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18 Nov 2012 - Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

Some of the stories in the Bible read like a science-fiction thriller or horror drama. In the apocalyptic literature, such as the book of Daniel, we read of the sun and moon darkening, stars falling out of the sky, and the very “powers in the heavens” shaken at their core. In his stories the author used strong, vivid images his community could relate to. They were women and men who were under immense stress and oppression and who worried for their safety and the safety of their children. They needed to know that no matter what, even if the sun should cease to give light, God would continue to be with them. What would your story look like? What word of encouragement would you seek from God?

apocalypse book of Daniel presence of God

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03 Apr 2016 - Solemnity of the Second Sunday of Easter; Divine Mercy Sunday, Cycle C

It’s Divine Mercy Sunday in a year dedicated to mercy. What better time to talk about Apocalypse? The church seems to think so, anyway. We read from the Book of Revelation all through this Easter season. At first glance, mercy and Apocalypse seem polar opposites. One draws us to God’s bright side: the compassionate Creator who rescues us from the consequences of our own actions by the forgiveness of sin. Whereas Apocalypse conjures up God’s dark side: the brooding Deity who will one day restore justice by “acts of God” no insurance policy can protect us from. Despite popular applications of the word, Apocalypse isn’t synonymous with final judgment in the Hollywood sense. It means “revelation,” which is why we call the last book in the Bible by that name. The Greek word implies that hidden things come to light behind these visions. But what may emerge from our reading of this book is a headache. Monsters and nightmares, punitive angels and terrible plagues. Does the 21st century really need this kind of storyline? Clearly we do. Our age is obsessed with Apocalypse. Our cultural story—what we call entertainment—has been soaked in it since 9/11. Apocalypse is the new lens through which humanity and its possibilities are being considered. Whether you’re plunking down to watch The Walking Dead, The Hunger Games, House of Cards, Once Upon a Time, Scandal, Game of Thrones, The Borgias—or just the nightly news—the story line repeats itself. The world we knew and loved is being lost. We must save ourselves by any and every (violent) means. There’s a deep cynicism in our popular narratives, and an alarming cry of despair. Safety is an illusion that’s been snatched away. Violence is the only solution, our weapons the only hope, and the malice of the enemy the only thing that’s certain. Such shows are popular because they’re cathartic for a frightened and angry society. In traditional Apocalyptic, the enemy is a monster, a beast. So too in modern storytelling: It’s a zombie, werewolf, vampire, robot, or alien race. It’s a mutation in the gene pool, an unstoppable virus—or worse, a Democrat (to the Republican viewer) or a Republican (to the Democratic audience). The ultimate monster! What’s “revealed” in modern-day Apocalyptic? The biblical revelation is that, even when all is lost on earth, heaven provides a rescue for the just. Modern Apocalypse is scarier: The only hope is the willingness to surrender innocence, embrace the enemy’s ruthlessness. Today’s gospel testifies to something better: God’s mercy. The one willing to die, not to kill, for justice’s sake, is the world’s great hope. By such power even an apostle’s shadow can heal; a wound can teach the truth; and a despairing cynic can come to faith. Related scripture links Blockage in Nazareth: Mark 6:5-6; Matt. 13:58 Good shepherd: Matt. 18:12-14; Luke 15:1-7; John 10:1-16 Jesus and the hemorrhaging woman: Mark 5:25-34; Matt. 9:20-22; Luke 8:43-48 Last words on compassion: Luke 23:34, 43 Thomas the skeptic: John 11:16, 14:5 Two-step healing: Mark 8:22-26 Will not lose those given to him: John 10:27-29; 17:6-24

Authors Alice Camille

apocalypse Mercy divine mercy sunday

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24 Apr 2016 - Fifth Sunday of Easter, Cycle C

The closest thing to apocalypse most of us will experience in this life is falling in love. In the biblical Apocalypse, God reveals the great mystery at the end of time in these terms: “Behold, I make all things new.” Is there a human experience that refreshes our mortality as completely, and radiantly, as being utterly lost to love? We think of Apocalypse as the worst thing that could possibly happen. It’s envisioned as a sort of Big Bang in reverse: the unraveling of reality as we know it. The scenario includes monsters, warfare, explosions, and anarchy. No more utilities delivered to the home; no more Starbucks on the corner. We’re talking desperate times, folks. Apocalyptic literature intends to persuade us that all is lost, at least from the perspective of human efforts. Apocalypse is the revelation of what’s been hidden, remember. When the masks come off and we see good and evil as they truly are, it won’t be pretty. But Apocalypse doesn’t lead to despair for people of faith. It merely redirects our gaze to heaven, where the only authority powerful enough to save us awaits our attention. And what awaits us in that heavenward glance is not harrowing. When all is lost in mortal terms, God is prepared to make all things new. Who wouldn’t hand off this ailing society of ours for the communion of saints in a heartbeat? Who wouldn’t surrender a relentless history of warfare for the Prince of Peace? Who wouldn’t trade the Ten Commandments for the Law of Love? The final revelation is that everything bad can be restored to original goodness in the end. Do we believe this? For many of us, Judgment Day convened over a bottomless pit of hot coals makes more sense. Maybe it’s because we know human nature so well. We are it. So we need Apocalypse to be the “door into the terrible,” as Catholic novelist Mary Gordon calls it. Many of us would like our enemies to burn, all the evil folk who make history such a burden and misery to the many. We hold onto the door to the terrible because we want a place or a time where the anguish of the world will find its answer, where justice (on our terms) will be served once and for all. But what if John’s vision is right? What if human history is the door to the terrible? What if, after passing through the agony of this life—after wars and cancers and injustices and losses too many to count or to bear—what if God’s great revelation to us is simply love, which restores all things to wholeness, newness, and happiness? If that’s the door we anticipate, who’s willing to walk down the path of such love today? Related scripture links Barnabas sponsors Paul: Acts 9:26-28 First missionary journey: Acts 13:1-14:28 Making things new: Jer. 31:31-34; Ezek. 11:19-20; 36:26-28; 2 Pet. 3:13 Separation of Paul and Barnabas: Acts 15:36-41

Authors Alice Camille

judgment day apocalypse

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24 Apr 2016 - Fifth Sunday of Easter, Cycle C (sample issue)

sample issue Testimonial: “I always find the content insightful, concise and clear.” ~ Fr. Paul, Queensland, Australia The closest thing to apocalypse most of us will experience in this life is falling in love. In the biblical Apocalypse, God reveals the great mystery at the end of time in these terms: “Behold, I make all things new.” Is there a human experience that refreshes our mortality as completely, and radiantly, as being utterly lost to love? We think of Apocalypse as the worst thing that could possibly happen. It’s envisioned as a sort of Big Bang in reverse: the unraveling of reality as we know it. The scenario includes monsters, warfare, explosions, and anarchy. No more utilities delivered to the home; no more Starbucks on the corner. We’re talking desperate times, folks. Apocalyptic literature intends to persuade us that all is lost, at least from the perspective of human efforts. Apocalypse is the revelation of what’s been hidden, remember. When the masks come off and we see good and evil as they truly are, it won’t be pretty. But Apocalypse doesn’t lead to despair for people of faith. It merely redirects our gaze to heaven, where the only authority powerful enough to save us awaits our attention. And what awaits us in that heavenward glance is not harrowing. When all is lost in mortal terms, God is prepared to make all things new. Who wouldn’t hand off this ailing society of ours for the communion of saints in a heartbeat? Who wouldn’t surrender a relentless history of warfare for the Prince of Peace? Who wouldn’t trade the Ten Commandments for the Law of Love? The final revelation is that everything bad can be restored to original goodness in the end. Do we believe this? For many of us, Judgment Day convened over a bottomless pit of hot coals makes more sense. Maybe it’s because we know human nature so well. We are it. So we need Apocalypse to be the “door into the terrible,” as Catholic novelist Mary Gordon calls it. Many of us would like our enemies to burn, all the evil folk who make history such a burden and misery to the many. We hold onto the door to the terrible because we want a place or a time where the anguish of the world will find its answer, where justice (on our terms) will be served once and for all. But what if John’s vision is right? What if human history is the door to the terrible? What if, after passing through the agony of this life—after wars and cancers and injustices and losses too many to count or to bear—what if God’s great revelation to us is simply love, which restores all things to wholeness, newness, and happiness? If that’s the door we anticipate, who’s willing to walk down the path of such love today? Related scripture links Barnabas sponsors Paul: Acts 9:26-28 First missionary journey: Acts 13:1-14:28 Making things new: Jer. 31:31-34; Ezek. 11:19-20; 36:26-28; 2 Pet. 3:13 Separation of Paul and Barnabas: Acts 15:36-41

Authors Alice Camille

judgment day apocalypse
Homily stories

14 Nov 2010 - Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C

In this age of billion-dollar corporate bankruptcies and catastrophic foreclosures, the apocalypse, as a time of cataclysmic events, appears to be now. Yet as a time of divine revelation and the victory of good over evil, the apocalypse seems destined to remain in the future. But all apocalypses begin and end in the heart of each believer. The journey toward divine revelation, as any mystic will tell you, is an interior trek. The dark night of the soul is nothing less than the battle of the good and evil within us. We try to be loving people; honest in our business dealings and service to the community; faithful to our friends and family; prayerful and thankful to God for the goodness and mercy we receive each day. But even with the most rigorous spiritual discipline, we cannot avoid the fight for our soul. And as Jesus advises us, we cannot prepare our testimony in advance, because we have no way to know when the battle will begin or what will trigger it. Make no mistake though, at some point you will find yourself fighting the good fight against apathy, anger, doubt, pride, resentment, or greed. You will feel unhappy, unappreciated, and unloved. It will be a hellish time, but don't despair. On the other side of your trials awaits a loving God. Apocalypses have their rewards.

Authors Patrice J. Tuohy

apocalypse revelation jesus

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Homily themes

14 Nov 2010 - Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle C

The days will come when there will not be left a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down. In the minds of Jesus' contemporaries, the Jerusalem temple stood for all that was strong about God's promises. For this reason, people associated the possibility of the temple's destruction with the end of the world--hence the attention-getting nature of what Jesus says. In such an apocalyptic context he counsels his hearers "that you not be deceived" by false claims about the end times. Centuries before, and in similar words, the prophet Jeremiah warned, "Put not your trust in the deceitful words: 'This the temple of the Lord' " (Jeremiah 7:4). When it comes to such ultimate matters, it's risky to swear by people, places, and events. As Malachi reminds us, we place our surest faith in the name of the Lord. Homily points Many of us aren't wild about the topic of apocalypse. It can seem unreal, or too terribly real, to talk about in church. Apocalypse, the dissolution of reality as we know it, is a haunting factor of our mortality. People of faith have no need to fear the apocalyptic events that are on the way. Our faith teaches us that God can transform every death into life. Divine justice is the end and the goal of this world and the Christian life. If we believe as we say, the day that heals the world's brokenness is our hope.

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25 Apr 2010 - Fourth Sunday of Easter; Good Shepherd Sunday, Cycle C

In the Revelation reading, those who have “survived”—whether coming through martyrdom or enduring final judgment—encounter several salvation promises from the Hebrew scriptures: “They shall not hunger or thirst, nor shall the scorching wind or the sun strike them”—Isaiah 49:10; “By day the sun cannot harm you, nor the moon by night”—Psalm 121:6; “I will appoint one shepherd over them to pasture them, my servant David”—Ezekiel 34:23; “The Lord is my shepherd”—Psalm 23:1; “The Lord God will wipe away the tears from all faces”—Isaiah 25:8. Homily points Human failure is the beginning of every divine success story. In light of our failures, we need not be afraid. But we do need good shepherds to lead us through the world’s failures. There is only one vocation in Christianity: to be the Body of Christ more and more perfectly. When we answer this call to be in Christ, we make Christ visible by doing as he did.

Salvation apocalypse failure Success

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Who's listening?

15 Nov 2009 - Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

We live in fretful times. World events have many people looking to the Bible and arcane sources for omens, predictions, and signs of what’s to come. So the apocalyptic messages in this week’s readings (just a hint of what’s ahead in coming weeks) might only serve to fuel peoples’ underlying fears. It’s a help to let them know they should take apocalyptic language seriously, but not literally. In fact they can be assured that the central message of this week’s readings is that the more difficult the times we live in get, the nearer we are to God. The option is to embrace God’s closeness rather than our fears.

apocalypse crisis fear and anxiety

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Homily stories

15 Nov 2009 - Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

I was a young kid excited to be downtown with my mom and my brother. Even though it seemed a bit overwhelming, I loved the excitement of the city. As we stood waiting to cross a busy intersection, a street-corner preacher started wailing through a bullhorn that the end of the world was coming—and soon! I looked up at my mom, my eyes full of terror. Is he telling the truth, Mom? Is the world going to end? My mother found a way to calm my fears without giving too pat an answer to a complex question. It seems easy to get caught up in a kind of terror that everything we believe in is threatened. We can find signs in the news, signs in the stars, signs in the Bible that tell us the end is near. The fact is, the end is always near: the end of everything as we know it and the end of right now. Our assumptions and our illusions about how the world ought to be can be dashed in an instant: A test we thought we aced gets a failing grade, an engagement gets broken off, a doctor utters a troubling diagnosis and leaves the room, a late-night telephone call confirms our worst fears. It’s no wonder there’s always someone on the street corner saying the end is near. The good news, though, is that Jesus also promises that for every ending there is a new and glorious beginning, both now and at the hour of our death.

Authors Tom McGrath

apocalypse fear and anxiety New life

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15 Nov 2009 - Thirty-third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

The special effects we see in movies have become almost perfect. The use of computer animation and graphics can create just about anything. And it all looks so real that it takes no imagination on our part. Our belief is suspended as we watch the screen with rapt attention. In Jesus’ day, the storyteller created the images in people’s minds. So Jesus’ description of the last days had to have been both frightening and awesome to those who listened to him. Inexplicably he switches directions and tactics and points to a simple fig tree. They grow wild, almost like weeds, all around those valleys Jesus visited. They were a common sight to all who listened to Jesus. He used the image to reinforce the dramatic message he had just described in simple and gentle words.

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