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Swine flu goes global

03 May 2009 - Preaching the News for Sunday

The reading from the Acts of the Apostles assures us that Jesus brings healing, and healing is what the world needs at the moment as it is confronted with the threat of a swine flu epidemic. The World Health Organization raised the flu pandemic alert level to a 5 at a Wednesday meeting, signaling that the outbreaks pose a risk of reaching pandemic proportions. The maximum level is six. The number of deaths in Mexico as of Tuesday morning was at least 150, with another 2,400 people sickened. WHO has confirmed 66 cases in the United States and 105 in seven other countries. In an interview with CNN, Dr. Richard Besser, acting director of the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, confirmed the flu death of a 23-month-old child in Texas--the first death outside Mexico. Mexico has suspended all schools until May 6, and in Mexico City other public venues have closed and public events have been cancelled. The U.S., the European Union, and several Asian health commissioners have discouraged nonessential travel to Mexico. In an age of widespread air travel, it is difficult, if not impossible, to contain a newly emerged infectious agent, and that is proving to be the case with swine flu. "At this time," said Dr. Keiji Fukuda, assistant director-general of WHO, "containment is not a feasible option." The name of the flu has caused some controversy. Dr. Nikki Shindo, a WHO flu expert, said WHO affiliates around the world will consider a request from the Food and Agriculture Organization to stop calling the disease swine flu, because the virus is not food-borne and has nothing to do with eating pork. The World Organization for Animal Health, which handles veterinary issues around the world, issued a statement late Monday suggesting that the new disease should be labeled "North American influenza," in keeping with a long medical tradition of naming influenza pandemics for the regions where they were first identified. Source: Articles by the Associated Press and Keith Bradsher for the New York Times and Thomas H. Maugh II for the Los Angeles Times

world health organization nikki shindo keiji fukuda mexico centers for disease control and prevention richard besser pandemic epidemic swine flu influenza

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Holy hours, holy places, holy people

Funeral, Sacrament-based, Holy Day, Holiday, Special Occasion - Sample homilies to be adapted for your use

THERE'S NEVER a good time for the world as we know it to fall apart. There’s no convenient time to host a pandemic. Yet people of faith were uniquely distressed to be barred from our churches and bereft of familiar rituals during the high holy days of Passover, Holy Week, and Ramadan. Losing the weekly gathering is deprivation enough. Not participating in these annual sacred events was a deeper cut across an already open wound. “What makes this night different from other nights?” This is the ritual question that begins each Jewish celebration of Passover. The question recognizes that the texture of time changes. Some nights are indeed different from others because of why we gather, what we commemorate, how we behave, and who gathers to celebrate these events. One hour feels distinct from another because of what it means for us. Time has many meanings. “Monday” is different from “Saturday” for many students and working folk. An afternoon in mid-September is a far cry from Christmas Eve or Thanksgiving Day. To lose access to our assemblies, sanctuaries, and liturgies in this season, above all seasons, was especially acute. For religious-minded people, the idea that there’s such a thing as holy days or holy hours seems quite natural. Identifying certain objects as sacred, viewing certain places or people as consecrated or ordained for holy purposes, is a customary part of the spiritual landscape for believers. At the heart of the matter is a word precious in the realm of religion: mystery. Not mystery in the sense of a detective novel, in which a crime needs to be solved and the identity of an anonymous actor uncovered. In the realm of religion, we already assume the identity of the Actor: God Most High! Mystery in religion is not about the unknown, but the unknowable. To the finite mind, the Infinite is a mystery we may pierce in rare moments but never fully possess. That is, until the time when “Christ is all in all,” as Saint Paul says. People of faith seek and want a relationship with the Divine Mystery. But how do we maintain this relationship when the tried-and-true avenues of the religious quest are denied us: gathering, sacrament, ritual, priest? People of faith seek and want a relationship with the Divine Mystery. But how do we maintain this relationship when the tried-and-true avenues of the religious quest are denied us: gathering, sacrament, ritual, priest? Alas: the texture of time does change—and we may feel we missed the moment, that our holy moments are dribbling away, beyond our grasp. It’s good to remember that at the heart of the spiritual enterprise is this journey into Divine Mystery. It’s a journey we can take wherever we are, since God is happily omnipresent, not confined to the Tabernacle or a Holy of Holies. Isaiah, in his list of spiritual gifts, describes the last one as “awe in the divine Presence.” (Familiarly translated as “fear of the Lord.”) Religion is best perceived as the quest for awe in God’s Presence. Our hearts need to find something beyond ourselves worthy of reverence; Some-ONE before whom we can bow down. Otherwise, our own mighty and militant egos will rule over us. And the ego is a tyrant resolved to tear us, and our most vital relationships, to shreds. Too often, as we divide times, places, and people into sacred and secular categories, we imagine that God is similarly restricted. Take note: the Holy One transcends all attempts to be quarantined! God chooses to be revealed in the sacred stories of Scripture—and in the personal stories of our families, friends, and communities. God is manifest in water, oil, bread, wine, touch, and incense in our rituals—and God is found in bathing a child, lotioning an elder’s fragile skin, sharing a family meal, smelling the first flowers of spring, or finding new ways to touch friends with words, photos, and YouTube videos flashed across the internet. God chooses to be made known through our holy, catholic, and apostolic church in the actions of our priests—and God is at work whenever you or I use our love as a force for healing and hope, right where we are. The holiest hour is now. The holiest place is here. The holiest people are those who do the will of the One who sends us.

Authors Alice Camille

Special occasion pandemic covid-19

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Homily stories

09 Aug 2020 - Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle A

The first time I volunteered during the pandemic, I was afraid. It was only a couple weeks into my state’s stay-at-home order, and no one knew how much the virus had spread yet, or how much damage it would do. Volunteering for organizations that provide food was exempt from the governor’s order, and I worried terribly about all my townspeople who had suddenly lost their jobs. My mom begged me not to do it, but Feeding America assured me that their volunteers would be distributing food to those in need in a safe manner. So I had faith, and showed up with a mask and rubber gloves. All social-distancing protocols were followed. I was assigned the bottled water station, which was 6 feet from the next station, and so on and so on. All I had to do was lift cases into the open backs of people’s cars as they drove through the line. No one got out, and there was no human contact. Well, except with the little boy in one minivan, who poked his head over the top of the seat and exclaimed, “I love you!” It was the first face-to-face conversation I’d had in two very lonely weeks. I said, “I love you, too” and had no doubt that the risk was worth it.

Authors Jennifer Tomshack

pandemic volunteering

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Homily stories

12 Sep 2021 - Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B

At the beginning of 2020, my diocese declared it the Year of the Eucharist. Ironic, since after that Ash Wednesday, it was the year I went without it. But I spent that year caring more about it than I ever have. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, they say—and I repented taking it for granted. During the pandemic, I watched Mass on YouTube every Sunday, and for the first time learned what an Act of Spiritual Communion was. Saying those words before a TV screen—“I desire to receive you into my soul . . . come at least spiritually into my heart . . . Never permit me to be separated from you.”—I encountered Christ present in the Eucharist in a way I couldn’t have imagined without being present myself. Even though I’d spent more than a year preparing for my next Communion—on an isolated spiritual journey courtesy of a plague of biblical proportions—I wanted to treat it like my first, and as the day got closer, I doubled down on prayerfully getting ready. It wasn’t until the first Sunday after Pentecost 2021 that I returned to Mass. Ordinary Time seemed so fitting as I started to feel normal again. Except I wasn’t the same as before. Having been denied, I wanted to follow him more.

Authors Jennifer Tomshack

Eucharist communion sacrifice pandemic spiritual journeys

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