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22 Nov 2020 - Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, Cycle A

“When he finally arrives, blazing in beauty and all his angels with him, the Son of Man will take his place on his glorious throne. Then all the nations will be arranged before him and he will sort the people out, much as a shepherd sorts out sheep and goats, putting sheep to his right and goats to his left. “Then the King will say to those on his right, ‘Enter, you who are blessed by my Father! Take what’s coming to you in this Kingdom. It’s been ready for you since the world’s foundation. And here’s why: I was hungry and you fed me, I was thirsty and you gave me a drink, I was homeless and you gave me a room, I was shivering and you gave me clothes, I was sick and you stopped to visit, I was in prison and you came to me.’ “Then those ‘sheep’ are going to say, ‘Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry and feed you, thirsty and give you a drink? And when did we ever see you sick or in prison and come to you?’ Then the King will say, ‘I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you did one of these things to someone overlooked or ignored, that was me—you did it to me.’ “Then he will turn to the ‘goats,’ the ones on his left, and say, ‘Get out, worthless goats! You’re good for nothing but the fires of hell. And why? Because— I was hungry and you gave me no meal, I was thirsty and you gave me no drink, I was homeless and you gave me no bed, I was shivering and you gave me no clothes, Sick and in prison, and you never visited.’ “Then those ‘goats’ are going to say, ‘Master, what are you talking about? When did we ever see you hungry or thirsty or homeless or shivering or sick or in prison and didn’t help?’ “He will answer them, ‘I’m telling the solemn truth: Whenever you failed to do one of these things to someone who was being overlooked or ignored, that was me—you failed to do it to me.’ “Then those ‘goats’ will be herded to their eternal doom, but the ‘sheep’ to their eternal reward” (from Matthew 25). From A New Message 4 Next Week (actapublications.com) based on The Message: Catholic/Ecumenical Edition by Eugene Peterson (ACTA Publications, 2013).

corporal works of mercy

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Homily stories

22 Nov 2020 - Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, Cycle A

For many years, I played a small part in making dinner once a month for a local shelter for homeless women. Making and serving that dinner was a group effort—sometimes I made chicken, sometimes a dessert or a salad, or sometimes I delivered the food to the shelter and stayed to serve it. On one such night, we had set up the line and begun to serve. One of the guests approached the line, walking along, muttering a bit to herself, disheveled and distracted. When she came to the end of the line, I handed her the plate of food. She took one look at it—and shoved it back toward me as she yelled at me, "I don’t want any f***ing chicken." She walked away and I continued to serve the many guests who were waiting to eat. At some point in the evening, someone started playing the piano—a flawless version of Beethoven’s "Fur Elise." My brain acknowledged the tune, but I was too busy to look around. Until a bit later, when I glanced across the room and realized the woman had thrown the plate at me was the pianist. I was overcome with the thought . . . there but for the grace of God go I. Every homeless person, every hungry person, every prisoner, every stranger that we encounter has a story. And everyone must be treated with dignity. “Whatever you did to the least of mine . . . you did for me.”

Authors Peggy Ekerdt

corporal works of mercy

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14 Feb 2021 - Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

Every day of my third-grade year started with the same routine: My sister and I would board the school bus braced for the abuse that would be hurled my way by a handful of older boys—seventh- and eighth-graders—who took offense to my very pronounced overbite. The moment they saw me, the chant would begin: “How much wood could a P.J. chuck if a P.J. could chuck wood, hey! How much wood . . .” One day, my older sister, who was in fifth grade, mustered the courage to snap at the boys, “Leave her alone. She can’t help it. She was born that way!” “No, I wasn’t,” I chimed in. “I have buck teeth from sucking my finger.” “Shhh,” said my sister. “It sounds better to say you were born that way.” Personally, I thought it seemed awfully mean to be picked on for my crooked teeth regardless of when or how I got them. But in the world of human justice, mercy is measured and weighed against the role we play in bringing about our maladies. If it’s our fault we’re sick or deformed, then we deserve to be ridiculed and abused. I’m glad we sinners have the world of divine justice to fall back on. Love and mercy flow more abundantly and indiscriminately there. As imitators of Christ, what lepers in our society can we greet each day with compassion instead of contempt?

Authors Patrice J. Tuohy

Mercy lepers

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Homily stories

09 Jan 2022 - Feast of the Baptism of the Lord, Cycle C

A friend shared this story with me: “I had really goofed up. I had hurt my wife badly. She was angry at me, but mostly hurt. And I knew it. There was nothing I could do to undo what I had done. It was like when you throw a stone in a pond; the effects of my thoughtlessness kept radiating out, affecting her and others and I could not call them back. “I apologized numerous times and promised I would never do it again. I took steps to demonstrate the seriousness of my remorse and commitment to change. And yet I knew she was still hurting and having a hard time understanding how I could have been so cruel. There was nothing more I could do. “Then one day a kind of miracle happened. She simply forgave me. She didn’t have to. I wouldn’t have blamed her for keeping me on the hot seat a lot longer. But instead she found it in her heart to offer mercy. I was totally taken by surprise, for I surely had not earned her kindness. And I guess that’s what made it so very special and wonderful. “Now when I hear readings about the mercy of God, I have a clear idea of not only what that means, but what it feels like. My wife showed me the merciful face of God.” Why not show mercy to someone in your life this week?

Authors Tom McGrath

Mercy

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20 Mar 2022 - Third Sunday of Lent, Cycle C

A few years back, a professor at a Christian college created controversy when she expressed her solidarity with Muslim students by wearing a hijab and stating that Christians and Muslims “worship the same God.” Though some, including the college’s administration, were shocked by the teacher’s statement, Catholics rallied to the professor’s side. Why? Because Catholics do believe that Christians, Jews, and Muslims worship the same God, even if our understandings of the manifestations and revelations of that God are quite diverse. When my daughter was baptized, the priest made specific reference to the “Lord, the God of your fathers, the God of Abraham.” He chose his words carefully because he wanted to make sure that my husband, a Bosnian Muslim, appreciated that our daughter was being baptized into a faith that had ancient and common roots with Judaism and Islam. Pope Francis stated in his Bull at the start of the Holy Year of Mercy, Misericordiae Vultus: “There is an aspect of mercy that goes beyond the confines of the church.” He urged Catholics to use the Year of Mercy as an opportunity to learn about Islam and other religions to “eliminate every form of close-mindedness and disrespect . . . violence and discrimination.” Mercy connects Christians to Judaism and Islam, both of which also consider mercy to be one of God’s most important attributes. As that college professor quickly learned, many are scandalized by such mercy. But it is that very mercy that the God of our fathers calls us to embrace.

Authors Patrice J. Tuohy

Mercy Islam christians and muslims

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The inner word

24 Apr 2022 - Solemnity of the Second Sunday of Easter; Divine Mercy Sunday, Cycle C

"Do not be afraid.” “Peace be with you.” With these words Jesus greets John in a vision and the disciples after his Resurrection. Like other epiphanies in scripture, this greeting allays fear—the normal human reaction to such an encounter with the divine. People have always been a bit afraid to approach the holy; note how in the reading from Acts people esteemed the disciples, but at first “none of the others dared to join them.” Have you ever been afraid to approach God? How did you overcome your fear? Did you experience mercy and forgiveness? Does it help to consider that God’s Spirit is both outside and within you, a breath of new life you have received?

fear Mercy Forgiveness

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Exploring the word

24 Apr 2022 - Solemnity of the Second Sunday of Easter; Divine Mercy Sunday, Cycle C

Today is Divine Mercy Sunday, which is news to Catholics who have not paid much attention since the year 2000, when Pope John Paul II inaugurated this feast to be celebrated on the Second Sunday of Easter each year. The designation has its basis in a revelation to Sister Faustina Kowalska, the Polish sister who died in 1938, concerning the extravagant abundance of compassion available in Jesus Christ. But it would not be necessary to appeal to a private revelation to know that we follow a Lord whose Sacred Heart is on fire with love and mercy for sinners. The cross of Christ, that most public of declarations, is on display around the world to remind us that the breadth and depth and height of divine compassion is beyond humanity’s wildest estimations. The mark of the nails It seems important to register this often-misplaced fact: Jesus didn’t just “die” on the cross. He was killed there. The Crucifixion was not an accident, a tragedy, or an inscrutable illness. It was an execution, a planned event, an orchestrated decision on the part of religious leaders, political players, a traitorous follower, cowed and scattered disciples, disinterested soldiers, and a cast of thousands who were content to listen to Jesus, receive his teaching and healing, eat his bread, and then go home and cover their eyes when he was unjustly seized, condemned, and executed. We don’t call it murder, technically, when the state does it. Even less do we call those who simply stand aside and let a man be killed murderers. But what happened to Jesus wasn’t just a terribly sad occurrence. His death was caused, rationally and deliberately, by people who found it profitable and expedient to have him dead. It served their ends to have Jesus crucified, exterminated, and buried. They didn’t know that heaven might find a way to co-opt their ends into beginnings, of course. No one was asking if God might be served by the means they were deliberating. In other words, what happened to Jesus was the exact opposite of mercy. It was a calculated killing much more in keeping with the Holocaust of the Second World War, or the exterminations in Armenia, Rwanda, Darfur, or wherever ethnic cleansing of one kind or another is deemed desirable. Such killing of innocents for profit is something that begins in boardrooms and government offices, discussed for its pros and cons, voted on, signed and notarized by professionals, and implemented by mercenaries. Everybody gets a quiet moment with a bowl of water and a towel to wash his or her hands before going home. No one is responsible for the death of innocents when it is accomplished by institutions. And institutions have no capacity for mercy. Only people, made in the image and likeness of the God of mercy, can show mercy. Whose sins you forgive Mercy is not shown to those who die by institutional decree, whether on the battlefield, in prison, or through social policies that make the “welfare” of the poor sound like an obscenity. But before Jesus died, mercy alone was on his lips—”Father, forgive them,” and “Today you will be with me in Paradise.” And when the Risen Lord returned, mercy was once more his agenda: “Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them.” The one who was vigorously denied compassion became the one true source of hope for all in need of mercy being shown to them. To those troubled by grief or guilt, Jesus says, “Peace be with you.” To those who struggle with doubt, Jesus says, “Put your finger here, and believe.” Clearly, divine mercy isn’t meted out only to the deserving, or to those who have paid their debt to God or society in kind. Divine mercy is offered to those who need it, precisely because they need it. All we have to do is want it, ask for it, and believe it. If we had a choice between a world governed by divine mercy or the institutional elimination of defined enemies, which would we choose? It seems many of us want both, frankly, which we demonstrate in our attitude toward capital punishment, immigration policy, military action, and social responsibility toward the marginal members of society. But the mercy of God cannot coexist with the spirit of self-righteousness, prejudice, vengeance, or indifference. If we want divine mercy, we have to repent the spirit that leads to institutional injustices in every generation. Applying the word I hold the keys When arguing the morality of almost any social policy you can name, the premiere impediment to a compassionate response seems to be the same: the fear that bad people will escape punishment and undeserving people will reap unfair benefits. If Christian people are really concerned about these matters, they should rest assured that the “first and the last, the one who lives” is on top of the situation. Evil will be punished and wrong will be redressed—God the just judge will see to it and vengeance is therefore in the best possible hands. As for the undeserving receiving what they have not earned, well, perhaps we ought to be more grateful for that. As sinners in the hands of a God of mercy, it’s a very good thing that we don’t get what we each deserve. Instead, we stand to receive what Sister Faustina envisioned, the extravagant mercy of a Lord willing to undergo condemnation, suffering, and death for the sins of a world that has yet to learn the quality of mercy. Related scripture links Last words on compassion: Luke 23:34, 43 Catechism links Mercy: CCC 2447-2449 Meaning of Jesus’ death: CCC 312; 598-608

Authors Alice Camille

Crucifixion Compassion Forgiveness divine mercy sister faustina

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10 Jul 2022 - Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C

I couldn’t believe these were my neighbors, ganging up on a friend of mine, publicly dragging her through the mud. Literally slandering her on social media. She had even gotten threats. They were behaving out of pure vindictiveness. The daughter of a pastor, she had devoted her whole life to community service, most recently serving on a local school board. When she was elected before the pandemic, she had no idea what she was in for. Now, a small but very loud and angry group was trying to get her recalled. I attended one of her public hearings at the county building to show my support for her. I was so disturbed by the hate in the faces and voices of her opponents—one of them a guy who once helped me with landscaping my yard. My friend’s behavior was the opposite of theirs—I was in awe of her composure, humility, and most of all, moral courage. She never once stooped to their level. I was tempted to—scratch that, I was dying to stoop to their level—but I didn’t, because that’s the last thing she would have wanted. I learned first-hand from her example the answer to the question, who is my neighbor? It’s the one who acts with mercy. I pray for the grace to go and do likewise.

Authors Jennifer Tomshack

who is my neighbor?Mercy

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Exploring the word

11 Sep 2022 - Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C

A scene in the movie Schindler’s List haunts the viewer. Businessman-turned-brother’s keeper Oskar Schindler is trying to cultivate the confidence of a powerful but sadistic prison camp official. Schindler needs this officer in order to ensure the safety of his Jewish workers. But it’s hard to keep company with a man willing to gun down a human being simply for crossing his line of vision. Oskar attempts to teach the man compassion, but that virtue is not compatible with the officer’s narcissism. Compassion means to suffer with another, and narcissism is a preoccupation with the self. Finally, Schindler hits upon a formula that might work: the notion of the royal pardon. Pardoning is about power, not about mercy, and the officer is initially charmed by the idea of playing God. To grant a person the right to exist amuses him. He practices an almost papal blessing on his own reflection in the mirror as he says to himself grandly: “I pardon you.” This self-absolution is chilling. In the end, however, pardoning the helpless lives around him proves tiresome, and the officer resumes his merciless executions. Here the irrevocable relationship between mercy and arrogance is revealed: one organically excludes the other. The merciful know too much about human suffering to withhold compassion from anyone. The arrogant know only the machinery of power and how to employ it over and against others. These two qualities don’t mix. God alone can be both all-powerful and all-merciful without one attribute overwhelming the other. “[Mercy] becomes the . . . monarch better than his crown” Shakespeare lovers will recognize Portia’s “quality of mercy” speech from The Merchant of Venice. This speech is a perfect summary of how earthly power best imitates divine authority “when mercy seasons justice.” Because our four readings this weekend interweave the themes of power, arrogance, judgment, and mercy, it seems an appropriate starting point and summary for these interlocking and potentially conflicting forces. Moses at Sinai encounters power and judgment first when the Israelites weary of waiting for him at the base of the mountain. They fashion the golden calf—not idolatry per se, as the calf is intended to be an image of their God “who brought [them] out of the land of Egypt.” Aaron himself calls for a “feast of the Lord,” and evidently no impiety is meant. (Banish all memory of the Hollywood orgies surrounding the molten calf as extra-biblical inventions of Cecil B. DeMille.) The sin of Israel is that they’ve given up on Moses and are transferring their allegiance from God’s ambassador to a more tangible, familiar, and controllable expression of religious authority. Moses, however prophetic a miracle worker, was as unpredictable as the God he spoke for. Better to follow the calf out of the desert, which can neither talk nor give orders. A silent God is always the most convenient. God’s response to being reduced to a religious convenience is apocalyptic judgment: Here comes the wrath and smiting God is famous for! Left unrestrained, God would eliminate Israel and begin a new nation from Moses’ descendants. Moses stands in the breech between sin and judgment, between a disappointing nation and their just God. And Moses doesn’t quite make an appeal for God’s pity—he doesn’t seem to think the people deserve it either. His argument rests on God’s covenant, to which Moses suggests God owes more allegiance than to the people themselves. The nation has no honor but God does, and that honor is worth upholding for its own sake. God evidently agrees. “Mercy is enthroned in the hearts of kings” Lost sheep, coins, and children are valuable commodities each in their own way. But when Jesus tells parables about these missing items, he stresses two things more than their earthly value. One is the joy of regaining what is lost, on Earth and more so in heaven. The other is that being found is an apt metaphor for repentance. Both factors are related to the mercy of God and how sinners engage it. Because all of us are sinners, this is a good thing to understand. The image of God’s mercy in Luke is far more expansive than what we find in the Pentateuch. Formerly, God’s judgment is automatic and God’s forbearance must be wooed and won. In the stories of Jesus, God’s judgment is withheld while God’s mercy goes seeking the object of its desire. God’s mercy takes the initiative, as if our sinfulness is reason enough for divine compassion to be engaged. The three gospel stories have no mediator on behalf of the lost, the way Moses pleads Israel’s case. In fact, the final story of the lost son has a devil’s advocate in the brother, who actively argues against the father’s display of mercy. Other comparisons are illuminating. In the Pentateuch story, Israel’s rejection of the leadership of Moses—not to mention the freedom of God—is emphatically deliberate. This is the textbook definition of mortal sin: consciously chosen with full appreciation of its significance. Yet in the first two parables of Jesus, the sinner is described in rather senseless terms, as a sheep that wandered away or an object somehow misplaced. Even the third sinner is simply a youth seeking pleasure more than wrongdoing, whose own ignorance and inexperience leads to his downfall. The gospel image is by far a kinder, gentler understanding of mortal sinfulness, which perhaps draws out the tender compassion of the shepherd who seeks, the woman who sweeps, and the father who keeps vigil for the lost one. Do sinners historically get nicer, or does God? I suspect neither; it is the compassion of Jesus that views the relationship between creature and Creator with a more benevolent glance. Beauty may be in the eye of the beholder, but so is mercy. Applying the word In justice, none should see salvation Paul, the self-accused arrogant blasphemer, believes that mercy comes to him because he acted out of ignorance and not malice. We hear in this sentiment the echo of another saying from Luke’s gospel: “Father, forgive them, they do not know what they are doing.” Luke may have learned his theology from Paul, but in any case, the two agree that human failing is largely born in ignorance and fostered by arrogance. The centerpiece of Christianity is the good news that sins are forgiven. God has already organized the celestial search party to precipitate our return. Related scripture links Mercy and arrogance mutually exclusive: Luke 1:50-52 Aaron calls for a feast: Exod. 32:5 Father, forgive them: Luke 23:34 Lucan compassion: Luke 1:76-79; 6:36; 7:13; 10:29-37; 12:6-7 Catechism links Mercy: CCC 545; 589; 1423; 1439; 1443; 1829; 1846-1848; 2447; 2839

Authors Alice Camille

pardoning Compassion power arrogance Mercy judgment

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16 Apr 2023 - Solemnity of the Second Sunday of Easter; Divine Mercy Sunday, Cycle A

My dad was a regular attendee of wakes and funerals. The natural politician in him made it a good way to stay connected with his people: family, friends, and business associates. The Irish in him made it fun, which meant that, more often than not, my mom, my sisters, and I were in tow as my dad stopped by the wake of a classmate from high school, a buddy from the bar, or a relative we never knew we had. I remember once worrying about not knowing what to say to a grieving widow. My mom said, “Just say, ‘I’m so sorry for your loss.’ That’s it. Remember, this isn’t about your comfort. It’s about offering comfort to someone else who is sad and hurting.” The catechism couldn’t have put it any better. The works of mercy—like consoling the afflicted and burying the dead—are specifically intended to relieve the bodily (corporal) and spiritual suffering of our neighbors. Offering works of mercy to people in pain is our way of paying forward the mercy God showers on us. Divine Mercy Sunday is a good time to remember how we bear witness to mercy through these merciful acts: Corporal: Feed the hungry; give drink to the thirsty; clothe the naked; shelter the homeless; visit the sick; tend to the imprisoned; bury the dead. Spiritual: Instruct the uninstructed; counsel the doubtful; admonish the sinner; bear wrongs patiently; forgive offenses willingly; console the afflicted; pray for the living and the dead.

Authors Patrice J. Tuohy

corporal works of mercy spiritual works of mercy

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