Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
The Magic of Gillyweed

Readings: Proverbs 9:1-6; Psalm 34:2-3, 4-5, 6-7; Ephesians 5:15-20; John 6:51-58

Dear sisters and brothers, do you know what gillyweed is, what it’s used for? My guess is that many of you know better than I do. You know that gillyweed is a plant from the Harry Potter stories. In Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, gillyweed helps Harry to complete the second of three perilous tasks that he has to perform as part of the Triwizard Tournament. The second task requires that Harry and each of the other three contestants go underwater to rescue a loved one. And Harry is able to do this only after eating gillyweed. The plant makes him grow gills for breathing underwater. It also turns his feet into flippers and makes his hands webbed, so that he can swim better. That’s what gillyweed is for: it helps you to survive underwater.

Which makes me wonder what would happen if gillyweed was given to people who lived in the desert, people who neither liked to swim nor knew how. Would these people also grow gills and webbed hands and feet? And if they did, would they even know what to do with these things? Or perhaps they wouldn’t even want to eat gillyweed in the first place, since we’re told that it’s not very appetizing. It’s green and looks like a bunch of rats’ tails. It’s also rubbery and tasteless. Our desert-dwelling friends might, of course, try to find ways to jazz up the taste a bit – add mustard, or ketchup to it, maybe, or slap on a generous coating of barbecue sauce and then grill it. But whatever they did, as long as they did not dive into the water after eating it, they’d be missing the point, right?

I mention gillyweed today, because I think that maybe it’s not much different from how the Eucharist can look and taste like sometimes. For some of us, and I should confess, sometimes also for me too, the Eucharist can seem quite bland and boring. Why am I sitting here, listening to the priest drone on and on, when I could be catching up on sleep, or maybe even watching that new Harry Potter movie? At times, this is how the Eucharist tastes like to us – tough and tasteless. Of course, this may be due to any number of reasons: the priest may be having a bad day, or the cantor may be recovering from a head cold… And we could respond by trying to jazz things up in various ways. But more than anything else, the Eucharist can seem most tasteless when we lose touch with its deeper meaning, when we forget that the Eucharist has an intimate connection with life. As Jesus tells us: whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life… Just as eating gillyweed might seem a silly thing to do if one doesn’t dive into the water immediately after, so does the Eucharist become tough and tasteless when separated from the tasks of daily living.

How then might we make our participation in the Eucharist more meaningful? How might we better relate the liturgy to life? Our readings offer us some important hints. The first reading paints for us a picture of a banquet laid out by Lady Wisdom to which we are invited. We are told that Wisdom calls from the heights out over the city… Come, eat of my food, and drink of the wine I have mixed! Forsake foolishness that you may live… And in this call, we find three important steps towards making our participation in the Eucharist more meaningful: COME, EAT and LIVE...

The first of these steps might perhaps seem too obvious to require further explanation. Of course we have to come to the Eucharist to experience its effects. Aren’t we here now? But are we really here? Sure, we may all be here physically. But where are we mentally and emotionally? Isn’t it possible that even as we might be sitting in our chairs, we are really someplace and even sometime else – replaying in our minds that difficult conversation we had with someone the other night, for instance, or worrying about something we have to do tomorrow, or maybe even wondering about that cool place we’ll be visiting after Mass? But is it really possible to keep all our distractions at bay? Probably not. Still, maybe it isn’t necessary to do that in order to be fully present. Maybe what we need instead is simply to acknowledge our distractions and make them a part of our prayer. Isn’t this also what coming to the Eucharist involves? Like the patient who uncovers his/her symptoms before the doctor instead of trying to hide them, we come to the Eucharist as we are, allowing our preoccupations and distractions to be laid bare. We come acknowledging that we don’t have it all together. Because that’s precisely why we are here. As the first reading tells us, Wisdom’s invitation is issued not so much to the wise as to whoever is simple… to the one who lacks understanding. And I am that person. I am the one who often doesn’t understand what life requires of me. I am the person who often remembers only my own needs and interests even as I forget the depth of God’s love for me. That’s me. I come as I am. We come as we are. And we say Lord have mercy.

Even so, we don’t remain as we are. We come only to be transformed. And for this to happen, we need to eat. At one level, this refers, of course, to Holy Communion, to our sharing in the one Bread and the one Cup at the one Table of the Lord. But just as there’s more to coming to the Eucharist than being physically present, so does eating involve more than the juices in our digestive system. For, as we are told in our readings today, what we are sharing is not just a feast for the taste buds. It is also a banquet for the understanding. It’s meant not just to strengthen our bodies, but also to help us to make wise, God-centered decisions. Do not continue in ignorance, the second reading tells us, but try to understand what is the will of the Lord. Which means, more than just our stomachs and intestines, the food we share in the Eucharist has to pass through our hearts, that deep place within us where our decisions are made. This is what it means to eat. This is what we are trying to do through our singing of the hymns, our attention to the readings, our responses to the prayers, our interaction with one another and everything else at the Eucharist. We are allowing Jesus, the Bread of Life to enter into our hearts and to transform us – to turn us from foolishness to wisdom.

And all this happens not only in this confined space, and not only for this limited time. We come and eat so that we might live. And living extends beyond what we are doing here. Living means continually striving to forsake the foolishness of a self-centered existence, in order to embrace the wisdom of a Christ-centered one. Living means allowing ourselves to be bread broken for others, just as Christ was broken for us. Living the Eucharist means being willing to dive into the cold and choppy waters of life, because Christ first plunged into the messiness of our human existence. In this, we see again the similarity between the Eucharist and gillyweed. Just as eating gillyweed was a cool thing for Harry Potter to do only because he then plunged into the water to rescue his friends, so too is the Eucharist meaningful, only if our coming and our eating leads us also to live out its implications in our daily lives.

There’s one other thing. Harry Potter came to know about the magic of gillyweed only because someone else shared it with him. Sisters and brothers, do you know of anyone with whom you might share the wisdom of the Eucharist today?

18th Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Gorging on Appetizers

Readings: Exodus 16:2-4, 12-15; Psalm 78:3-4, 23-24, 25, 54; Ephesians 4:17, 20-24; John 6:24-35
Picture: cc avixyz

Sisters and brothers, some years ago, together with a couple of traveling companions, I spent several weeks in a foreign country. This being our first time there, we weren’t too familiar with the local customs. On one occasion we were invited by some friends to share a simple home-cooked meal at their modest apartment. As we sat around a small table, beer was served, followed very quickly by several dishes of food. Our hosts encouraged us repeatedly to eat and to drink, even as they engaged us in friendly conversation, continually refilling our glasses and replenishing the food on the table. As I recall, I was quite happy to do as I was told, since I was hungry, and the food was very tasty. After some time, however, my companions and I were stuffed. Perhaps noticing that we had stopped eating, our hosts began to clear the table, and we thought that the meal was over. We were wrong. It had only just begun. From out of the kitchen came even more substantial and mouth-watering dishes of food. To our regret and embarrassment, however, neither my companions nor I were able to eat much more than a few mouthfuls of these delicacies. Having earlier gorged ourselves on the appetizers, we no longer had any room in our bellies for the main course. If only we hadn’t mistaken one for the other.

If only we hadn’t mistaken the appetizers for the main course. Which is something that can be said too about the people in today’s gospel reading. As you know, earlier in John’s gospel, Jesus had fed five thousand by miraculously multiplying five barley loaves and two fish. Suitably impressed, the people now come looking for Jesus, so that he can keep on feeding them in the same way. Are they wrong to do this? Are they wrong to look to Jesus to fill their stomachs? Are the Israelites in the first reading wrong to expect God to provide them with bread in the wilderness? Are we wrong, when we pray to God to find us a good and steady job so that we can feed our hungry children? Probably not. After all, didn’t Jesus teach us to ask our heavenly Father to give us today our daily bread?

The problem then lies somewhere else. The people’s mistake is similar to the one my traveling companions and I made. In their search for material food, the people treat Jesus merely as a miraculous bread-making machine. But Jesus wants to be much more than that for them. More than simply filling their empty bellies with the food that perishes, Jesus wishes to satisfy their hungry hearts with the food that endures for eternal life. The bread Jesus multiplies miraculously is meant only as an appetizer, something to increase the people's yearning for the main course, the Bread of Life himself. But the people are unable to appreciate this. Having gorged themselves on the appetizers, like I did, the people have no room in their hearts for Jesus. All they are looking for is more of what they have already received. As the Lord tells them, you are looking for me not because you saw the signs but because you ate the loaves and were filled.

Here, even as they present us with the people’s mistake, our readings also invite us to reflect upon two of the factors that tend to lead the people astray. What is it that makes the people more susceptible to mistaking the appetizer for the main course? The most obvious factor is, of course, hunger. We see this especially in the experience of the Israelites in the first reading. Wandering in the wilderness, the people are so hungry that they find themselves dreaming even of the miserable food that they had eaten as slaves in Egypt. Their hunger is so great that they find it difficult to trust in the promises of God. They are unable to imagine the rich delicacies that await them in the Promised Land. But, as powerful as it is, hunger is not the only factor. As we noted earlier, in the gospel, Jesus had already provided the people with all the bread they could eat, with much left over. Yet they continue to look for him. They continue to want even more. What do we see at work in them, if not the power of greed? Hunger and greed. Are these not the insidious forces that remain very much in evidence in the world in which we live, especially in these times of deep recession and yawning budget deficits? Today, could these same forces be rendering us more susceptible to mistaking the appetizers for the main course?

And if they are, what can we do about it? What ought we to do about it? How might we better follow Jesus’ advice and work for the food that endures instead of the food that perishes? The way to correct our mistake is perhaps a matter of commonsense. If we have filled our lives with too many of the wrong things, then we need to empty them to make room for the right ones. The second reading describes this process in terms of a taking off and a putting on: you should put away the old self of your former way of life, corrupted through deceitful desires, and be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and put on the new self, created in God’s way in righteousness and holiness of truth.

The imagery that is evoked here is, of course, that of baptism. It is said that, in the early days, candidates for baptism were stripped of their garments, before being plunged into the baptismal waters. And, after their immersion, a white garment was quickly draped over them to symbolize their new life in Christ. Even if we who were baptized at a later time may not have had the experience of being stripped naked, we nonetheless still share the same calling. It is our task continually to strive to put away the old self so as to put on the new, to expend our energies in doing the works of God. This will involve different things at different times and for different people. But perhaps especially in these days, it will involve as much the work of feeding of the hungry as that of challenging the greedy.

Sisters and brothers, there’s actually an important addendum to the story with which we began this reflection. From what I told you, I might have perhaps given you the impression that the main course in that meal at our friends’ apartment consisted in the dishes of food that were served later. But that’s not really accurate. Even though the food and drink had a crucial role to play on that occasion, if we had been focused solely on eating and drinking, we would have missed the whole point. For the crux of the meal consisted less in the food and drink than in the conversations that were being shared and the relationships that were being built among those of us at table.

Sisters and brothers, how is Jesus the Bread of Life, inviting us to pay greater attention to the main course today?

Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)
Upright and Mobile

Readings: Amos 7:12-15; Psalm 85:9-10, 11-12, 13-14; Ephesians 1:3-14 or Eph 1:3-10; Mark 6:7-13
Picture: cc Stecky

Dear sisters and brothers, I think you’re probably familiar with that series of pictures depicting how humans evolved from the apes, right? They begin, usually on the far left, with what looks like a chimpanzee walking on all fours, then progress to a couple of stooped figures who are already walking on two legs, and finally end with a human figure standing erect and holding a spear. Seen from left to right, these pictures portray profiles that progress upward. They seem to highlight, in rather striking fashion, one feature that sets humans apart from the apes: the ability to stand tall, to walk on two feet, to manipulate tools with one’s hands.

Some time ago, I came across a similar set of pictures that some bright spark had modified by adding several other images to the right of the original ones. You’re probably familiar with them too. After the erect figure with the spear, there is one who is a little bent carrying a rake. Next, we find a figure that’s even more stooped, burdened by the weight of a large pneumatic drill in his hand. And, finally, the series ends with someone crouched in front of a computer screen. In striking contrast to the figures on the left, the profiles of the ones on the right move ever downward. They seem to reverse the evolutionary process that went on earlier. And there’s even a caption at the bottom that reads: something, somewhere went terribly wrong.

Don’t worry, sisters and brothers. I’m not going to address the questions of human evolution today. It’s probably wise to leave those to the scientists. I’m not even sure how true it is that the ability to stand erect is a distinctive human characteristic. The quality that these pictures bring to my mind has more of a moral and spiritual nature. I’m thinking, for example, of how we typically refer to someone we consider a good human being, an honorable and virtuous person, as being upright. A Chinese phrase for such a person is ding tian li di (顶天立地), which, roughly translated, means one whose head reaches the heavens and whose feet are firmly planted on the earth. An upright person. And not only are the upright also often praised in the bible, but no less than God is described as being upright. Good and upright is the Lord, says the psalmist, who shows sinners the way (Ps. 25:8). Indeed, we may even say that to be human is somehow to share in the very uprightness of God.

But probably most, if not all of us, will agree that it’s not easy to be and to remain upright, especially not in the world in which we live. There are too many temptations, too many things that burden us and drag us down, including the ordinary anxieties of daily living, as well as the constant cravings of our hungry hearts. Even as we may shake our heads in stunned disbelief when we read about how Bernie Madoff could have gotten to the point of swindling billions of dollars from thousands of people, we are not totally unfamiliar with the process. As those evolution pictures show us, the decline can be quite gradual. One begins by cutting little corners, making minor compromises. One stoops lower and lower until, almost imperceptibly, one ends up so bent over as to be no longer recognizably human.

Which is why it is helpful to pay close attention to our readings today. Here we find the reassuring news that the Lord offers various gifts to help the faithful Christian, struggling to remain upright in a crooked generation. It is perhaps often the case, that when we listen to the gospel story of how Jesus sends out the Twelve, our attention is focused first on the things that they are told not to bring: no food, no sack, no money in their belts. But perhaps just as, if not more, important are the things that the Lord does allow. As we are told in the second reading, in Christ, God the Father has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavens. What are these blessings? How do they help us? How might we make better use of them?

Jesus’ first gift to the Twelve is already announced in the first sentence of the gospel, where we are told that he began to send them out two by two. Not one by one but two by two. The better to support and care for each other. To help each other to remain upright. Isn’t this also why we take the time to gather here every week, even though we could probably pray to God at home on our own? Isn’t this why many of us invest even more of our time in some form of communal religious activity, whether it be serving as a deacon or a lector, or singing in the choir, or doing a bible study? We do this because we realize that we are called and sent not just as individuals but also as a community. We know that each of us is a gift of the Lord to all the others. We help one another remain upright.

But that’s not all. If it were, the church would be nothing more than a club, a group of people who come together only to pursue a shared interest for their own recreation. Jesus’ second gift to the apostles helps us to guard against such potentially selfish and exclusive tendencies. Jesus advises them to wear sandals. Neither bare feet nor shoes, but sandals. Bare feet are OK for staying home. Sandals are needed for going out. Sandals also have an advantage over shoes. If you get sand in them, as you’re likely to when walking in the desert, they allow you to do precisely what Jesus asks the apostles to do when they are rejected: shake the dust off your feet and move on. Isn’t this an invaluable help to us in our struggle to be good human beings and faithful Christians? What better way to remain upright than to keep on moving? To remain engaged in the Lord’s mission of preaching repentance and healing to others. To be focused not so much on ourselves, not so much on the challenges that we may face, or even on the weakness and sinfulness that might continue to plague us from time to time, but rather on the mission that has been entrusted to us.

Even so, we are likely to encounter circumstances where these two gifts are insufficient. There may be times when our companions will fail us, when they will misunderstand and even hinder us in what are called to do. There may be times when the sands of rejection will accumulate so quickly as to make it all but too painful to soldier on. Isn’t this the experience of the prophet Amos in the first reading? Sent by God to preach an unwelcome message of repentance to a stubborn nation, Amos finds himself in a minority of one. Even Amaziah the priest rejects him. In such a situation, Amos has but one source of support. In a figurative sense, he leans on the one thing that Jesus advises the apostles to carry with them, a walking stick. Amos demonstrates to us the actual nature of this support and how it is to be used. Rejected by his own, Amos reminds himself of his own prophetic call. I was a shepherd and a dresser of sycamores. The LORD took me from following the flock, and said to me, Go, prophesy to my people Israel. By recalling the beginnings of his own vocation, Amos finds the strength to continue performing the ministry entrusted to him by God. Leaning on the walking stick of his own call experience, he remains upright in the sight of God and the whole nation.

Sisters and brothers, being an upright Christian is truly a challenging thing. But the Lord blesses us with gifts to help us along the way. How well are we using them? Where are we in the evolutionary process today?

Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity
Bridging the Distance

Readings: Deuteronomy 4:32-34, 39-40; Psalm 33:4-5, 6, 9, 18-19, 20, 22; Romans 8:14-17; Matthew 28:16-20
Picture: cc coolm36

Sisters and brothers, I think many of us are familiar with the song From a Distance, which was popularized especially by Bette Midler in the 1990’s, around the time of the first Gulf War. Do you remember how the song goes?

From a distance the world looks blue and green,
And the snow-capped mountains white.
From a distance the ocean meets the stream,
And the eagle takes to flight.

From a distance, there is harmony,
And it echoes through the land.
It's the voice of hope. It's the voice of peace,
It's the voice of every man.

From a distance we all have enough,
And no one is in need.
And there are no guns, no bombs, and no disease,
No hungry mouths to feed.

Do you like the song? I did when I first heard it. And, judging from its no. 1 spot on the Billboard charts at the time, many others did too. Which isn’t surprising. It has an alluring tune. And, more than that, it’s words also touch a deep chord in all of us, something that is perhaps felt more strongly especially in times of war and conflict -- a heartfelt yearning for harmony and peace.

But the song is not without its flaws. It seems to move the listener in a particular direction, doesn’t it? It seems to invite us to step back from our immersion in the messiness of worldly affairs, so that we can see, from a distance, the harmony beyond the chaos. Which may be a wise thing to do from time to time. But what then? Are we to remain looking down on the world only from a distance? Is that even possible? Not only does the song appear to advocate an escape from the world, it also seems to say that this is what God does. You will remember how the song ends by repeatedly telling us that God is watching us. God is watching us… from a distance.

As attractive as this picture may be to some, the Christian image of God is very different. Whereas Bette Midler’s song may seem to advocate an escape from the messiness of the world, our Christian belief in the Holy Trinity presents us with a God who moves precisely in the opposite direction. In the Trinity – Father, Son and Spirit – we find a God who continually immerses God’s self into our chaos. St. Irenaeus of Lyons, for example, likens the Son and the Spirit to two hands that the Father reaches out to save us. And in our readings today, we find at least three ways in which the Hands of the Father do their work.

In the first reading Moses reminds the people of Israel about the mighty deeds of God in their behalf – of how, with strong hand and outstretched arm God freed them from slavery in Egypt. In doing this, it was as if God was pointing a finger at them, choosing them and setting them apart to be God’s very own people. I’m reminded of those old army recruitment posters where the old man with the goatee and the top hat points a finger at the reader: Uncle Sam wants you! What God has done for Israel, God has also done for us. Especially through the life, death and resurrection of Christ, God has chosen us. God has set us apart: I want you! And, as we prayed in the psalm response just now, how blessed the people the Lord has chosen to be his own!

Not only does God choose us, but also, through the twin Hands of the Son and the Spirit, the Father draws us to him and empowers us to respond. As Paul reminds us in the second reading: You received a Spirit of adoption, through whom we cry “Abba, Father!” Or in the words we addressed to the Father in our opening prayer: you reveal yourself in the depths of our being, drawing us to share in your life and your love.

To these two actions of pointing and drawing, we need to add another: that of sending or commissioning. Which is what we find Jesus doing in the gospel. All power in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go, therefore, and make disciples of all nations… I am with you always, until the end of the age. Notice the direction in which God continues to move even as Jesus prepares to ascend into the heavens. Not content simply to watch from a distance, the Father continually reaches out his twin Hands to span the distance between us, promising to remain intimately present to us and in us, even until the end of the age. And because of this consoling divine presence, we too are moved in a very specific direction. Instead of stepping back and keeping our distance from the world, we are instead sent deeper into it to bridge the distance between God and God's people.

And this is a commission that does not go unheeded. I’m reminded, for example, of the recent article in the LA Times about the increase in volunteers joining the Peace Corps, including 25 year-old New Hampshire native, Alexandra Hodgkins, who is spending a couple of years helping the poor in a Panamanian jungle. But it’s not just the needy in faraway places who need a helping hand, is it? What about that 41 year-old man, for example, whose picture appeared on the front page of today’s Santa Barbara News-Press, threatening to set himself alight with gasoline because he hasn’t been able to find a job.

Sisters and brothers, with the world as messy as it is, it is indeed tempting to distance ourselves from it. But that is not what our God – Father, Son and Spirit – does. And, as Christians, that is not what we are called to do. That is not the song we are called to sing. Our song – the song of the Trinity – moves in the opposite direction. Its exact words will vary from person to person and from situation to situation. But perhaps it may sound a little like these lyrics popularized by Simon and Garfunkel in the 1970’s:

When you’re weary, feeling small,
When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all.
I’m on your side, when times get rough
And friends just can’t be found.
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.
Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down.

Sisters and brothers, as we celebrate this solemn feast of the Holy Trinity, which song are we singing, in which direction are we moving today?

Pentecost (Mass During the Day)
Off the Island

Readings: Acts 2:1-11; Psalm 104:1, 24, 29-30, 31, 34; 1 Corinthian 12:3b-7, 12-13; John 20:19-23

Sisters and brothers, in the movie Cast Away, Tom Hanks stars as Chuck Noland, a gung-ho, jet-setting FedEx systems analyst who gets marooned on an uninhabited island when his plane crashes in a storm. He tries to paddle his way to freedom on a life raft. But the waves are too strong for him. No matter how hard he tries, he keeps getting swept back to the isolation of his island prison. Four long and difficult years pass, during which he struggles to stay alive. Then, one day, another storm washes ashore what looks like a wall from a portable toilet, something that anyone else would probably dismiss as a piece of junk. But not Chuck. His time on the island has helped him to see with new eyes. After staring at the thing for some time, he realizes the invaluable opportunity that it represents. He makes a new raft. And out of the piece of discarded debris, he fashions for himself a sail. Using the broken restroom to harness the power of the wind, he finally succeeds in escaping the island and returns to society a changed man.

Sisters and brothers, isn’t the experience of the Holy Spirit very much like that? In a sense, isn’t Pentecost also about getting off a deserted island? We see this most obviously, of course, in both the first reading and the gospel, where the breath of the Spirit drives the disciples from their fearful isolation in the upper room, giving them a mission of reconciliation. As the Father sent me, so I send you… Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained.

But the story is much bigger than that isn’t it? The island prison from which the Spirit frees us extends far beyond the confined space of the upper room. For, as we know, Pentecost is only a part of the bigger story of Easter, the story of how God rescues us from the different islands on which we tend to get marooned by the stormy selfishness and shortsightedness of sin – our sin and that of others. Pentecost is about being freed from islands of anger and resentment, for example, where our hearts remain bound by the perceived misdeeds of others. Or islands of loneliness and addiction, where we are held captive by our own desperate cravings. Or islands of greed, where the gap between the haves and the have-nots grows ever wider. Or islands of blindness where we stubbornly refuse to acknowledge the truth that may be found in those who are different from us. Sisters and brothers, have you ever been trapped in a prison like these? Anyone who has will know first hand, as Chuck Noland knew, how powerless we are to free ourselves. We need help. And Pentecost is about how the Spirit comes to help us in our weakness, just as the wind helped Chuck. It is about how the Spirit is able to bring together in Christ people who have been torn apart, even people who speak different languages, even people who exercise diverse gifts. In the words of the second reading: As a body is one though it has many parts, and all the parts of the body, though many, are one body, so also Christ.

But for us to get off these islands, we need to learn to harness the wind as Chuck did. How do we do that? How do we tap into the power of the Spirit, when we can no longer hear a noise like a strong driving wind, nor see tongues as of fire? Again, it’s helpful to consider Chuck’s experience in the movie. Notice how, even though we might expect the wind to have been blowing on the island periodically all the time that he was there, it wasn’t until four years had passed that Chuck finally managed to harness it. He could do it only when the time was right. And for the time to be right, two things had to happen. First, a sail had to be sent. And second, Chuck had to learn to recognize and to seize the opportunity when it presented itself to him. Both these things were necessary. Without the broken restroom, Chuck couldn’t harness the wind. And without having been transformed by his time on the island, he probably wouldn’t have recognized what looked like a piece of junk as his ticket to freedom. In order for Chuck to harness the wind, the time had to be right.

We find something similar when the Spirit comes in the first reading. We know, of course, that the Spirit has been and is always blowing among us. Recall how, in Genesis 1:2 for example, we are told that already when God created the heavens and the earth… a mighty wind swept over the waters. But still, in order for the disciples to allow this same wind to blow them out of the upper room, the time had to be right. Notice how the first reading begins: When the time for Pentecost was fulfilled… Before the disciples could harness the wind, the time had to be fulfilled, a sail had first to be sent, and they had also to learn to see things differently. For them to feel the powerful liberating effects of the Spirit, Christ had first to live, to die, and then to be raised. Christ is the sail that the Spirit washes upon the shores of our separation from one another. But it isn’t easy to realize this. As we know, like the piece of debris that Chuck found, Christ too was dismissed and discarded by those he came to save, a stone rejected by the builders that God used to renovate the face of the earth. It was only after having accompanied him on his mission, after having been shamed by their own cowardice in the face of his Passion and death, and only after having been consoled by him after the Resurrection, that the disciples were finally able to see clearly enough to accept Christ as the only means by which they could harness the wind. As we heard in the second reading: No one can say, "Jesus is Lord," except by the Holy Spirit.

And isn’t this what the whole season of Easter has been about? In taking time to ponder the mystery of Christ’s dying and rising, we’ve been learning to recognize, in our own lives, the different ways that Christ may be inviting us to use him as our sail – to embrace his way of love, even to point of laying down our lives – so that the Spirit might free us from our islands of isolation. Through our celebration of Easter, we’ve been learning to recognize the crucified and risen Christ in the different ways he comes to meet us. Think, for example, of the person who finally stopped complaining about having no shoes after meeting the one with no feet.

I’m also reminded of this story someone sent me recently:

The local news station was interviewing an 84-year old lady because she had just gotten married - for the fourth time – having survived her three earlier husbands. The interviewer asked her questions about her life, about what it felt like to be married again at 84, and then about her new husband's occupation. "He's a funeral director," she answered. "Interesting,” the interviewer thought. He then asked her if she wouldn't mind telling him about her first three husbands and what they had done for a living. She paused for a few moments to reflect on all those years. After a short time a smile came to her face and she answered proudly, explaining that she first married a banker when she was in her early 20's, then a circus ringmaster when she was in her 40's, later on a preacher when in her 60's, and now, in her 80's, a funeral director. The interviewer looked at her in astonishment, and asked why she had married four men with such diverse careers. "Easy son," she smiled. "I married one for the money... two for the show... three to get ready... and four to go!"

Sisters and brothers, the Spirit of the Lord is already blowing upon the waters, eager to rescue us. How ready are we to go?