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Homilies | Saturday, April 27, 2019

Christ's wounds: a radiant sign of God's mercy

Archbishop Wenski's homily at Assumption Parish's 60th anniversary

Archbishop Thomas Wenski preached this homily during a Mass marking the 60th anniversary of Assumption Church in Lauderdale-By-The-Sea, April 27, 2019.

The Gospel reading begins with the disciples huddled together in a locked room. Jesus appears in their midst and says, “Peace be with you.” They were prisoners of their fear — a fear that certainly was not unreasonable given what had happened to Jesus the week before. This weekend the doors of the churches of Sri Lanka are also locked because of the Easter Sunday attacks on several Catholic churches there that left more than 300 people dead. A drastic measure to be sure — but a measured, prudent response by church authorities there. We pray for the dead, their families. We pray for the world — and for ourselves. Like the disciples in the upper room huddled in fear, we too face many fears, of many different kinds, and these fears can imprison us. Whatever our fears — whether the fear of terrorism, of loneliness, of sickness or economic ruin — whatever our fears we too need Jesus’ Easter gift of peace.

Assumption Church parishioners celebrated the 60th anniversary of their parish, and the 25th anniversary of the dedication of their church, April 27, 2019.

Photographer: MARLENE QUARONI | FC

Assumption Church parishioners celebrated the 60th anniversary of their parish, and the 25th anniversary of the dedication of their church, April 27, 2019.

“Peace be with you,” he says to the frightened apostles. And today we ask Jesus to visit us with his peace. “Peace with you,” he tells us. The peace he gives is not the peace of the world. The peace of Christ is not a panacea, it’s not a drug of denial. Christ’s peace is the awareness of his presence in the midst of our pain. It is the presence of the Crucified — yet now — Risen Christ. Like the Doubting Thomas, we are invited to explore the wounds of God’s divine mercy. In those wounds, like Thomas, we find reconciliation, healing, the forgiveness of our sins.

“Blessed are those who believe even if they do not see.” These words of Jesus might have been a gentle rebuke to Thomas, but they greatly assure us. For they were spoken for us, telling us that, yes, it is possible to believe in Christ without having seen him. Doubting Thomas, perhaps, stands for all those generations who have come to believe even though they have not seen the Risen Lord. Jesus invited him to place his hands in his wounds. “My Lord and my God,” he exclaims, as we do at every Mass as we witness the miracle of Bread and Wine changed into his Body and Blood — transubstantiated, to use a very theological word.

While we do not see or feel in the same way what Thomas saw and felt, yet we believe what he believed. And as Jesus came to the disciples in the Upper Room, it is the same Jesus who comes to us today, his presence among us a Real Presence. As he gave the apostles his Easter gift of peace, he gives us that same peace through Word and Sacrament. As he dispelled their fears and strengthened them with the gift of his Spirit, he also gathers us together in his Spirit so that healed of sin, division, or even unbelief, we might, in the final words of today’s Gospel reading, “believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God,and that through this belief you may have life in his name.”

As a community of faith, we gather each week in obedience to Jesus’ command: Do this in memory of me. Just showing up can be an act of faith: Our faith gives us a sense of belonging to a larger community. When we believe, we belong. We believe together. And for 60 years, at Lauderdale-By-The-Sea, this parish has welcomed God’s people and made of them a community of faith, hope and love.

As the terrorist attacks in Sri Lanka reminded us, we live in a world of fragile peace and broken promises. Such a world can seem like a desert — lifeless and arid, a place of alienation, a place where God is seemingly absent. Yet, our parishes exist —as Assumption has done for 60 years — to reintroduce the world to God. For this reason, parishes should not be places where the faithful lock themselves in for fear of what’s outside. Rather, as communities of love, schools of prayer and centers of service, parishes should be places where people can experience something of God’s forgiveness, his mercy and his love of them. (And here, allow me to make a plug for the ABCD, the Archbishop’s Charity and Development Campaign. Through ABCD, you support the work of the Church above and beyond what happens within the parish. I thank you for that support.)

Antonia Stefanic, 92, a parishioner since the 1950s, poses for a photo with Archbishop Thomas Wenski after the 60th anniversary Mass for Assumption Church in Lauderdale-By-The-Sea.

Photographer: MARLENE QUARONI | FC

Antonia Stefanic, 92, a parishioner since the 1950s, poses for a photo with Archbishop Thomas Wenski after the 60th anniversary Mass for Assumption Church in Lauderdale-By-The-Sea.

The word, parish, is derived from the ancient Greek — pa-roi-ki-a -; the Spanish, parroquia, is much closer to the original Greek than its English equivalent. It meant a sojourn in a foreign land, or a community of sojourners. And so when the Hebrew Scriptures were first translated into Greek, pa-roi-ki-a was used to describe the Israelites as they journeyed through the desert on their way to the Promised Land. Parishes then are like oases in the desert — they refresh us and strengthen us for the journey of life. And isn’t Assumption Parish one such oasis, here along A-1-A.

La palabra parroquia es derivada del antiguo griego — pa-roi-ki-a-; en español, parroquia se acerca mucho más a su original que su equivalente en inglés. Significaba una estadía transitoria en tierra extranjera, o una comunidad transitoria de extranjeros. Por lo tanto, cuando las Escrituras en hebreo fueron traducidas al griego, pa-roi-ki-a se utilizó para describir a los Israelitas cuando vagaban por el desierto hacia la Tierra Prometida. Hoy en día vivimos en un mundo que ha desterrado a Dios — y por eso el mundo se parece a un desierto — seco, árido, hostil sin vida, sin esperanza. 

Nuestras parroquias deben ser como un oasis donde los que transitan el desierto puedan refrescarse y recobrar fuerza para el viaje. Las parroquias deben ser comunidades de amor, escuelas de oración donde la gente pueda experimentar perdón y el amor de Dios. 

Así, ha sido esta parroquia de la Asunción por 60 años. Por supuesto la historia de esta parroquia tiene sus sombras como también sus luces — en la iglesia que Cristo fundó para salvar a los pecadores siempre se van a encontrar pecadores. Por eso, tú y yo nos sentimos en casa.

So, let’s us remember the past with gratitude, and let us embrace the present with enthusiasm and let us look forward to the future with confidence. As peace came to the apostles huddled in the Upper Room, peace comes to us in every Eucharist. And as we contemplate the Body of Christ so wounded for us, may we remember that those wounds revealed to Thomas in the Upper Room and to a Polish nun, St. Faustina, are a radiant sign of God’s enduring love and divine mercy.

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