right mind.” He even begs Jesus to let him travel with the disciples. Clearly, his encounter with Christ has completely transformed him. And if we allow it do so, our encounters with Christ will similarly transform us.

On February 2, we will celebrate the beautiful feast of the Presentation of the Lord. Commemorated is that day when Mary and Joseph enter the temple with the infant Jesus in their arms. Simeon, an old and devout man, has waited many years for God to manifest his salvation. Moved by the Spirit, he takes Jesus into his aged hands, holds him up for all to see, and praises God for his marvelous works. Simeon knows that this baby is the redemption of all mankind. His encounter with Christ brings a joy beyond imagining.

This feast of the Presentation was originally known by its Greek title, the “Hypapante,” meaning, meeting or encountering. And as it was for both the man from Gerasene and for the elderly Simeon, each time you or I have a “hypapante” – an encounter with Christ – amazing things can and do happen. Please do not imagine that these encounters are rare occurrences, either, for Christ moves to meet us often throughout the day. Each Mass, each moment of prayer, each sacrament, each conversation with our neighbor, each act of love is an encounter with Christ. If only our eyes remain open to see his presence.

Possibly, today, you are feeling chained by sin, consumed by anguish, or barely alive in faith and hope. Maybe you have waited long and hard for a time of transformation, for a moment of profound change. Do not be afraid. Your next “hypapante,” your next encounter with Christ, may be only minutes away.

Be assured of my prayers,

Fr. Steve

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Another Year

Back in the day, when my basketball team had played a particularly poor game, coach got us all together at center court during the next practice. Suffice it to say, he was not a happy man. He began to go around freely assessing each player’s shortcomings in terms such as the following. “You,” he said to one, “are not boxing out.” To the next boy: “You are shooting horribly.” And to another: “You keep turning the ball over.” And on and on it went, with coach pointing out our basketball deficiencies with increasing frustration. Finally, he got to me. “And you,” he cried with obvious consternation, “you . . . you . . . you’re worse than you were last year!!” Ouch. I felt like booking a seat on the next train to Uzbekistan.

Now, with the years having passed, I can tell that story with laughter. And as you and I come to the end of yet another calendar year, maybe coach’s point is one we should consider. When it comes to our friendship with God and our Christian discipleship, are you and I “better” than we were last year? There is no standing still in the Christian life. Either we are growing in holiness or we are not. Either we are becoming more like Christ or we are becoming less like Christ. If we honestly assess ourselves and find it to be the latter, changes have to be made. There is no time for delay.

But do not be afraid. “A people who walked in darkness have seen a great light,” the prophet Isaiah tells us. Christ’s  birth in Bethlehem is the promise of his being born anew in you and I. Wherever we’ve been, whatever we done, be it good or evil, Christ’s coming in the flesh is both our salvation and our healing. Each Christmas, and yes, each day, is a fresh opportunity to be born again in Christ Jesus. Each Christmas, and truly each moment, holds the promise of new life and new beginnings. “We bring you tidings of great joy,” said the angels to the shepherds, “A Savior is born this day for you.” My Christmas gift and yours is God himself, humble and lying in a manger.

God took on our human nature and thus he shares intimately in our joys and sorrows. Especially when those sorrows are great, Jesus is near. I was talking to a close friend recently, a friend who in this past year has mourned the death of too many people he loved, his father and infant granddaughter included. Truly, his year has been a rough one. And yet, he can profess with humble conviction, that God was present in the midst of his suffering. He is correct, and that is faith.

As we celebrate Christmas and move into another year, may we thank God with all sincerity, for all that has been, even the sorrows and struggles. Emmanuel, God-with-us, was always near, for his love would have it no other way.

I wish you Christmas blessings and thank you for sharing a few moments with me each week in this Youthtalk blog. I am blessed by God’s presence, yes, but by your presence as well. Be assured of my continue prayers and may the New Year be filled with both joy and peace.

A Savior is born for us: Rejoice!

Fr. Steve

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