“That you may have life in his name.” The name of Jesus. Is there any other name we want life in? If so, it’s a life that will die a thousand deaths. If we think some other person can give us life, then we’re barking up the tree of death. That tree will crush us. We have life in the name of Jesus of Nazareth, and life in him only. So, be rid of any false beliefs that some weak person with some earthly power can give you life. They will give you death with a smile on their faces. Only the face of Jesus is one of truth. And he doesn’t make the news. They like only fake stories, which is why they don’t cover the resurrection. What isn’t fake or a lie or phony is one of the great verses in the entire Scriptures, spoken by someone who can’t believe what he’s seeing; “My Lord and my God.” “You got that right, Thomas. He is your Lord and your God, and don’t put any false ones before him, Thomas. Reject the false gods of unbelief running rampant in your world at present, Thomas. And Thomas, please understand, comprehend, and work into your life what belief consists of. You, Thomas, are to give your life to him to the point of dying for him, as he died for you. Belief, Thomas, finds the place where you freely offer your heart and soul in love to him. As well as your mind and your strength. Anything less than that, Thomas, is what your future friend St. Paul will call lukewarm faith. You’re better off taking a cold shower outdoors on a cold winter morning, Thomas, than pretending and claiming to be a devout follower who wallows in destructive belief, because you, Thomas, refuse to believe your honest friends. Friends who offer you the best news you ever heard, rather than all those intentional lies and fake news perpetrated by the pagan idol worshippers. Thomas!” How can we not have a love/hate relationship with St. Thomas on Divine Mercy Sunday? On the up side, he’s a very likeable Apostle. How can we not love someone who, by his words and actions, forces Jesus to show up in Person? If any of you could do that, you would be my best friend. Jesus had already lost Judas, the one who would have been better not being born. He wasn’t going to lose another one. Not over his dead or alive body. Thomas forces Jesus to come back to them in his risen state, causing all of them to be overjoyed, again. “We love you, Thomas. Thanks for getting Jesus to show up! You’re my best friend.” “But Thomas, on the downside, I dishonor the fact you didn’t believe me when I told you I saw him alive. I hate the fact that you were an unbeliever, even if only for one week.” Peter must have said, “Thomas, if I can’t convince you that the Lord is risen and appeared to us, then how can I convince all those pagan worshippers out there? How can I convince leaders of nations, Thomas, or Caesar in Rome, or Washington? Thomas, if a dear friend like you won’t believe me when I speak the truth about the Master’s resurrection from the dead, then how can I preach this Good News to anyone? Who’s going to listen and attend to the news that is true for the life of the world, with not one bit of fakeness in it?” I don’t know about you folks, but I don’t hate any unbelievers; or any who claim belief and walk a path of destruction; or any who mutilate their bodies; or any who assault our religious freedom while they’re protected by some in powerful positions who prefer a stunted sort of belief; or any atheist for that matter. I hate them about as much as I hate St. Thomas, which is not at all. I have no room for that. If I reel on them in a homily, it’s because I hate their unbelief, or twisted belief, their wrong path of destruction while taking others with them. I hate the fact that the Devil is using them as a tool, instead of being used by Jesus as an entire toolbox, like St. Teresa of Calcutta was. I hate the pretensions of holiness when forgiveness of mortal sins is in order. And, I hate their attacks on fellow Christians who are holy and devout, like the Little Sisters of the Poor, because they prefer a human idea to be raised higher than God’s revelation in the Scriptures. I hate all these large and small victories for the Devil as he works through people. St. Thomas is an apostolic paradox. He can force Jesus to show up in Person. And, he can cast aspersions on the resurrection of Christ. He can mutilate belief in our Lord’s resurrection, and all the great and glorious promises that accompany it. Don’t be a St. Thomas by way of telling Jesus he’s still in the tomb. Don’t be disbelieving, telling him he has to show up in Person. He’s always with us who believe in the truth of the Eucharist. Be a St. Thomas by proclaiming and faithfully living the Good News. And, like St. Thomas, die for the Lord Jesus one day in the future. Make him your last thought before you see him in Person, and having life in his name.

As St. Paul writes, “Seek what is above.” Which doesn’t mean we sit here or stand there looking into the sky for hours and hours, staring at nothing. “Seek what is above” is the direction of a believing heart that knows there is something after this life that God has prepared for those who love Him. “Seek what is above” is the perfect verse to accompany John’s Gospel and this resurrection scene where Mary Magdalene goes on to become the first witness to our Lord’s victory over death. After witnessing the empty tomb, a tomb I’m glad to say I stood and knelt in, Mary runs off to Peter and the rest of them hiding in the Upper Room. Peter and John decide to have a race to check out Mary’s story. Peter the lug comes in second place behind John the sprinter. When they arrive at the tomb on earth where Jesus had been buried a few days earlier, they breathe in the emptiness of the space once occupied by a dead body. Now, I believe we all know that dead bodies, under normal circumstances, do not wake up a few days after death and decide to walk over to the market for some lunch. They remain as dead as a doornail. Which is pretty dead. But that’s not the case here. God the Father made a promise to Jesus his Son. About 33 years earlier he said, “If you humble yourself, become an obedient servant, take on human flesh that will die, and you carry a Cross for all their sins ever committed, and nail every one of them to that tree, and die for all of them as the perfect sacrifice, I will raise you on the 3rd day after they crucify you.” And Jesus said, “I’m all in.” And that’s what Mary, Peter, and John witnessed. Not a stolen body by body-snatchers. Not the wrong tomb. They knew where he was. No tomb switching. They didn’t shift Jesus from here on Friday to there on Saturday; go down three tombs, take a right, and he’s now the last tomb on the left. None of that false, phony stuff. “You die for the world, Jesus, and I will raise you on the 3rd day of your death.” Friday, Saturday, Sunday. And that’s what they saw on earth, in their personal witness to the empty tomb. The correct tomb; the correct address; no one home. Which way did he go? “Seek what is above.” As we live our lives of faith in the Son of God, who loved us to the end, we will never in this life find him in his tomb. Trust my witness. I’ve stood and knelt in that tomb where he was buried. There’s no body; no dust, no bones. Even St. Peter’s bones remain in the tomb underneath the altar at St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome. “Peter is here” says the ossuary. It’s amazing how accurate they got the right spot for the altar in the early centuries of the Church. But Jesus’ tomb? There’s nothing! Just like before creation, before God said, “Let there be light.” There was nothing. The nearest thing to a person in that tomb, dead or alive, is a Franciscan in a long brown robe standing outside the entrance respectfully and kindly shuffling groups along saying, “Time to move on for the next group. You need to seek what is above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God.” This all means today, the day of our Lord’s resurrection, that our hearts, not so much our eyes, are to search in the upward direction for our daily need for Jesus. It’s one of the great beauties of prayer. That as we sit or stand on earth, communing with our Savior, seeking his presence and intercession, that our eyes look down on the earth, or into his tomb, while our hearts rise and capture a portion of his victory over death. Jesus is dead only to those in this world who doubt and lack belief that God would carry out his promise of raising his Son from the tomb. We have no business sitting in that false, hopeless belief. If we seek what is above, we will be affected by and converted to what is above. If we, like Mary, Peter and John look into the empty tomb of Christ, and see and believe like John did, then he will come down to us, from above. From above, where life continues, and where the gift of life is forever. This is God’s promise to us on this Easter Sunday morning.

The feet will get dirty and dusty again. Just like eating regular food. Hunger awaits a few short hours later. But as the feet get dusty and smelly again, and as the stomach growls at our brain for more food, what remains and stays consistent is the act of service. An act of humility and love. When our Lord washed the feet of his Apostles that night in the Upper Room, that act of humble service from the Master to his Disciples was, to borrow phrases from the first reading, a memorial feast and a perpetual institution. Long before Jesus showed them how, there were many acts of humble service performed, from one person to another, or one group to another,. The two sets of brothers alone - Peter & Andrew, James & John – they were not fighting each other all the time like some families will. My brothers and I used to fight over a wiffle ball game. These two sets of brothers – all fishermen – obviously helped one another, and their fathers, in ways of love and concern, especially with some profit at stake. This was before Jesus called them from their boats to come follow him. But with Christ, this perpetual institution of humble service to others in seen in a very different light through the action of Jesus washing their feet. The everlasting institution of humble Christian service is now centered in what we celebrate this Holy Thursday; the Body & Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ. To receive the Eucharist, to receive Christ Jesus in real terms, and then not be a humble servant; to spouses, to family, friends, strangers whose names we don’t know, is to perform some level of unworthiness in our reception of the Eucharist. What the Lord makes perpetual and a memorial feast is the reception of him tied into being a humble servant. Which is why it all happens on the same night. It sounds ideal on paper, because it is. It’s the perfect relationship in this life, if there is one. It’s a pure imitation of Christ. To live our reception of him as Catholics to perpetually be the sustenance that beckons us to love one another. That goes to the heart of what Jesus is teaching and commanding them in this scene where he wraps a towel around his waist. And, of course, the Eucharist, and the opportunity to even receive the Lord, is perpetually connected to priesthood. To Holy Orders. This is all God’s doing, his work, his plan, his way of loving one another. So, this act of Jesus washing the feet of the Apostles had nothing to do with dusty feet. Jesus refers to Judas in this Gospel as not being clean. He’s not referring to any dust on any part of his body. He’s unclean in betrayal, which is the real filth. The Lord also does not refer to some cultural expectation of the time. Washing the feet of a guest who comes to your home for dinner was expected so they didn’t get the carpet dirty. But our Lord takes this cultural expectation and raises it to a perpetual institution of humble service in our reception of the Eucharist. Washing of the feet symbolizes today our coming forward to receive his Body & Blood, then remembering hours and days later that what we say and do is to remain worthy of that reception. And there’s no better example than Jesus washing their feet on this night, and then saying the next day, “Father, forgive them, they not what they do.” The Eucharist himself, performing the humble service of mercy in his worst moment of agony.

I’m sure we all can think of one or more persons we’ve been blessed to know closely or intimately, one who has lost their life in this world but has gained it for life eternal, who continue to produce much good fruit. It’s like they speak from beyond the grave, get antsy from beyond their resting place, or they touch us from beyond the spot where Jesus will call them forth on the last day, and they remain influential in this world of space and time. We know the Saints in the Communion are seen as such. The much fruit that continues to be borne from the lives of St. Damien of Molokai, St. Therese of the Little Flower (“I can do more good in heaven than here on earth”), St. Bernadette, St. Padre Pio and his hours of hearing Confession and absolving sin each day. The cream of the crop of examples of bearing good fruit for the Lord long after they stopped breathing in this place. But the ones I refer to are not so much the bigshots, but the ones we’ve known personally. The people whose lives were splendid examples of sacrifice as they stood next to us. Examples of Christian friendliness, compassion and understanding, of holding fast to the joy of God’s revealed truth while remaining all things to all people in order to save some, in the spirit of St. Paul. Like St. Joseph, they were examples of holy protection, a blessed silence, a person of action. The strong, silent type, as we say. They didn’t ramble on to the point of getting winded, causing others to run away. They exuded calm and confidence that life is good, that God has created us for the good, and that the Lord pushes us to produce much fruit, even after we call it a day in this world. There’s the old adage that says 6 months after you’re dead, no one’s going to remember you, except maybe your spouse. Even that’s a maybe. And that could be true for most of us. But not being remembered 6 months after our demise in this world is not as bad as it sounds. Having our names in the Book of Life forever, the book carried around by St. Peter at the front gate, is of much greater importance. Our Lord is preparing for death. In John’s Gospel, his self-awareness and knowledge of things to come is off the charts. In technical, spiritual lingo, we call this high Christology; Jesus pretty much knowing all things – in his Divine nature – before they happen. We’ve arrived at the point in Lent where his death is coming down the Pike at a high rate of speed. And, there isn’t a State Trooper in the world who can catch up to him, pull him over, tell him to slow down, and stop him from arriving at a place called Golgotha. Jesus is riding the world’s fastest Harley-Davidson ever made, and he cannot wait to get there. All of us; we can wait to arrive on the hill of our personal Golgotha. We enjoy life too much. As we should. It’s God’s greatest gift. But God’s greatest gift in his Son is not only his birth and life, but also his death. And his death is the only death where we can rightly and properly say it was pure gift. He’s in a hurry to get there at this point, not because he hates his life. But because loves life. He loves your life, with all its weaknesses and faults. Whether you like your own or not, he loves your life. And mine too. Should Jesus say, “Father, save me from this hour. I’m too fearful. I don’t want to die for them. Let’s change the plan. Find someone else to stand in for me. See if Moses or Elijah is available to carry a cross. Check every corner of heaven and find someone – anyone – to replace me.” Of course he shouldn’t say that! We don’t have a wimpy God. Or a wimpy Son of God. Our Lord is the toughest Marine. He’s the best Navy Seal. He’s an Army Ranger times a zillion. He doesn’t back down. His grain of wheat, his Body of Christ, his Temple must die for us, so that much fruit will be produced. What sort of fruit? Fruit that is produced for longer than 6 months after we die. Like yourself, I know plenty of people in my life who were supposed to be forgotten shortly after their Funeral Mass. But years later they continue to bear much fruit as an extension of their life on earth. These are the ones our Lord refers to. The average Joe or Jane. The common people, of whom Abraham Lincoln once said that God must love because he made so many of them. Find your niche. Find your virtue that will produce fruit long after our death. It was for this purpose that Jesus came to his hour.

It’s a rather odd mix to go out into the darkness at night for the purpose of encountering the Light of the world. As we pass through another Lent with a pandemic holding on for dear life, one of the spiritual images of Lent is to head into the desert. For anyone who has ever physically been in a desert, there is the odd mix of total darkness – no streetlights – coupled with enough stars to keep us counting for years on end. The darkness of the desert ground encounters every night the countless bright lights shining above. The reason we are invited by the Church to enter the spiritual desert is that our personal darkness, either brought on by ourselves through sin, or maybe sent down from above for testing purposes, that our internal darkness encounter through prayer, fasting, and almsgiving the Light of the world. Lent is raised up as a time to kick ourselves into gear, and bring any darkness to the Lord and say, “Forgive me, Lord.” Or “Help me, Lord.” Or “This is yours, Lord, because on my own I cannot handle it.” Whatever our darkness is. This is our takeaway for the 4th Sunday of this fast-moving Lent and her 3 readings today. In the 1st reading, the Israelites encounter God in the misery of Babylon. God uses the Persians, of all people, to lead His people back to the Promised Land. Did you ever receive help from someone on a very important matter that you never expected from them? And they came through for you? That happens to Israel with Persia. Receiving assistance from unexpected sources has a wonderful Scriptural precedent. The darkness of Hebrew captivity in Babylon encountered God using the unexpected light of the Persians to return freedom to a whole nation. In the 2nd reading, St. Paul so lovingly reminds us that we were dead in our transgressions. We were breathing; we had mobility; we enjoyed some Coney Island hot dogs. But as we did all that and so much more, we were dead. And what happened in that total darkness of hating ourselves and others? As St. Paul writes, “God … brought us to life with Christ.” The darkness of sin encountered the light of Christ, and lost. And it was pretty lopsided in our favor. Through God’s grace, his favor, his love, we have been saved through faith. We didn’t deserve it. We did nothing but cause trouble. Yet, we have the light of life. In the Gospel, the uncertainty of Nicodemus, as the story goes, causes this curious Pharisee to search out Jesus in the night. What is this good Pharisee curious about? He feels the push of the Spirit to go and find out for himself who this Jesus really is. He cannot do so in the daylight because his Pharisee cohorts will see him and accuse him of befriending this guy claiming mighty things about himself. Have you ever been accused of being too close to Jesus? If so, you have a badge of honor. So, to prevent his being treated roughly, Nicodemus must approach the Lord in a sneaky way in the darkness of night. He brings the darkness of his uncertainty of who Jesus is, the Divine Son of God, and walks it directly in the darkness of night to the Light of the world. With all these very familiar verses in this Gospel; that “God so loved the world that he gave us his only Son, so that those who believe in him might not perish, but might have eternal life.” And, “God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.” What rises above even these incredibly hopeful verses from John chapter 3, is Nicodemus taking his darkness, his uncertainties, his questions, his fears, and bringing them to an encounter with the Light of the world. This Gospel also says that people preferred darkness to light. Such darkness will be chasing us until the heart stops beating. Be it our cooperation with sin; be it the physical, emotional, or spiritual suffering we have thrust upon us. The darkness is forever chasing us in this world of anxiety and uncertainty. But may we prefer the light. The light of his virtues. The light of faith. The light of hope and his unconditional love displayed so well on the Cross. It’s beyond sad to witness anyone prefer darkness over light. You just want to shake them out of their boots and say, “Prefer the Light! He prefers you!” Whether we seek Jesus in the daylight or the night, in solitary or busy places, may we bring every ounce of our darkness to him, the Light of the world, following in the footsteps of Nicodemus.