Peace Be With You

 

Today’s annually repeated gospel [John 20:19-31] captures the novelty and uniqueness of the resurrection in its account of the disciples’ two encounters (one week apart) with the Risen Christ. No one witnessed Jesus’ actual resurrection. What was witnessed initially was just an empty tomb – an important condition for the resurrection to be believed, but insufficient evidence in itself. Something more had to happen, and something more did happen – in the form of a series of encounters in which the Risen Lord demonstrated to his disciples that he was the same Jesus who had lived and died (hence the wounds in his hands and side), now alive again in a unexpectedly new and wonderful way (hence his presence among them, although the doors were locked.)

 

Fearful for their safety, the disciples had hidden behind locked doors. Perhaps, this was the same “upper room” where they had so recently eaten the Last Supper and where they would gather again after the ascension to await the coming of the Holy Spirit. If so, how appropriate! Since apostolic times (long before the invention of the modern weekend), Sunday, the first day of the week, has been the special day, the irreplaceably privileged day, when Christians assemble in their churches to encounter Christ, the Risen Lord, present through the power of his Holy Spirit in the sacramental celebration of the Lord’s Supper, the Eucharist.

 

On that first day of the week, Jesus came and stood in their midst and said, “Peace be with you.” How we long to hear those words today in a world again at war. Not for nothing have the Church's bishops for centuries used these words of Jesus as an official greeting. Not for nothing did Pope Leo make those his first public words to the world on the day of his election almost a year ago. Surely, that was no mere wish on his part! Christ, the Risen Lord offers us his peace - not just some transient social or political peace, however, but the peace that conquers fear. It is clear enough from the locked doors just how fearful the disciples must have been.

 

Many of us in fact spend much of our lives behind locked doors – literally so in our modern urban way of life - a sensible practice perhaps, but one obviously rooted in fear.

 

There are also the many locked doors one doesn’t see, but which one feels, nonetheless. We may not all be afraid of exactly the same things the disciples were, but our fears are no less real, wounding us in all sorts of ways, wounds we carry within us, concealing them as best we can.

 

Yet, when Jesus came to his disciples that first day of the week, far from concealing, he showed them his hands and his side – and the disciples rejoiced. As the absent Thomas acutely appreciated, Jesus’ wounded hands and side reveal the continuity between the Jesus they had known and loved, who really and truly died on the cross, and the now-living Risen Christ, who commissions his Church to heal the world’s wounds and impart his forgiveness in the sacraments of his Church: “Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them.”

 

For the resurrection was not just some nice thing that happened to Jesus - and then leaves the rest of us and everything else in the world completely unchanged. It was – and is – the foundation of what the first letter of Peter, from which we just heard [1 Peter 1:3-9], calls an imperishable, undefiled, and unfading future inheritance to which, through the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, we already have access here and now in the present.

 

Like Thomas, none of us were there on that first day of the week, but we are here today - on this first day of this week. The first day of the week, the day on which God began the work of creation, has become our day of re-creation, the beginning not just of another week but of a whole new way of life, pointing us forward to the fullness of that new creation in which, living for ever with the Risen Christ, we will finally become most fully human.

Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter, Saint Paul the Apostle Church, NY, April 12, 2026.

No Ordinary Fishing Trip

 

Modern pilgrims in Israel easily sense the contrast between the Judean desert (where Jerusalem is) and the relatively lush, green of Galilee (where today’s Gospel [John 21:1-14] story is set). Renewed annually by winter’s life-giving rains, the land around the large lake the Gospel calls the Sea of Tiberias (more commonly called the Sea of Galilee) is at its greenest in spring. It was to that place, at this season of the year, that Peter and six other disciples returned. It had been from those familiar shores that Jesus had originally called them to follow him. Now they’d come home – back to what they knew best. They went fishing.

But this was to be no normal fishing trip!

There’s a church on the shore that marks the supposed site of this event. In front of the altar is a rock, traditionally venerated as the stone on which the risen Lord served his disciples a breakfast of bread and fish. Staples of the Galilean diet, bread and fish seem to be staples of the Gospel story itself! Just a short walk away is another church, marking the site where, not so long before, Jesus had fed 5000+ people with five loaves and a few fish. Presumably, the disciples would have remembered that earlier meal. As surely we should as well, as we also assemble here at the table lovingly set for us by the risen Lord himself, who feeds us with food we would never have gotten on our own.

Typically, in these stories of the risen Lord’s appearances, while he is certainly the same Jesus the disciples had followed in life and who had died on the Cross, something about him is now different. Hence, the dramatic moment when Jesus is recognized, as when the disciple whom Jesus loved said to Peter, “It is the Lord!” But recognizing the risen Christ is but the beginning of a life lived following the risen Lord. So, even before being formally entrusted with his special mission, Peter leads the way, dressing up for the occasion, jumping into the sea and swimming to Jesus ahead of the others.

As his role requires, Peter here is already leading the Church, leading here by example. His example illustrates for the rest of us what it means, first, to recognize the risen Lord and, then, actually to follow him.

Homily for the Friday within the Octave of Easter, Saint Paul the Apostle Church, NY, April 10, 2026.

American Pope

When Donald Trump was triumphantly returned to the White House on January 20, 2025, he immediately became ex officio the most important, the most powerful, the most prominent American in the world. Then, exactly 11 months ago, on May 8, 2025, somewhat surprisingly and unexpectedly (at least to most people), Robert Cardinal Prevost, a Chicago-born, Augustinian Friar, who had been a missionary priest and bishop in Peru, was elected Pope - instantly blowing up the traditional expectation that no American could or would ever be elected Pope. In 2025, an American-born Pope immediately became ex officio the other most important, the other most powerful, the other most prominent American in the world. What this means - and the hope that Pope Leo XIV's election may bring to the Church and the world in the era of President Trump - is the focus of CNN Vatican correspondent Christopher Lamb's American Hope: What Pope Leo VIV Means for the Church and the World.

Despite the conventional wisdom that no American would be elected Pope, Lamb argues that Trump's re-election caused a recognition that the U.S. role in the world was changing. He claims that Cardinal Prevost was on his own short list of papabili. Even so, when the white smoke appeared so quickly on the second day of the conclave, he assumed the winner was Cardinal Parolin, the Secretary of State, who had been widely seen as the frontrunner. But, when Cardinal Mamberti announced Prevost's name, Lamb's "previous feelings of deflation turned to excitement."

I too had heard Prevost's name mentioned prior to the conclave, but I still assumed that his American nationality would count against him. In fact, that very morning when someone had asked me if I thought there would be a new Pope that day and who it might be, I had answered that the only thing we could predict for certain was that it would not be an American! 

Of course, having been born in the USA is not the only noteworthy aspect of Pope Leo's background and life story. Lamb rightly highlights his membership in (and his leadership of) the Order of Saint Augustine and his missionary service in Peru - both as important aspects of who Leo is and as important considerations which made an American-born pope's election even possible. "He would not be pope were it not for the years he served in Peru, a time which profoundly shaped him and which brought him to the attention of Pope Francis." He was thus the "least American" of the American cardinals. His Augustinian identity, Lamb also argues, wrote "community, contemplative prayer and unity" into his "governing style," while his two terms as the Augustinians' Prior General had given him "insights into the growing churches of Africa and Asia, and experience of leading a complex, international Catholic community."

Lamb is also extremely preoccupied with demonstrating continuity between Pope Francis and Pope Leo - even while acknowledging Leo's "balance and moderation" and his desire to be "an expert listener and community builder," qualities that somewhat differentiate him from his more polarizing predecessor.  The author's emphasis on continuity, even while recognizing the ways in which Leo is temperamentally different from his predecessor, almost seems like a case of protesting too much. Also, given that Leo in certain respects represents the Global South as much as the U.S., Lamb devotes much more space than one would therefore expect to contentious first-world issues (like women's ordination, which Francis himself in continuity with his predecessors had rejected). 

Nonetheless, Leo's Americanness is an important theme of Lamb's analysis. He does not expect Leo to seek deliberate confrontation with Trumpism. "He is measured and careful with his language, and far less provocative than his predecessor." On the other hand, while Francis was easily criticized as someone who "simply did not know enough about the United States," that "cannot be said of an American pope."

Leo's papacy offers an alternative vision to the one emanating from the White House, a vision that is built on unity and spirituality and which is allergic to divisive rhetoric and polarization. Lamb quotes Fordham University's David Gibson: "While Leo's exposition of Catholic teachings will contradict many of Trump's policies and statements, it is Leo's character that stands in contrast to Trump, both as a Christian and as an American. ... This is about two diametrically opposed ways of being in the world."

Lamb contrasts Pope Leo not only with President Trump but also with the most prominent American Catholic layman, Vice President JD Vance, who was received into the Church in 2019 and claims his conversion was influenced by Saint Augustine. "JD Vance takes his faith seriously, and the story of his conversion, which he laid out in The Lamp magazine, reveals someone who has made a sincere engagement with the Catholic faith, and who wrestles with how to apply the teachings of Christianity in his life. Yet in the vice president of the United States, Leo also faces someone whose Catholic faith is tied to a political worldview." Vance is a "post-liberal," who "believes that society is better served by stronger communitarian and social bonds rather than by the autonomy of the individual." Such ideas resonate with some traditional Catholic teaching and in their more extreme form have become increasingly prominent in a revived ideology of Catholic integralism, an alternative which inevitably challenges the post-conciliar Catholic Church's apparent accommodation with liberal democracy.

Meanwhile, in his first Urbi et Orbi Easter Message a few days ago, Pope Leo issued a challenge which it would be hard not to understand. "We are growing accustomed to violence, resigning ourselves to it, and becoming indifferent. Indifferent to the deaths of thousands of people. Indifferent to the repercussions of hatred and division that conflicts sow. Indifferent to the economic and social consequences they produce, which we all feel." One of the most damaging consequences of our current politics is precisely how it has normalized violence, hatred, division, and the economic and social consequences of inequality and bigotry. The Pope's challenge is both perennial and contemporary: "let us abandon every desire for conflict, domination, and power, and implore the Lord to grant his peace to a world ravaged by wars and marked by a hatred and indifference that make us feel powerless in the face of evil." 

Lamb concludes American Hope with his worry about whether Pope Leo's "low-key style, his desire to see all sides of the argument, and his sometimes studious aversion to making news headlines, could be dangerous if it creates a perception of a papacy that has no clear narrative." He contrasts this with President Trump, whose "success is his uncanny ability to shape the narrative" and with Pope Francis, who "within hours of his election established a clear narrative for his papacy." Lamb worries Leo could cede the narrative to outside events as he believes happened with Pope Paul VI. 

There may be something to this argument. In contrast, however, I would suggest that Pope Leo's "low-key style," etc., may be among his great assets. Trump is bold. (So, in different ways, was Pope Francis.) The alternative to such Trumpian norm-shattering boldness that America and the world so desperately needs lies precisely in calm, balance, moderation, intelligent discourse, and - above all - empathy, all of which have already formed the basis for Pope Leo's counter-narrative. Lamb himself hints at this when he suggests that Leo "embodies the very qualities people hold up to be the best of America, at a moment when it's often said that the American President is undermining them."

The DayAfter

 

God raised this Jesus; of this we are all witnesses. So proclaimed Peter in the reading we just heard from the Acts of the Apostles. Every day for the next seven weeks - from Easter to Pentecost - the Church reads from the Acts of the Apostles, Luke's wonderful sequel to his Gospel. It is Luke's artful account of the experience of the very first Christians, the first ones to experience in their own lives the effects of Jesus' resurrection. Acts also recounts the early growth of the Church, as the good news of Jesus' resurrection spread from Jerusalem all the way to Rome.

During the 40 days of Lent, we identified ourselves with our catechumens preparing for baptism, renewing our own experience of conversion to Christ and his Church. Now, during these 50 days of Easter, we identify ourselves with the newly baptized, recalling the experience of the very first Christians, gathered like them into one Church by the power of the Risen Christ present among us.

(You surely noticed the reference in the Opening Prayer to the newly baptized. In ancient Christian Rome, this whole week was especially devoted to them. They wore their new white robes to Mass every day. On Saturday, back at the Lateran Basilica where they had been baptized, they removed and stored their white robes.Then next Sunday, at St. Pancras, they would appear for the first time in ordinary clothes.)

Yesterday, the Gospel reading proclaimed the discovery of an empty tomb. That was an essential but incomplete sign that God had done something new and wonderful in raising Jesus from the dead. The disciples needed to experience more, and so do we, which is why we need to hear this wonderful story of how the disciples were transformed from frightened followers of a dead man into Spirit-filled witnesses of Christ's resurrection.

We read and hear the resurrection’s effects on the disciples in the Gospel accounts of the Risen Lord's appearances and in the preaching witness of Saint Peter and others in the Acts of the Apostles. We rad and hear the resurrection’s effects on the world n people’s responses to the apostles’ amazing story and in how the story has since spread, in the dynamism at the heart of the Church’s existence that has propelled it outward in 2000 years of world-transforming activity.

Finally, the resurrection's effects become evident in us, transformed in mind and changed in heart, by the unique power of this utterly unexpected event, which has glorified (almost beyond recognition) the humanity Jesus shares with each of us, and which has brought us together in a way in which nothing else could have, empowering us (despite all the world's bad news that competes for our daily attention) not so much with new knowledge as with a new hope.  If, as the saying goes, “knowledge is power,” hope - Christian resurrection hope - is even more so!

Homily for Easter Monday, Saint Paul the Apostle Church NY, April 6, 2026.

American Religious Revival???

Holy Week was traditionally when newspapers and magazines tended to highlight religious news coverage. For obvious reasons coverage of religiious news has grown in recent years and has become increasingly year round. Still, Holy Week does tend to bring out some particularly thoughtful pieces. Among them, this year are two that I found especially interesting. Both appeared on the Tuesday of Holy Week (March 31).

In The Atlantic, staff writer Luis Parrales published "The Real Religious 'Renewal' Happening in Gen Z" [https://www.theatlantic.com/culture/2026/03/christian-revival-generation-z/686612/].

Parrales sets the scene by describing a weekly Sunday evening "Young Adults" session at the Dominican Friars' St. Joseph's Church in Manhattan's Greenwich Village. Weekly, some 150 young people, primarily ages 21-35, mostly young professionals attend these discussions, which appear as part of an apparent revival of religious interest among younger Americans. This Easter, according to Parrales, nearly 90 people are set to join the Catholic Church at St. Joseph's, another 70 at Old St. Patrick's Cathedral Basilica nearby, some 50 at Harvard's Catholic Center, about another 50 at Arizona State, 40 at the University of Michigan. Moreover, the numbers of those to be initiated into the Church at Easter seem to be up in many other parishes as well, as is Mass attendance - as is devotional life (e.g., Eucharistic adoration and contemplative forms of prayer like the Rosary). Certainly something is happening.

To counter the obvious optimism that these trends may invite, the author offers some sobering demographics. "Members of Gen Z are less likely than people in other generations to profess belief in God without doubts, for example, according to the 2024 General Social Survey. Gen Zers are also the least likely to attend religious services regularly and the most likely to never attend them. Many weren’t brought up religious, and many of those who were have left the faith. Only 28 percent of adults born in the 2000s to highly religious families remain highly religious, according to Pew. And despite the claim that Gen Z men are leading a resurgence in traditional Christianity, they in fact are simply leaving the Church at a slower rate than women are."

The worst statistic of all: "For every Catholic convert, for example, roughly eight Catholics leave the faith." And classic American revivals like the 18th and 19th century Great Awakenings emerged "in multiple places" and galvanized "a statistically significant portion of the population." On the other hand, "some of history's most consequential periods of religious renewal have been led by particular people in particular places, often not as representatives of a new common culture but as a committed counterculture."

Two things can be true at the same time. Christendom is not coming back - at least not anytime soon. Nor can the Christian cultural hegemony that characterized the U.S. from the Second Great Awakening more or less through the 1950s be expected to revive. On the other hand, the good news is still being preached and increasingly being heard by those disposed to do so. "Most Gen Zers may not have questions about Christianity or faith, but those who do are seeking answers."

The broader cultural question. is the subject of a very different piece by NY Times opinion columnist Ross Douthat, "Can Christianity Be Restored to the Center of American Life?" [https://www.nytimes.com/2026/03/31/opinion/religion-revival-america.html].

Anyone familiar with Douthat's work will know that the cultural role of religion in American society has long preoccupied him (cf. his earlier book, Bad Religion: How We Became a Nation of Heretics). Douthat's present concern in this article whether "a Christian center can be restored in American life." By that, he means "a set of religious beliefs and institutions that are embraced and respected in the broad middle of the country, cultivate a widely shared interpretation of the American story and operate effectively at the elite level, informing political conduct and intellectual arguments even among nonbelievers."

For Douthat, we once had such a religious center in the institutions of mainline Protestantism, which "went into steep and perhaps terminal decline" between the 1960s and the 1980s. Here he draws on political theorist Joshua Mitchell's argument ("Whither the Reformation in America?) that "the relationship between the Protestant tradition and the American idea" was founded on a "civilizational wager" that modeled modern American society on biblical Israel's "sense of divine mission and a covenantal relationship with God."

Of the possible successors to the old mainline Protestantism, Mitchell regarded evangelicalism "as fundamentally anti-worldly," and Catholicism "and the intellectual conservatism that it has ended up powerfully influencing" as too Old World. A third alternative, "the direct heir of the defunct Protestant establishment" is woke progressivism, which, however is. neither Protestant nor Christian anymore.

Based on Mitchell's generalizations, Douthat argues that to "lead and shape America, a religious tradition would need to be, first, worldly in the sense of relating in a serious way to a complex cultural and political and intellectual landscape where many people do not share its beliefs." Secondly, it would need to believe in an American "national mission and sacred destiny." Thirdly, it would need to be actually Christian.

He agrees that unworldly evangelicalism is insufficient "to form and shape an intellectual elite and to engage politically outside of Manichaean categories." Catholicism's insufficiency "is its still uncertain relationship to the American drama as a whole — not because most Catholics in the United States aren’t patriotic, but because a vision of America as a promised land and almost-chosen people still does not integrate easily with Catholic ideas and categories." (I might add that, as Catholicism become ever more associated with the global South and less with Europe and North America, that "relationship to the American drama as a whole" will likely become, if anything, even more, not less, uncertain.)

As for the third alternative, according to Douthat, "the insufficiency of woke post-Protestantism is that it believes in sin but not in God."

Thus, this Holy Week at least, neither author envisions a recovery of American Christendom. That said, an alternative model of a Great Awakening in an authentic but more modest, more intentional, more diasporic movement of grace can yet be detected among our not quite so secular almost chosen people.

Passover

 

The great Jewish holiday of Passover begins tonight. It was, of course to celebrate the Passover that Jesus and his disciples traveled to Jerusalem. Instead of sacrificing the Passover lamb in the Temple, however, Jesus offered himself as the Lamb of God on the Cross. In place of the Passover supper that he and his disciples never got to celebrate, he left us the eucharistic meal which is the central act of the Church's worship.

Passover possibly pre-dated Exodus as an ancient nomadic, pastoral, spring-time sacrifice, celebrated at the end of Nisan 14, on what would have been the brightest night of the month (the full moon). Roland de Vaux considered the possibility that this was the feast that the Israelites sought permission from Pharaoh to go to celebrate in the desert (cf. Exodus 5:1). That permission famously having been denied by Pharaoh, the ritual with its lamb and blood acquired a new meaning as a night of vigil, to bring them out of the land of Egypt ... a vigil to be kept for the Lord by all the Israelites throughout their generations. (Exodus 12:42). 

By Jesus' time, the sacrificial meal of the Passover festival had effectively been united with the  seven-day agricultural feast of Unleavened Bread (Nisan 15-21), which originally marked the beginning of the barley harvest. The week-long Unleavened Bread festival was long observed as one of Judaism's three great pilgrimage feasts. The combined Passover and Unleavened Bread feast gathered great crowds - including Jesus and his disciples - in Jerusalem. 

According to the Gospel of John (the Gospel that shows the. most knowledge of Jerusalem and Judaism and that has traditionally set the chronological tone for the Triduum), Jesus and his disciples celebrated a pre-Passover meal together ante diem festem (John 13:1). That meal we remember as the Last Supper, which soon became the ritual basis for the Christian Lord's Supper. According to John, Jesus, the Lamb of God, died late on Passover eve, the "Preparation Day," while the Passover lambs were being sacrificed in the Temple. Having identified Jesus' death with the sacrifice of the Paschal Lamb, the New Testament further identifies Jesus with the "first fruits," the sheaf of new grain which was to be ritually waived before the Lord either (interpretations vary) on the day after the first day of the Unleavened Bread or the day after the Sabbath during the feast of Unleavened Bread (Leviticus 23:11). Either way, according to John's chronology, that would have been Sunday, the day Christ the first fruits of those who have died was raised from the dead (1 Corinthians 15:20).

With the Roman destruction of the Temple in A.D. 70, the prescribed ritual sacrifices could no longer be performed - including the Passover sacrifice, which despite its domestic origins had long before become something to be done in Jerusalem. Accordingly, the Passover was transformed into a domestic family meal which could be celebrated anywhere - a ritual retelling of the Exodus story in a symbolic remembrance of the lost sacrificial meal. The Seder ("order") formatted the ritual into a non-sacrificial festive meal, incorporating a shank bone as a symbolic representation of the missing passover lamb. This is the festival meal which Jews throughout the world will celebrate tonight. 

The Passover seder serves as a joyful commemoration of the exodus from Egypt, a permanent recollection of Jewish liberation and the creation of the nation. At this problematic  juncture in our history, however, as anti-semitism increases worldwide on both ends of the political spectrum, it is also a sobering contemporary reminder of the ongoing challenge which that liberation and national creation entail. In every generation let all look on themselves as having personally come forth from Egypt, proclaims the Passover ritual. It was not only our ancestors, blessed be He, that the Holy One redeemed, but us as well did he redeem along with them. … In every generation they stand up against us to destroy us, and the Holy One, blessed be He, saves us from their hand.

Holy Week

 

Today's Gospel reading [John 12:1-11], symbolically set six days before the Passover and read today six days before Easter, provides us a unique introduction to Holy Week.

On his way to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover festival, Jesus visits his friends in Bethany, Lazarus, whom Jesus had raised from the dead, his sister Martha, who plays part of the mistress of the house, and their sister Mary, who took a liter of costly perfumed oil made from genuine aromatic nard and anointed the feet of Jesus and dried them with her hair. Such extravagant display naturally attracted attention and provoked criticism. But, just as Jesus would accept royal kingly honor from the crowds on Palm Sunday, so he accepted this extravagant display from his good friend Mary, giving it a longer-term significance: "Leave her alone. Let her keep this for the day of my burial."

As we enter this great week - since 1955 it is officially called hebdomada sancta (Holy week), but before that it was known as hebdomada major (the Greater Week) - as we enter this great and. holy week, the Church, like Mary at Bethany, spares no expense. she pulls out all the stops, so to speak, celebrating lavish ceremonies intended to appeal to all our senses, thus to highlight beyond any doubt the importance, the greatness, the. holiness of the events being remembered.

For Holy Week recalls not just some long ago historical occurrence. Just as Jesus died and was buried, so through the Church he invites us to die with him symbolically in the renewal of our own baptismal experience so as to rise with him in his and our eventual resurrection. Then as now, the great and. holy message of this week was not well received by the political powers of the time. Now as then, the great and. holy message of this week again poses a challenge to our world's commitments to power, domination, and control.

Homily for Monday of Holy Week, Saint Paul the Apostle, NY, March 30, 2026.

Palm Sunday

 

33 years ago, on my second day studying in Israel, my former novice director took me to the West Bank village of Aboud for the First Mass of a newly ordained local priest. We all gathered at the village boundary around an arch of palm branches and balloons, and waited there for the new priest’s entry into his hometown. As the procession began and all the villagers started shouting and waving palms in the air, my former novice director said: now you see what Palm Sunday looked like!

 

The Gospel [Matthew 21:1-11] which we read before our own Palm Sunday Procession tells us about Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem for the Passover holiday and his truly triumphal entry – minus the balloons but full of messianic symbolism – into the Holy City.  The rest of the story, which we have just heard [Matthew 26:14 – 27:66], reveals the next phase of that journey – to the cross and to the tomb, the eventually empty tomb of the Risen Christ.

 

All the Gospels agree that Jesus went to Jerusalem to observe the Passover, that ancient sacrificial feast that could only be celebrated in Jerusalem. Jerusalem is 2500 feet about sea level. So, Jesus literally went up to Jerusalem, which is always how that journey is described. Of course, in literally going up to Jerusalem, he was also symbolically going up to ascend his cross.

 

Normally I suppose Jesus probably travelled less obtrusively, but, on this occasion, he deliberately entered Jerusalem as a king coming into his capital, and he made sure his actions could be recognized as such in terms of Old Testament messianic prophecies. Certainly, the pilgrims, who accompanied Jesus and entered the city at the same time he did, sensed this. Hence, their acclamation: Hosanna to the Son of David; blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord; hosanna in the highest.

Revealingly, the Church has since adopted their words of expectation and acclamation. At every Mass, we likewise say, Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest.

 

That should remind us that Palm Sunday is not just some long ago historical occurrence. Just as Jesus entered Jerusalem, so he comes to us again in the eucharistic sacrifice, which recalls his cross and eventual resurrection -  and invites us to hope for ours as well. Then as now, the message of Palm Sunday, the message of Christ the King's royal entry into our world was not well received by the political powers of the time. Now as then, the message of Christ the King's royal entry into our world again poses a challenge to our world's commitments to power, domination, and control.

 

Jesus’ cross constitutes God’s great act of solidarity with us in our human world of day-to-day suffering and our final mortality.

 

On the cross, Jesus confronted the power of evil in the world. Having done so, he invites us this week to accompany him to his eventually empty tomb – because, thanks to the cross of Christ, death no longer has the final word in our world.

 

Homily for Palm Sunday, Saint Paul the Apostle Church, March 29, 2026.

 

78

 

Old men ought to be explorers                                                                                                  

Here and there does not matter                                                                                                    

We must be still and still moving                                                                                                

Into another intensity                                                                                                                

For a further union, a deeper communion                                                                                  

(T.S. Elliot, Four Quartets, "East Coker," V).                                                                            

Birthdays come predictably, on schedule, year after year - until, of course, they simply stop coming.  With each increasing year, the number of birthdays to be celebrated in the future inevitably becomes fewer, which to my mind makes each presently occurring birthday so much more precious, to be cherished that much more.

Today, I celebrate the completion of 78 years on this planet, 78 years of life lived more or less well, more or less interestingly, more or less faithfully and devoutly, a "Boomer" both technically and truly. 

At my age, I suppose, one ought to be profoundly grateful just for having made it thus far - grateful for antibiotics and vaccines and the multitude of modern marvels that have made longer, healthier, and easier lives possible and even probable. Of course, the history of progress has been mixed. I am inclined to agree with Stefan Zweig, who famously wrote in The World of Yesterday, "Never until our time has mankind acted so diabolically, or made such almost divine progress."

That said, I am admittedly of an age when the personal takes precedence over the political. Like so many of my contemporaries, I increasingly feel I cannot do all of the things that I used to do, and I can no longer confidently aspire to have the opportunity to do so many of the other things that I might still wish to do - or that maybe that I would wish I had done but that I never quite got the chance to do. (I often think of that lovely line in the Anglican General Confession: We have left undone those things which we ought to have done.) Health is relative, of course, and lifestyle limitations vary from the extreme to relatively modest, but anyone can safely predict that, at this age, opportunities diminish and choices increasingly narrow, as does whatever confidence one still has in one's future possibilities.

There is a plus side to all that, which is a certain simplicity and the freedom that comes with that. Life is surely simpler when one has less to do. (Unfortunately, it may also be more boring!) It is always better by far to have purpose and remain active. There is, however, certainly some comfort in not having to care anymore about  everything - and certainly not about some things. In a public-facing vocation, one's appearance obviously matters a lot. Things like clothes and style matter much less, however, when one's age automatically makes one both less interesting and less noticed. Simplicity brings with it a certain freedom. How much freedom may inevitably vary from person to person. There is, for example, freedom from the imperious demands of contemporary technology. I have a smartphone, and I use the internet (both probably more than I need to). But age frees me from needing too much more. It frees me in regard to how much technology I am actually required to be mastered by. So I don't do Tic Toc. I don't create videos. I don't keep up with the latest AI innovations. I just don't need to do any of that, which, maybe if I were younger, I might feel much more compulsion to do. In that simpler life, there is some real freedom.

Aging also encourages empathy. In years past, perhaps I might have felt impatience when, for example, a bus was delayed by a handicapped person getting on or off. Of course, I was too well brought up to show any external sign of such selfish feelings, but inwardly I could and did feel impatient at being delayed. Now I not only feel no inner resentment at being delayed, I increasingly don't worry at all about the time it takes to get from place to place!

Unavoidably, of course, aging goes in only one direction. Diminishment goes in only one direction. Everyone inevitably must face the increasing closeness of the end. What one sees and observes on a birthday is the passing of another year. What one feels - and fears - is the inevitable passing of oneself. Who wants to end?  What did the Prophet Isaiah say? We have all withered like leaves, and our guilt carries us away like the wind [Isaiah 64:6].

Of course, faith gives life's inevitable end a meaning it wouldn't otherwise have. But it also uniquely injects its own anxieties. What did Isaac Hecker say? There was once a priest who had been very active for God, until at last God gave him a knowledge of the Divine Majesty. After seeing the majesty of God that priest felt very strange and was much humbled, and knew how little a thing he was in comparison with God [Quoted in Walter Elliott, Life of father Hecker (1891)].

When confronted with such sobering considerations, I just fall back on trust in that old medieval axiom, Facienti quod in se est, Deus non denegat gratiam (To one who does what is in his power, God does not deny grace.)

As for the inevitable regrets about opportunities missed and friendships lost over the years, I find myself also increasingly attracted by the notion of an eternity of mutual forgiveness. There is a famous homily by Saint Fulgentius of Ruspe that we read very year in the Office on the feast of Saint Stephen about the eternal reconciliation between the martyr Stephen and his persecutor Paul,  in which he imagines how  "love fills them both with joy." When one recalls one's many mistakes in life, an eternity of mutual forgiveness seems increasingly appealing!

Equally appealing is the idea that it has all already begun.

As the Jesuit John Lafarge famously observed some six decades ago: "When it's all over and we look back at our old age as we now look back at our earlier life, we may apply these same words [Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! (Luke 24:25).] to ourselves and wonder why it was that we did not see the risen life already operating with us during the hours of darkness or suffering. The moments when that life was most evident were those when we imparted a bit of it, through love, to our neighbor. In those moments, we are joined, as it were, with the countless people in God's Kingdom who are lighting the torch of the resurrection." [The Precious Gift of Old Age (Doubleday, 1963; Sophia Institute Press, 2022] .

Risky Business

War is always a risky business. This is so not just in the obvious, literal sense that war risks the lives of its participants - soldiers and civilians alike. War is risky also in the broader sense that it inevitably disrupts the way things have been so far and are right now - and so renders the future that much more unpredictable. Governments and their militaries routinely make war plans, but war overwhelms routine, releases uncontrollable forces, and results in unpredictable events. 

In 1914 Europeans famously embraced war with an unexpected enthusiasm that in retrospect highlights how ignorant they were of what unexpected and uncontrollable calamities the war would bring. "A quick excursion into the realms of romance, a bold and virile adventure - that was how the ordinary man imagined war in 1914," recalled Stefan Zweig in his famous memoir, The World of Yesterday. After decades of illusory peace, perhaps our early 20th-century predecessors might be forgiven for not knowing what lay ahead, for not recognizing how unpredictably out of control their world had suddenly become. Perhaps. But, if so, what is our excuse? Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq - the most notable and prolonged wars of my lifetime - all unleashed consequences utterly unexpected and uncontrollable.

A lot of serious planning and preparation went into those "forever wars." Public support was sought domestically, and allies and coalitions were pursued internationally. Even so, those wars ended badly for us, in ways no one would have predicted at their outset.

Some wars do end well, of course, and the risks war entails may be necessary and justified. But that is an outcome that can never be taken completely for granted.  Yet, for some inexplicable reason - actually not quite so inexplicable - we tend to act as if we did not know this basic historical fact, and we instead expect to conduct our wars according to plan and to win on schedule. Again, Stefan Zweig's take on the European situation in 1914 appears perennially instructive: "How we all loved our time, a time that carried us forward on its wings; how we all loved Europe. But that overconfident faith in the future, we were sure, would avert madness at the last minute, was also our own fault. We had certainly failed to look at the writing on the wall with enough distrust."

All of which brings us to our present predicament. The constitutional imperative to consult with Congress, the political imperative to persuade public opinion in the nation and earn popular support, the diplomatic imperative to work with allies and create coalitions - none of these guarantee success, as evidenced by the unfortunate outcomes of the "forever wars" of the post-World War II world; but they do impose important restraints, without which the situation becomes even more unpredictable and uncontrollable, which is where we seem to be right now.

Revolutions almost invariably result in something way worse than what was overthrown. The great modern examples are obviously the French Revolution, the Russian Revolution, and the 1979 Iranian Revolution. That last revolution produced a spectacularly oppressive society which (like those other revolutions) has destabilized and threatened the region around it. There is nothing good to be said about the Iranian regime, and its diminishment would likely be a great benefit to both the Middle East and the wider world. But not every evil has a ready solution. It has never been clear how to solve the many problems posed by Iran's malice and belligerence without inducing all sorts of unintended problematic consequences for Iran itself, for the region, and for the world. Presumably this is why, for 47 years, the United States has resisted the temptation to attack Iran militarily.

Speaking on foreign policy to the House of Representatives on July 4, 1821, John Quincy Adams famously said that the U.S. "goes not abroad, in search of monsters to destroy." That appears to have been a wise policy in regard to Iran these past 47 years, which it might well have been wise to continue. 

Instead - without the constitutionally required congressional consultation (let alone any congressional authorization), and without convincing the country or our allies to support the effort, and ignoring all the lessons of recent experience - the U.S. has once again gone "abroad, in search of monsters to destroy." Iran may - or, more likely, may not - be destroyed. Its power will probably be significantly diminished, which is all to the good. But what else will be destroyed or damaged in the process?

The ripple effect of this conflict on the global oil market is but one tangible example of the damage that has been done. The damage is not just higher energy prices, which. for example, in turn enriches Russia, which further advantages Russia in its aggression against Ukraine, which further threatens the rest of Europe. (One positive lesson we might take from this sobering experience would be to reduce our dependence on fossil fuels. Experience, however suggests we will not in fact learn that lesson, no matter how obvious it may be.)

Domestically, the war against Iran is also so wildly inconsistent not only with the wishes of most Americans but even those of at least some of the President's core "America First" supporters. Many of them can undoubtedly be counted on to revise their views so as to continue to support the President, but at least some of them seem to recognize how diametrically opposed this policy is to their expectations from the last election and are willing to express their disappointment. Meanwhile, this war further threatens our foreign alliances - already destabilized by whimsical tariffs, gratuitous insults, and the unprecedented threat to attack and annex the territory of a faithful European ally.

Moreover, because wars are such risky activities that easily unleash unexpected and uncontrollable consequences, even were the President to declare victory and turn his attention back to redecorating the White House, the world would remain seriously unsettled. The war itself could continue, for (as has been said) once one goes to war the enemy also gets a vote on its outcome. In any case, our country, our economy, our politics would all also remain unsettled, as they already have been by this risky presidential adventure.

In 1855, Britain's Queen Victoria supposedly warned King Victor Emmanuel II, the founding King of modern Italy, that kings must be sure that their wars are just, for they will have to answer for them.

Spring

 

The spring equinox occurs today at 10:46 a.m. Of course, the nights have been getting shorter and the days growing longer in the northern hemisphere for months now (since right after Christmas actually).Theoretically, they are equal in length today all over the world.

But longer days are just one aspect of spring - and by no means the most striking. After one of the coldest winters in recent years, the first change one notices is the warmer temperatures. Over a week ago already the temperatures suddenly climbed into the 70s and even hit 80 - summer-seeming days in late winter. But then it got colder again (even as the West Coast is enduring excessively high, summer-like temperatures); and, of course, the temperatures here will likely see-saw up and down between now and summer. Yet the trajectory of the mercury is unmistakable.

With warmer weather suddenly comes the rebirth of the natural world, the greening of the city that so recently was all white with a covering of snow. The truest, most telling signs of spring are, of course, the green shoots rising up out of the earth and the colorful buds suddenly appearing on the trees. Sadly, spring flowers activate allergies, but they are beautiful nonetheless. Sadly too they last only a while, as spring inevitably will give way to the enervating and oppressive heat of summer.

Seasonal changes of clothes were more important and more ritualized when I was growing up. People wore "spring coats" in the spring. But then spring seemed to last longer as a real season - not the short interval it increasingly appears to have become between the extreme cold of winter and the extreme heat of summer. That said, the green shoots rising up out of the earth and the colorful buds suddenly appearing on the trees invite us to appreciate their uniqueness, however brief.

An Italian Way of Being Human

 

Because my Sicilian-speaking maternal grandmother lived with us in our Bronx apartment until her death (when I was 19) and because my mother's brother and sisters had all been Italian-born, I was well acquainted growing up with my Italian heritage on my mother's side. In contrast, my father and his sisters, while all also children of immigrants, had all been born in New York, and my father's parents were both dead before I was born. So I knew next to nothing about that side of the family's Italian experience, only that they had all grown up in Italian Harlem. I can clearly remember, when I was very young, taking the Jerome Avenue train to 125th Street to visit the one aunt who still lived on Second Avenue and 124th Street, near the Triborough Bridge, but she too soon joined her sisters in the East Bronx, and that was the end of my acquaintance with Italian Harlem. (Before moving to the West Bronx during World War II, my mother had grown up in lower Manhattan's "Little Italy." When she met my father, that was her first awareness of Italian Harlem.)

So it was with special interest - and a desire to connect with a family past that I never fully experienced - that I finally read Robert Anthony Orsi's The Madonna of 115th Stree: Faith and Community in Italian Harlem, 1880-1950 (Yale University Press, 1985). Orsi studies East Harlem's Italian immigrant community and its "popular religion," through the annual festa of Our Lady of Mount Carmel. (Although Italian Harlem was unknown to me, I was personally quite familiar with the Bronx version of that festa. La Madonna del Monte Carmelo was my mother's patronal feast, and every July 16 we went to the Italian Our Lady of Mount Carmel Church on Arthur Avenue, where we attended Pontifical Mass in the morning and returned for the outdoor procession - and Italian ices - in the evening. But we attended as spectators who lived a mile or more away, not as members of the local community.)

Indeed, reading Orsi's book has highlighted for me how Americanized, how assimilated, we were in our largely Irish-Catholic corner of the West Bronx, despite speaking Sicilian dialect at home with my grandmother and listening to the Italian radio station with her. Yes, we had a strong sense of family and prioritized time with my aunts, uncles, and cousins, most of whom lived nearby and whom we saw regularly - not just on holidays but on most weekends and throughout the summer vacation season, when we frequented Orchard Beach and various picnic sites. We also visited our deceased relatives in the cemetery, another important feature of the Italian-American way of maintaining traditional connections in a decreasingly traditional world. But, while we shared the extended-family centered lifestyle which Orsi describes in such detail (using the Latin word "domus") with its many life-enhancing satisfactions (and also some of its more negative repressive features), we did so as Americans, very much at home in the U.S., and feeling much less bound by old-world expectations, even while preserving and cherishing some of them.

Orsi describes a much more total society, an almost enclosed community, through various stages of its history and the challenges Italian immigrants experienced not only to maintain their distinctive traditions but to achieve respect in a sometimes very hostile American and American Catholic world. Orsi's "informants in Italian-Harlem continually made a distinction between religion and church." The immigrants' ambivalent relationship with the Church  had its origins in la miseria of the Italian mezzogiorno. But it was exacerbated by the attitudes they encountered in America, in particular "resentment by New York City's Irish Catholics, lay and clerical, of their Italian neighbors so fierce as to constitute a Catholic nativism." 

Obviously, the travails of Italian immigrants at the hands of the local Church establishment did not go unnoticed in Rome. "The American Catholic hierarchy had offended [Pope} Leo [XIII] in the early 1880s by suggesting that Italian immigrants came as pagans to the United States." Orsi suggests that the subsequent Americanism crisis was in part connected with Rome's sensitivity to the American Church's ethnic conflicts (Irish vs. German-Americans, as well as Irish vs. Italian-Americans). The American situation also served the Papacy's interests in its ongoing battle with upstart kingdom of Italy. The Pope's "concern for the immigrants provided him both with an opportunity to demonstrate that the Vatican cared about the Italian people and with a chance to embarrass the government in Rome by showing that it cared for them more than the government did."

The chapters on family life in the Italian ghetto are richly descriptive and, from today's perspective, may seem both nostalgic and challenging - for subsequent generations must inevitably miss much about the richly textured familial way of life described, but also likely experience some relief at having been liberated from its intensity by assimilation. At the same time, the Italian immigrants' sharp critique of the very different values of the surrounding society may still speak today as we struggle with a kind and degree of familial and social breakdown that it would have been very hard for our immigrants predecessors to have fully anticipated.

There is so much richness in this book, which tackles so many disparate aspects of the immigrant generation's experience and that of the subsequent generations. We read about everything from why the Italians distrusted diocesan priests, but felt more positive about religious order priests and even more so about religious Sisters. We read about their ambivalence about crime. And we get insights into the political successes and significance of famous Italian-American politicians like Fiorello LaGuardia and Vito Marcantonio.

 

In his conclusion, Orsi recognizes how "The Italians brought an ancient religious heritage to the community along the East River; and the American Catholics of the downtown Church, dazzled by the prospects of success at last in the United States and embarrassed by this Mediterranean spirituality spilling onto the streets and into the awareness of Americans, might have learned from listening to the voices of the streets."

Hollywood's Happy Night

 

Hollywood's infamous Motion Picture Academy performed its annual celebration of itself, otherwise known as the 98th Academy Awards last evening (already dark night for those of us in the Eastern Time Zone).

Going into the evening, the big question for many was whether Sinners or One Battle After Another would claim Best Picture. One Battle After Another (which I had seen) had already won top prizes from the Golden Globes, Directors Guild of America, and BAFTA. Meanwhile, Sinners (which I had not seen) was setting a new record for the most Oscar nominations in a single year. It also won the Screen Actors Guild’s Best Cast award. So - something which is not always the case - there was a really clear competition for the biggest prize. If nothing else that may have created an incentive for more viewers to watch and to put up with the inevitable interminable boredom of the show to stay up to see which movie would win. At least it did that for me.

The declining popular audience for the Academy Awards and the Academy's desperate desire for a larger global audience may be one of the factors contributing to the decision to end the Academy's 50-year relationship with ABC and depart from broadcast TV to switch to an exclusive streaming model on YouTube in 2029. Host Conan O'Brien even tried to squeeze a comic routine out of that otherwise sad fact. While he performed creditably, I was left wondering once again whether the host is really necessary and how much quality - as opposed to wasted precious time - a comic host adds to the show.

The show did seem preoccupied with ending earlier - even to the point of occasionally cutting off some of the inevitable oversharing that passes for thank yous. Overly rich, overly entitled performers and their crews and "teams" have multiple opportunities to flaunt themselves. They need not be awarded so much of the general public's time!

In relatively good taste was the Memorial to the Fallen Artists of the past year, highlighting especially Rob Reiner, Diane Keaton, and Robert Redford. I appreciated Barbara Streisand's contribution about Robert Redford.

Inevitably, much of the evening played out as a competition between the two front-running movies, as each picked up its share of awards, while some others, e.g. Frankenstein did well along the way. In that department, I was really pleased to see Irish actress Jessie Buckley win for Hamnet.

Thomas Paul Anderson got to go up three times, which may have been a hint. Anyway, after hours of tedious preparation, One Battle After Another, with its superstar performances and quasi-contemporary themes, finally won Best Picture, producing applause on my part that a film I had actually seen had won for a change!

Apart from one unfortunate Free Palestine murmur, the politics of the evening was satisfactorily subdued. Jimmy Kimmel couldn't resist poking at some unnamed Voldemort and his wife. His best - and best received - such line was his probably his taking aim at CBS, lumped into the same category as North Korea.

All in all - for all its over-written length, its unflattering acts of self-promotion, its tiresome commercials for Rolexes and pharmaceuticals, and some seriously poor outfit choices - it proved to be a surprisingly good show - unexpectedly fit for purpose within the constraints of broadcast TV. I guess that Hegel's owl of Minerva is once again taking flight at dusk!