Fr. Bob Loughery, C.S.C.

Palm Sunday

2010-03-26T08:10:00.000-07:00

Traditionally, in this archdiocese, the celebration of the Chrism Mass takes place on the Monday of Holy Week. The Mass is an annual event, when the laity and priests gather for prayer with the Archbishop at the cathedral for the consecration and blessing of the oils to be used in the archdiocese through the year—the Sacred Chrism, the Oil of the Sick, and the Oil of the Catechumens. It is also the occasion when the priests renew their vows made at ordination.

In many diocese, the Chrism Mass is celebrated on Holy Thursday, usually in the morning, to distinguish itself apart from the Mass of the Lord's Supper celebrated later in the day, yet in proximity to it, to bridge the ritual action of the sacraments and the ministry of the priests called to preside at the sacramental celebrations of the Church, especially the Eucharist.

There are two symbols of the Chrism Mass I find very meaningful. The first is seeing those carrying the vessels of oils to the archbishop for the blessing, especially those who carry the oils for the sick. These folks are often woman religious, nurses, doctors, hospital chaplains, and others who represent the health care profession. In them I see the presence of Christ and his healing work, living their faith as professionals in the our health care institutions.

As a parish, we are especially mindful of the need for healing in people's lives, and we welcome the grace of Christ's healing presence in our community when we celebrate the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick. Our new ambry, displaying the three vessels of oils, are a visual reminder of Christ's presence in the sacraments. We are reminded that we too are vessels of God's grace.

The other symbol I find very meaningful for me personally is being with my bother priests, and of being surrounded by the people of the Church, who watch and listen as we humbly renew our vows, promising that we may always be faithful servants for them, that we will always hold them, their life of faith in Christ, at the center of our prayer and awareness.

Holy Week is a time when I am aware of the grace and gift of the Sacrament of Holy Orders. As a priest, I understand my primary role as one called to preside at prayer for the community, especially when we gather for the Eucharist. I am asked to proclaim and preach the Gospel. I support and encourage folks in living their faith and seeking growth in their spiritual life. I visit the sick and dying, bringing the healing prayers and love of the community to their bedside. On behalf of the community, I offer God's absolution to those seeking forgiveness and spiritual renewal.

I am nearly 21 years ordained a priest. As a priest I have often prayed with the words Jesus spoke to his disciples before he died, “I have told you this so that my joy might be in you and your joy might be complete.” (John 15:11) I would say that his joy has marked my years as a priest, and it is my hope that his joy will remain with me in the years ahead.

Robert Griffin, C.S.C., in his book, In the Kingdom of the Lonely God, wrote a reflection on his priesthood, words that resonate for me. “Ordination, like other sacraments of the Christian life, is an anointing of the energies with grace, so that holiness is imposed upon the profane, and our aliveness in heart and mind bears witness to the reality of the Christ-life in all its human and divine implications.” And later he writes, “...my life has no meaning except in terms of the people to whom I offer my ministry.” At a time when we are hearing more news of abuse by priests in Europe, and are angered by the sin of corrupted power, Bob Griffin's words are like oil rubbed on the skin to heal, restoring life by the humble admission of unworthiness, and yet gratitude for a divine calling.

During this Holy Week, we are mindful that all of us are baptized into the priesthood of Christ. We offer our lives in prayerful and humble service of his Kingdom, our lives and energies anointed with his grace.

Fifth Sunday of Lent

2010-03-13T10:00:00.000-08:00

There are times when I feel a longing for times past and of memories of family and friends. I have shared before of memories of the home where I grew up and of my mom's plans to move from her home. Next week she moves from her home where she has lived for forty-two years into my brother's new home. When I was back in Indianapolis in January and stayed at mom's, being that I am the kind who experiences moments of nostalgia, I made the point that the night before I returned to Portland I would have my “last supper” in the home where I grew up, sharing this last meal with my mom and my brother, Frank. We also gathered the next morning, the day I left to come back to Portland, to celebrate the last home mass. I typically say mass when I am home, so for this mass I composed a prayer I said at the end, thanking God for the home that was shelter and comfort for our family, blessing it one last time.

I ask my mom how she is feeling about moving and she says she tires not to think about it too much. It will be a loss to leave a place that has been home for so many years. Yet, I trust the move to my brother's new home will be okay, and will soon feel like home. He has built a large kitchen, lots of counter space and modern appliances, and Mom likes to cook and bake, so I have a feeling she will enjoy that a lot.

When we visit our past we may feel comfort in the nostalgia of memories, and maybe even gratitude, for what has been. Yet, when we look at the present and the future before us, we may also feel grateful, and hopeful. We have moved on from our past, even our losses.

But often, in our spiritual lives, we have a sense that some things of the past are not resolved and reconciled, experiences that have no closure, and we are uncertain about a better, more hopeful future. We can be stuck in the past, with our hurts, sins, failings, betrayals, losses, and regrets holding us down, keeping us from living in the present with a spiritual freedom, and from moving into the future with hope.

The readings today are about the past and the future. St. Paul speaks of just one thing, “forgetting what lies behind but straining forward to what lies ahead...” Isaiah writes, “Remember not the events of the past...see I am doing something new.” And in the gospel, the woman caught in adultery, and the crowd ready to stone her, both have to contend with the past and what they will do in the future--for the woman, to turn away from sin; for the crowd, to recognize their past sins and whether to reform their lives.

On these Wednesdays of March, we have been gathering for a series of talks about the Sacrament of Reconciliation. One of the things we understand about the Sacrament is that it is meant to help us reconcile our past so that we can experience God’s grace in our lives now and in the future. For many, the inability to find God's peace to heal the past keeps us from living fully our lives with God in the present, and confidence about where God's love is leading us into the future.

Recently, a celebrity, speaking about her past of sexual abuse, said, “It's not that heavy to carry.” So she doesn't carry the hurt and anger and betrayal; nothing would diminish her spirit and keep her from living her life. Though a victim, she somehow made peace with the past and is able to live as fully as she was able in the present, and with confidence about the future.

Sometimes, remembering the past can make us feel hurt all over again, and we don't know how we are going to heal. Yet, God's desire is for our well being and peace. God loves us. God heals us. During this season of Lent, we seek the love and healing of God, moving from the past, moving towards the future, with hope. Even our losses can heal, and we can be optimistic about the path ahead. The words of today's psalm speak of God’s abundant mercy, “The Lord has done great things for us; we are filled with joy.”

Fourth Sunday of Lent

2010-03-08T20:12:00.001-08:00

As many of you know, every Friday night we offer food and hospitality to our neighbors and guests at our Br. Andre Cafe. There are many folks who help prepare for the weekly event—our own parishioners, as well as folks from Holy Redeemer, Ascension, and Christ the King parishes, and members of the Portland Notre Dame Alumni Club. There are sandwich makers and soup chefs. While the cafe is open, we have our coffee server, runner, and kitchen crew who faithfully serve every week. We have folks who serve soup and those who are doing “sidewalk ministry” visiting our guests. We have our regular guests who join us every week for soup and social time. The cafe offers a blending of ministry and social engagement, of serving food and hospitality, of community and one-on-one interactions, of faith and works.

Every Friday I am reminded why we do this. Above the chairs we set up for the cafe, lining the wall along our building, is our plaque with the inscription from the gospel of Matthew, “For when I was hungry you fed me, when I was thirsty you gave me a drink, a stranger and you welcomed me.” We strive to put these words of Jesus into action for they remind us of Christ's presence in others, especially the poor.

Yet, I believe there are other reasons we do this. These are reasons of the heart. We are moved by a spirit of compassion for people. We have learned compassion because our own lives have been exposed and vulnerable to God's love and mercy. We have been humbled and changed in our encounter with God, the God made flesh in Jesus. We take this experience of the divine and recreate it again and again in our words and actions, doing as Jesus taught, “Love one another as I have loved you.” Ours is a faith shown by our compassion. At the cafe, we see similarities instead of differences, we show acceptance rather than make judgments, we serve others from a place of humility rather from a place of strength.

Today's gospel reveals in story and image the truth of the human condition and of God's grace--of the deeper hunger of the soul that never seems to go away, and of the compassion of God that has no limit. As I reflect on this familiar parable, and its meaning in the context of this season of Lent, I think about the son's hunger and the father's compassion. In the son we see our own hunger—not only for food, but for love, understanding, healing, strength, and peace as well. Like the son, we place our hunger before the one who shows us compassion. The parable offers us an image of our own selves as we stand before God. During Lent we seek God's forgiveness for our sins, for God's help in time of need, for God's love to fill us. But the parable also teaches us to show compassion. Our encounter with God has brought us comfort and peace. Likewise, we offer compassion to others who seek the same things we do, who have the same hunger as ours, who long to know they are loved as we are loved.

I think of our Br. Andre cafe and believe the meaning and message from today's parable seem to be embodied in each bowl of soup served, each cup of coffee offered, every pot scrubbed, every conversation shared on Friday nights—the hunger to be shown compassion and the desire to offer it.

Third Sunday of Lent

2010-03-08T20:03:00.000-08:00

The season of Lent has many dimensions. As Lent approaches, the first thing that comes to mind for many of us is to decide what we are going to give up. The origins of this practice of giving up things may be associated with the Lenten call to fast. But the idea of giving up things is so that we might be changed, not to prove our ability to show self-discipline, but to be open to mystery, to a new self-awareness, to a new freedom, to our liberation from patterns of sin.

“Turn away from sin and be faithful to the Gospel.” With these words we start Lent. They speak best of the meaning of Lent and the call to conversion, the call to amend our lives, to seek God's forgiveness and healing, to live faith better.

It would be more helpful to our spiritual lives to approach Lent as a time for hope rather than trial, for trust rather than judgment, for renewal rather than endurance. Certainly, we do benefit spiritually from acts of self-denial, if that means we are better loving, from efforts to be self-disciplined, if that means we are more mindful of others, from resolutions to get along with less, if that means we are more generous. Lent does lead us to the Cross and a dying to self. But, Lent leaves us at our dying; Easter takes us up at our rising, living anew. Lent is our Spring and the promise of new life.

Today's gospel offers a useful image, a parable, as we seek to live the spirit of this season of renewal. The image of fig tree is offered as something that has life, but has shown no signs of what is its purpose, a plant meant to bear fruit. As the parable relates, It had been three years and no signs of fruit, not even a bud or blossom. It shows none of its God-given potential. The owner of the orchard is ready to cut it down, but the gardener, who it seems has now noticed the tree and its need for better care, promises to cultivate the ground around the tree and fertilize it. I trust the tree had a better chance of thriving and producing fruit now that it was given better attention by the gardener.

It seems it is the same way for us. Lent offers us the opportunity to cultivate and fertilize--not gardens, but our interior life, our faith life, our spirits. Like the fig tree in the gospel, our lives can appear in places to be absent of the fruit of hope, faith, and love, of those virtues that give our lives meaning and purpose. We need to do some cultivating, turning over the ground, looking inside our souls where we need God's healing grace. We throw down some fertilizer, some food, nurturing our lives in the spiritual practices of Lent—prayer, fasting, and almsgiving—and finding God's comfort and strength.

The first reading from the Book of Exodus gives us a place to start, like the place where Moses, standing on the mountain of God, is made aware that he is on holy ground. We make our Lent holy ground. Like Moses, it is from this holy place where we stand that we recognize the presence of the God who knows well our sufferings and afflictions, who can saves us from our sins, who will lead us from the cross of death to the garden of life.

Here at the parish, we have begun a series of talks on the Sacrament of Reconciliation, with the intention of deepening our understanding of the sacrament and its meaning for our spiritual life and ongoing renewal. Perhaps we can see how the sacrament can give us firmer footing as we stand on the holy ground of Lent. We find the ground of God's love, revealed in the offering of forgiveness and in the receiving of grace. This grace is like the cultivating and fertilizing that makes the tree bear fruit, in other words, the grace that can transform our lives. We can change. We can be more the image and likeness of Christ.

First Sunday of Lent

2010-02-22T07:21:00.000-08:00

When we look closely at our icon, Christ the Healer, we see, in very small but clear detail, darkened images of demons rising above the head of Mary Magdeline, spinning away towards empty space. The images represent the seven demons Jesus cast from her. She holds a vessel containing the oil used for the anointing of the sick, a symbol of healing, and, as the one receiving the vessel of oil, of Mary's faith in Christ, her healer.

The images of the demons are almost invisible. The figure of Christ holds our attention and focus, his powerful healing presence capturing our imagination, our hearts moved with contemplative devotion. The demons seem insignificant in the larger composition, yet they are there, but in crisis. Contrast the disarray and chaos of the demons with Mary, her face very much at peace, her posture restful. As we pray with the icon, its message seems clear. We are to have trust, trust in Christ to heal us, and to have faith, faith in Christ who casts out all that does us harm and strips us of our dignity—demons, temptations, sins, and fears.

People in recovery will use language referring to “their demons” during their work of rehabilitation. They face their demons as they do a moral inventory and begin the path of recovery, turning from a life of self-centeredness, beginning the process of healing, and humbly acknowledging their dependence on God.

It is pretty certain, that at some point in life, all of us have to look at our “demons”. We face the painful truth how some of our actions, or some habitual behavior, are sinful. We turn to God to find forgiveness, healing, and the strength to amend our lives.

Returning to our icon. The presence of Christ and his healing power diminishes any sin, scatters any demon, brings peace to any soul who turns to him with trust and faith. As St. Paul writes in today's second reading, “...for if you confess with your mouth that Jesus is Lord and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.” Christ forgives our sins and opens the way for us to live anew. Our guilt is changed to hope. Christ grants us the grace we need to be changed. We ponder again the words we heard this past Wednesday, as ashes were rubbed on our foreheads, “Turn away from sin and be faithful to the gospel.” Through the season of Lent, we look both at our demons and at Christ, both at our guilt and our hope. Lent is our opportunity to live with hope.

As we begin the season of Lent, how can we be spiritually nurtured? Of course, we are called to fast, pray, and give alms as a way to find spiritual renewal. The language we use during Lent is not usually about nurturing but more about giving up and abstaining. Yet, all three of todays readings refer to things that nurture—the people of Israel offering to God a basket of produce from the land; St. Paul implies in his letter being fed with the Word; the first of the temptations of Jesus is to eat after many days without food. All three readings point, even if indirectly, to God as the source of all that nourishes us.

Heard in the context of our liturgy, we see the connections with the Eucharist. During Lent, we seek the simplicity of things to nurture us, beginning with simple gifts of bread and wine we share in the Eucharist. We begin with Christ, and find the one who nourishes us, heals us, and leads us into this Springtime of our Church and the renewal of our lives.

Love never fails

2010-02-09T02:05:00.000-08:00

Recently, while getting up dated on family and events, I learned that my niece, Chrissie, who is a senior in high school, plans on studying nursing in college. I was pleased to hear of her interest in nursing.

I lived near Chrissie most of her first nine years of life. I lived about ten miles from my sister and her husband, Chrissie's parents, when I lived in the Bay area, so got to know Chrissie pretty well. Then they moved to Atlanta, and I moved to Portland about the same time. So, it has been nine years since then, and I haven't been as close in proximity to my niece to see changes going on in her life. She is growing up and looking at her future, which appears to be calling her to the profession of nursing. She is moving from teen to young adult, and trying to figure out what she wants to be, what she wants to do with her life. Though nursing would be her profession, I see her choice, as a Christian, as her call, her path to love. I imagine she will one day marry, and love her spouse, too, of course. But, I see her call to love unfolding in her desire to study nursing. If you have ever been under the care of a nurse, you know that their skill and presence are significant in the healing process. When I think of my niece, and learn of here desire to be a nurse, I see the maturing of love.

I share this as I reflect on today's readings from St. Paul on love. Is the command to love the call and vocation of every Christian, however that love is shown? I believe so. Paul speaks of the maturing of love when he writes, “...when the perfect comes, the partial will pass away.” Love is a sign that one has passed from “childish things” to a more mature way of living, seeking love's perfection. A mature, Christian love is the love of Christ. But this love takes time to find its expression, its adultness, its self-emptying, its fullness. It is what we strive towards, though it may take a life-time.

I am encouraged to hear of my nieces plans to study nursing, especially as a work for helping people heal. The call to a mature love seems to have awakened a desire in her. All of us discern the path to a mature love, the love of which St. Paul writes, a love that for us as Christians is the love of Christ--a mature Christ.

We strive to be faithful in love. To love means to be faithful to who we are, who we were made to be. But to do that we need to remember from where we have come, or rather, from whom we have come. We reflect on the words of the prophet Jeremiah in today's first reading. “Before I formed you in the womb, I knew you, before you were born I dedicated you...” These are words that convey a profound intimacy we share with God, the One who knows us better than we know ourselves. In every person the mystery of the divine rests. Our love points to this mystery, a sign of God's presence.

As a faith community, we devote ourselves to Jesus' teaching to love. Whether we are nurses, painters, teachers, or accountants, all are called to love, with patience and kindness as St. Paul teaches, that God's presence might be made known. We seek to live a mature love, a mature faith, witnessed in our service to the poor and suffering. St. Paul reassures us about our calling and mission. “Love never fails.”

Haiti and Holy Cross

2010-02-09T02:03:00.000-08:00

For over the past three weeks we have seen the images of suffering and heard the news of the devastation following the earthquake in Haiti—the loss of life, the pain and suffering of the injured, the survivors seeking food and shelter, the sorrow of the grieving. We have prayed for the dead, for those who survived beneath the rubble waiting for rescue, for those displaced from their homes, and for the children who survived the earthquake, many now orphaned, who are particularly vulnerable in a time of disaster.

We have also seen and heard of the remarkable human spirit of the Haitian people, rising above the devastation and grief—a spirit of hope. We wonder how it is that many who have suffered have not given up hope or faith. We see how children will still smile and play together, even in the midst of so much sadness and pain and hunger.

Our Holy Cross community has been affected by the earthquake in Haiti. Holy Cross women and men religious have been serving the people of Haiti in parishes and schools since 1944. Our community has been touched by grief and loss. One of our seminarians died. Schools and residences of the Holy Cross have been ruined or damaged. One of our priests, Fr. Tom Streit, who lived in Port-au-Prince and oversaw promising research shared with colleagues for the cure of a deadly strain of malaria in that country, escaped near death as the building he was working in at the time of the earthquake collapsed. Closer to home here, Molly Hightower, a recent University of Portland graduate, died when the orphanage where she worked collapsed.

Many have offered to help, here and across the world, giving money, resources, and time to assist the people of Haiti. Sadly, relief efforts and rebuilding will take many months, perhaps years. But the work of rebuilding will be done, the hope that much better will soon be seen on the horizon. The people of Haiti know the cross all too well, yet know the hope of resurrection, of new life.

I am drawn to the image the of the fishing net in today's gospel as I search for meaning in the sorrow and human misery that has befallen the people of Haiti. The image of a net being cast out is much like the news of this tragedy spreading across the world. Our hearts are being pulled to the shores of Haiti. Many pray. Many have gone to the country to help, to comfort. We hear the cry of the poor, the hungry, the grieving.

We in turn cast out our nets of compassion and concern, to gather the needs of the people of Haiti in prayer, to pull into our awareness their suffering and pain, to draw in closer to their struggle for survival and not let go of the net. We are moved to act.

Through the Sundays of Lent, we will have a second collection to help the people of Haiti, our donations going to the Holy Cross sisters, brothers, and priests working in Haiti. I ask for your support of our men and women living and working there, trying to assist those who are now homeless, trying to rebuild. Their need for support and aid will continue for the months ahead. Our offerings through Lent will be a reminder of the pain and sorrow of the Cross as it is carried by the people of Haiti in this time of their need, and of their hope for a better future as they begin to rebuild their lives.

As we have followed the news following the earthquake in Haiti, we have seen Jesus in the face of the orphaned children, the homeless, the hungry, and the injured, as well as the many who have gone to Haiti to help. Like Simon and his fishing companions in today's gospel, we have heard the call of Jesus to follow him, continuing his mission of service. Like nets being cast out, we reach out to those who are suffering and in need.

Second Sunday of Ordinary Time

2010-01-18T01:14:00.000-08:00

Bulletin
As we move into Ordinary Time, as we move from last week's celebration of the Lord's baptism, which marked the end of the Christmas season, today's readings invite us to look at the importance and meaning of prayer in our lives, and particularly the celebration of the Eucharist and its sign of grace.

In the story of the wedding at Cana, Mary approaches her son to express her concern that the bride and groom have run out of wine for their guests. We are not sure what to make of Jesus’ response, “How does this matter of yours concern me?” As it turns out, it does matter to him, and he takes that moment to reveal the first of signs of his grace.

We step back from the particulars of this story and discover deeper meaning. Mary represents the person of faith who approaches God with concerns. Often prayer is giving voice to our concerns and heartaches and worries. As Mary turned to her son with her concerns, we go to prayer with our petitions and requests, revealing the burdens we carry in our hearts.

But there is more that Mary reveals. She trusts. She tells the stewards, “Do whatever he says,” knowing her son heard her and would act. She waited, hopeful. It is the same for us. We offer our prayers of petition, trusting God hears our prayers. We wait, hopeful.

The story, then, appears to offer a deeper understanding of prayer, of belief in the need to make petitions, of Jesus' power to help us—and even the possibility of transformation and change in our lives. Imagine the surprise and wonder of the couple at Cana at the miraculous appearance of more wine, and what this sign meant for them. They were the first of many who would beneficiaries of Jesus' miracles. Perhaps for them, their union would be a sign of a new kind of covenant, their love meant to be expressed in an abundance of compassion for others.

The appearance of wine made from water at the wedding at Cana becomes a sign of Jesus' sacrifice on Calvary, commemorated at the Last Supper in the blessing of bread and wine, a sign of hope and new life. No longer is there a need for concern when there is not enough. Grace will always pour out in abundance for those who believe.

When we gather for Eucharist, we lift up our prayers with the bread and wine we bless. We wait, trusting our prayers, our concerns and troubles and worries, are heard. With the bread and wine, our gifts of petition are received. We know the one who gave his life away for our salvation, will hears us as he did his mother. His grace will touch our lives.

Later in the text, we are told the reason for the miracle at Cana. “Jesus did this as the beginning of his signs at Cana in Galilee and so revealed his glory...” What were these signs he showed? What did they reveal? The story of this first miracle, of changing water to wine at a wedding party, seems inconsequential when there would be other, later, signs of miraculous healings.

The sign of Cana, a sign revealed at a wedding of all places, can reveal many layers of meaning. I offer one. The sign of Cana points to God's compassion and mercy, revealed and made flesh in the Son, the God who hears the concerns and petitions of those who cry out in prayer.

It is the God who uses a wedding feast as the stage for the Son's first miracle, to reveal to all people, especially those who suffer and are forgotten, that the kingdom of God will be like that feast, where a table is set for all to find comfort, and nourishment, and peace, and love.

A feast where there will be an abundance and, like the water made into wine at Cana, it will all be the best.

Baptism of the Lord

2010-01-14T01:08:00.000-08:00

We can consider today's solemnity of the Baptism of the Lord our version of the nativity of Jesus. As Jesus' birth is celebrated at Christmas, our birth, in faith, is celebrated today. Though today's feast is about the events surrounding Jesus' baptism, his was to be the sacramental sign of new birth for all who desire to receive this same baptism. Today, then, closes the circle of the Christmas season. What began with the birth of Jesus ends with the sign of a “second birth” for all the baptized.

Our baptism is most importantly our initiation into the life and mission of Jesus. This life and mission is made real and concrete in the community of the faithful, the Body of Christ. The sign of that union and mission is signified and celebrated in our fellowship at the table of the Eucharist.

We take great joy in gathering to celebrate the baptisms of our newest members, its celebration especially meaningful in the celebration of the Easter mysteries. Each year at the Easter Vigil, the church welcomes the newly baptized, revealing through ritual the journey from darkness and sin to light and grace, from the pain and sorrow of the cross to the joy and peace of the resurrection. An empty tomb becomes the font of new life for the baptized.

Last Sunday we dedicated our new baptismal font. It's presence at the entrance to our worship space is a daily reminder of our baptism, drawing us to its water for our ritual blessing, crossing ourselves in the name of the Trinity, the sign of our life in God.

From the font we look to the table of our Eucharist and understand the that both are the source of life--the one that gave us new life, the other that sustains that life; the one that cleanses, the other that nourishes; the one that washes away sins, the other that heals all divisions; the one that initiates a life of service; the other that shows the cost.

Our new font is unique in its design. There is no other font like it, that I know of. Local artisans joined their creative talents to make it. Its wood base, solid but graceful, is made of oak, relating it to other wood pieces in the worship space, especially the Eucharistic table. The wood base is constructed by Patrick O'Neill (www.greenlinefw.com). The copper bowl, organic and textured, adds shape and light to our space. It is hand crafted by local artist, Greg Wilbur (www.gregwilbur.com). The design and development of the font is by architect, Richard Brown, who worked with me on the design concept. Richard is also the architect for our chapel improvements and exterior renovations (www.rbarch.com). It was a pleasure for me, personally, to work with these talented artists.

A unique feature of the design of the font, a symbol that points to how we see grace at home in nature, is its oval shape. This shape represents the womb. You can easily imagine the curled-up presence of a child whose time for birth has arrived. The font of baptism is the womb of new life.

A fact of life—we are getting older; a fact of baptism—everyday we are called to new life—to new faith, hope, and love. Everyday we can emerge from the womb of baptism—healed, forgiven, and renewed. And the water of baptism. Life cannot exist without water. As the Body of Christ, we cannot survive without baptism. Even the dented copper reflects light in a way that makes the water move and glimmer, as though life is mysteriously stirring around in it. Everyday, we reach towards that mystery.

Another feature of the font is the curled lip with Greek letters in the shape of a cross. This symbol is borrowed from ancient baptismal fonts having this symbol in a mosaic of tile—PHOS, meaning Light; ZOE, meaning Life. As we celebrate the baptism of the Lord, and remember our own baptism, I hope our font will be a sign for us—that Christ will always be our Light and Life at the Downtown Chapel.

Epiphany Bulletin

2010-01-14T01:07:00.002-08:00

Our celebration of the Epiphany of the Lord draws us into its story as told in the gospel of Matthew, a story of searching and longing, of seeking and revelation, of hope and renewal. We are drawn to the symbols of the star and treasures—the star of Jesus and the treasures of the magi. The star a symbol the goal of the spiritual search, the treasures symbols of a life of offering and service. We open our hearts to the unfolding of the spiritual journey, eyes of faith fixed on Christ and his light. We approach as we hear his voice, calling us to his side, inviting us to a life of service, our hearts and hands opened in offering.

Today we come to our worship as a faith community with searching hearts, our eyes fixed on the table of word and sacrament. We come to this table knowing who we are and what we are about.

We come to our liturgy to receive; we leave our liturgy so that we can give.

The days leading to our celebration of Christmas showed to me your hunger for God and deeper faith. You have responded to God's invitation to live your faith by your service, generous and spirit-filled. I want to thank you for all the ways you have offered your gifts--gifts of prayer, service, and support—through these holy days and seasons.

We began our celebration of Christmas filled with joy and hope, knowing where we have come from and where we are going. Today's feast speaks to our on-going search and hunger for God, for God's love and peace to be shown to us. Our response, like the magi, bowing and offering treasure, is to humbly offer our lives in service to the one whose star we have searched to find.

This past Monday, the final art panel was installed on the front of our building. Though I had seen it in drawing form, its size and prominence pulled me into the words and image. Now we really are committed to its message, “When I was hungry...” The image of the bread and cup makes real the seamless fabric weaving the action of the mass and a life of service. There it is, now, for everyone to see!

Maybe this sign at our entrance is our Epiphany star for those in search of God and God's healing. Maybe the treasures we offer will be recognized in simple etchings as one turns the corner—anointing, blessing, praying, washing, and feeding.

Like the stable of Bethlehem opened to the cold and dark, the red doors of the Downtown Chapel are opened to welcome the cold, the lonely, the sick, the homeless, to all travelers and strangers who hunger for God in their lives. Like the magi who left the stable at Bethlehem and went a new way, hopefully all who leave through our red doors—whether they came to pray or to get a pair of socks—will go in peace, knowing they encountered the love of God here.

May our prayer and worship never hide the fact that we are all in search of the God who forgives and heals and loves us and makes us one. May our prayer and worship always push us out the red doors to the people, places, and events where we find the Lord waiting to receive treasures.

Christmas Bulletin

2010-01-14T01:07:00.001-08:00

The joy and peace of Christmas be with you! Today we begin our Christmas season, pondering the story of Christ's birth, the visitation of God revealed in the life of one who made his home with us. Not a home made of wood and stone, with a roof for protection, but a home in the human soul, made in the image of God, covered in grace.

A religious symbol of Christmas, one found in our chapel, in homes, on mantels, under Christmas trees, is the Nativity scene, or crèche. Simple images and figures conveying profound meaning. Attributed to St. Francis, the crèche reminds us of the events and conditions surrounding Jesus' birth.

As we look at our crèche scene, we remember the moment God appeared--a moment of great rejoicing--was grim. Cold, dark, lonely. Christ's birth was at an hour covered in darkness, in a village discomforted in the cold, his parents alone in a shelter for animals to hold and comfort their new child. Not a hospitable beginning. God came to be with the human family and would be found, not in a home, or even a sacred building, or among the rich and powerful, but in a place signifying the reality of the human experience, often touched by sorrow and suffering, darkness and cold, broken promises and betrayal, loneliness and emptiness.

Ironically, that is the good news. God is found not only in well being and happiness, prosperity and fortune, community and companionship. Today, we can believe and trust to find God in the shadows and dark places, in our grief and poverty and illness, in our brokenness and disbelief, in our sin and failure and loneliness. Today, as we open gifts and share presents, as we gather with family and friends, as we eat and drink and make merry, we will remember that on this day our celebration is also about the gift of God's compassion and mercy present in the darkness, the cold, the loneliness of the human condition. This is where the Christmas story begins.

With an awareness of God's mercy revealed in the Son's birth, we look deeper into the symbol of our Nativity scene. There is one piece in the scene, when we consider its purpose, revealing a symbolism that suddenly becomes clear. It is the crèche.

At the center of the scene Jesus rests in a crèche, a manger. A manger was used as a trough in which food was placed for animals. Its Latin root means “to eat.” Animals gathered at a manger to feed. The manger is the place where Jesus rests. He came to be our food.

The imagery of the our Christmas crèche points us to the Eucharist. The manger used as food for animals becomes open hands to receive the bread of Christ. The hay to fill the manger is replaced with the child Emmanuel, God with us, food to satisfy the deepest human hunger. The animals gathered at the manger become those who come to the Eucharistic table to be one and at peace.

This symbolism invites further meaning and insight as we move from the Nativity of Jesus’ birth to the paschal mystery, Jesus’ suffering, death, and resurrection. The earth upon which the crèche rests will one day hold up the cross on which the Lamb of God will scatter the dark and cold and loneliness of sin and sorrow. An empty tomb will become the new crèche, the sign of a second birth, a new life bathed in the light, warmth, and presence of God for all those who believe.

This Christmas day fill us with joy and peace. We rest with the one who came to us as a child, laying in a manger, beckoning us to come and receive the gift of his presence, the one who came to forgive and to love us, to feed and to nourish us, to make his home with us.

Have a blessed and grace filled Christmas!

Third Sunday of Advent Bulletin

2010-01-14T01:06:00.001-08:00

The figure of John the Baptist in today's gospel is described as one who “preached good news to the people.” We don't often think of John the Baptist as having a strong pastoral presence, speaking in kind tones. He seemed more reprimanding than forgiving. Yet, the gospel ends with this message about good news—the good news of God's mercy and love revealed in the Son.

It is a message of hope we carry into our Advent prayer and observances. We listen for good news when it seems there is far too much bad news. One has to search to find some positive news in the media. Like John the Baptist, we are preachers of good news, not only by our words, but by our actions. Our faith has been formed by good news.

I don't know if it is different this year as we approach Christmas, but it seems we have received much more in donations this year than in previous years—donations of food, blankets, clothing, hats, gloves, and coats. Thankfully, our generous volunteers have been very helpful sorting these donations to be given away. And there has been a generous response to our Christmas appeal, as well. I see this generosity of spirit and find there is good news to share.

In a time when we hear news of economic hardship, reports of domestic violence, prolonged war, and soaring health care costs, our actions just might stir up some good news for those waiting to hear some!

Collectively, in our words and actions, we preach the good news of God's love, healing, and compassion, of God in our midst. Like John the Baptist, who pointed people to the Lamb of God, we point to the good news of God's presence revealed to us in Jesus.

Baptism is also a theme of today's gospel. John speaks of baptizing with
water. It is a reminder of the need to seek personal renewal during Advent, to prepare again a place within where we experience Jesus' forgiving and healing presence. As the days grow shorter, darker, colder, while a church prepares for the birth of God's light and lasting peace, we seek new life and spirit.

The gospel text bridges the gift of baptism with the call to act with justice and righteousness. John gives practical instructions about what those who are baptized are to do—to offer clothing to the poor, food to the hungry; to be honest; to act with integrity; to show compassion and regard for others; to be satisfied with what one has. John's call to repentance was not only about making one's relationship with God right, but with one's neighbor as well.

It is that time of year of mindless excess and consumption. Today's gospel offers an alternative. We observe an Advent of mindfulness and patient expectation—to open our hearts to listen to the good news, to seek renewal of Spirit, to invest time and energy in relationships. We take time for our prayer and attentiveness to God’s gift of presence. We seek to find healing through the gift of God’s forgiveness. We are intentional in our compassion and care towards others. Meanwhile, we wait with joyful anticipation for God’s light and peace to fill our hearts.

Second Sunday of Advent Bulletin

2010-01-14T01:04:00.000-08:00

Second Sunday Advent

This season of Advent is similar to that of Lent, in the sense that both are times we are invited to experience spiritual renewal in our lives. Both are a call to repentance and transformation, from sin and division to grace and wholeness.

Today's gospel text places the call to repentance of John the Baptist and the imminent appearance of the Lord as two forces pulling people toward unity with one another and peace with God. His message of repentance is one of hope and optimism. Repentance will restore one's vision, finding God again, belonging at the center of one's life.

In the first reading, the prophet Baruch writes of alienation from God, and the suffering this brings. But there is the promise of healing, of suffering left behind as the cloak of God's mercy and justice is wrapped around all who remember and seek God.

The first and gospel readings of our Advent liturgy help us to focus our spiritual lives on the call to renewal through repentance, as well as on our desire for God to be present to us, to be with us.

Some questions for Advent prayer and reflection. Is there someone with whom I need to reconcile? Do I need to make amends with a family member? Where do I need healing—physical, mental, emotional, spiritual—that “all flesh shall see the salvation of God” will be granted to me? Do I need to forgive myself for the wreckage I have done? How can I initiate healing in a broken relationship? How can I rest in God's mercy and peace while struggling with my sobriety? How can my smoldering faith be reignited?

If the first and gospel readings call us to the work of reconciliation and peace with God during this time of Advent, the second reading invites us at the same time to live our faith in love and righteousness. Advent is a time for prayer and reflection as well as a time for action and works. In the second reading, St. Paul reminds the Philippians that, having heard the gospel, they are to increase their love, doing the works of Christ.

Our Advent liturgy instructs us, its action a guide for us. The Word and Eucharist--the Word that calls us to renewal; the Eucharist that teaches us to give.

During this time of Advent, we set our gaze on the light of the Advent wreath and learn to be patient with ourselves. Renewal takes time. But the light will increase; we will find spiritual progress. Meanwhile, our love and compassion towards others will be a sign of hope. God's grace is with us.

We are mindful of those for whom this time of year is one filled with sadness, despair, loneliness, and little hope. We want to be the love of Christ for them, opening our hearts and hands for them.

Last Saturday, after our vigil Mass, two homeless women came by our red doors where I was standing, in Advent vestments, and asked if I would pray with them. One cried as we prayed, like the cry of the prophet in the desert, praying for God's healing, forgiveness, and peace….We are all waiting.

Sit Lie Ordinance

2009-08-05T15:51:00.000-07:00

July 5th, 2009
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As you may have heard in the local news, Portland’s sidewalk obstruction ordinance, referred to as sit-lie, an ordinance of the city passed two years ago prohibiting anyone from sitting or lying on downtown sidewalks between 7 AM and 9 PM, to keep sidewalks free of obstruction, was ruled as unconstitutional by a judge of the ounty Circuit Court, ruling the ordinance exceeds city’s authority. Those who have been cited for violation of the ordinance have been homeless people. One might argue that the problem really being addressed by the ordinance is not sidewalk obstruction but homelessness; not accessibility but what to do with people many do not care about or want to help.

Like many controversial issues, there are different sides and opposing arguments. It seems the issue here is not people obstructing city sidewalks—and typically those who are sitting or lying on the sidewalk are people who are homeless—but there is
to place for them to go. The challenge is to find solutions to end homelessness and o offer services to those who want to make the transition from homelessness to housing.

For the people in our neighborhood who are homeless, who have no place to go or
place to be during the daytime, the city ordinance reinforced negative public attitudes and perceptions. Those who are homeless are the target of blame, fear, negative stereotypes, and further indignities directed towards them. The result of the ordinance was to criminalize those who are homeless rather than help them find a way out of homelessness. For homeless advocates here in downtown, the decision to overturn the ordinance allows the focus to return to creating an access center for homeless, a place where they can go during the daytime and find needed services and support. As a parish community, we need to support and advocate the building of an access center in downtown. Our Morning Hospitality program does offer a safe, comfortable welcoming environment for our friends and guest who are homeless, and our services are meeting a need, yet more is needed in our neighborhood.

It is troubling to hear about the fear and hate towards those who are homeless in
other places in our country. Attacks on homeless people are increasing in some cities, attacks perpetrators call “bum stomping.” But there is news of communities taking action addressing this injustice and cruelty. Maryland has become the first state to categorize these assaults as hate crimes. Now, homeless persons have legal protection from attacks, having a status the same as those who are targets of hate crimes because of sexual orientation, race, or ethnicity. This is an important development in addressing the hateful attitudes present in our culture towards those who are homeless. As a parish, we have a role to play in educating others about the issues of homelessness, to be a prophetic voice of advocacy for those who are poor and vulnerable.

Jesus is the source of our faith and service, our prophetic voice and advocacy, our confidence and strength, our communion and fellowship. He is the prophetic voice, a voice often ridiculed and rejected, but one that still needs to be heard. We hear his voice, ‘Love you neighbor.” We live our lives for others; we address injustices and advocate for the homeless poor.

Bringing Healing to the Heart of the City

2009-08-05T15:50:00.000-07:00

June 28th, 2009
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I appreciate the flexibility and patience of everyone as we accommodate the work
being done on our building exterior and in the chapel space. This is the first weekend we gather for mass on the second floor and, hopefully, we will be back in our familiar worship space by the end of July. Meanwhile, we can experience the uniqueness of gathering in our “upper room” for the celebration of our Sunday mass. I am grateful to all who help with preparation of the room for mass and then arranging the room for Monday morning Hospitality.

One of the additions to the chapel I am eager to see in place is our new icon, Christ the Healer. When I began my assignment as pastor eight years ago, the idea for an icon depicting Christ as healer seemed to be an appropriate image for our worship space and community. When I came as pastor, I learned the pastoral mission of the parish was best articulated as “bringing healing to the heart of the city.” Already, the Anointing of the Sick after Wednesday masses was established as part of our worship. Later, we would add the celebration of the sacrament after masses on the first weekends of the month.

Healing was and continues to be meaningful to our lives, to our sense of what we are
about—agents of Christ’s healing presence at this corner of downtown Portland. It seemed there was a way we could express this mission of healing with an image of Christ as healer. An icon could be a powerful way to show that Christ is found at the center of our lives of faith and service, bringing the grace of his healing resence to others. Touched by his healing in our own lives, we want to affirm in thers their own search for his healing mercy—the homeless, sick, mentally ill, ddicted, the lost and lonely—and somehow be humble servants for Christ’s healing work in their lives.

We serve as his vessels of healing in many ways. So many long for the healing of love’s presence. We stress the value and importance of the relationships we nurture with one another and those we serve. Our service of hospitality is a door opened to mutual kindness, receiving and holding the other as sacred. The love we share begins to heal wounds of hurt, rejection, abuse, and loss.

We visit those who are sick and suffering. We believe God’s healing grace is made real by our laying on of hands, our words of comfort, our faithful presence to those who are alone and afraid in their suffering. Our presence is reassurance for them.
We have formed a network of prayer through our Prayer Tree ministry. We lift our
prayers to God on behalf of those who count on our support, who want to be remembered and not forgotten in their time of struggle.

Today, we reflect on the presence of Christ who brings the power of his healing to a world in need, to the lives of those who are suffering, to the hearts of all elievers. Just as he moved among those who cried out for healing, who longed for his forgiveness, who had no where else to turn, we embrace his healing mission and reach out to those who are searching for Christ the healer in their lives, seeking his presence and his grace to can change and renew and make whole again.

Quiet! Be Still!

2009-08-05T15:47:00.000-07:00

June 21, 2009
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Today’s gospel text offers a comforting image. It is an image of the calming presence
of Jesus. In the midst of a storm, he quiets the winds and sea and shows to his disciples
his intention to bring them calm and reassurance when they are troubled by the storms of
uncertainty, trouble, crisis, and doubt.

Our faith seeks the comfort and reassurance of Jesus in these times of change and
uncertainty. We face serous issues—the recession, unemployment, foreclosures, health
care costs, a fragile environment. We all know someone who has lost a job because of
our weakened economy—members of our families, friends, parishioners, our guests. We
are concerned about the cost of health care and wonder if there will be a way to ensure
that all Americans can receive the care they need. We wonder if there can be a
reasonable solution to accessible heath care, especially for the poor, that those from
different sides of the issue can find agreement. The issues we face are many.
Beyond our shores there are storms of unrest and brutality. “Never again” has been
the promise that crimes against humanity would end, yet the genocide in Darfur
continues. The people of Iran are contesting elections, protesting fraud. Israelis and
Palestinians are in conflict over whether a Palestine state should be created. North
Korea has tested missiles to carry nuclear weapons. Hunger and disease claim the lives
of children in developing countries. It seems the same conflicts and problems are
passed on from one generation to the next, but are making the world more and more
dangerous.

We need to call to the heavens to ask the Lord’s help, to calm the storms of human
conflict and unrest, that his message somehow reach to the ends of the earth.
“Quiet! Be still!”

Perhaps we hear these words from Mark’s text and realize they speak to us. In our
own uncertainty, anxiety, and fear, the Lord’s voice is lost in the commotion and unrest of
our lives. Today we stop and listen to his words, and discover that he is standing with us
in the midst of our restlessness, loneliness, suffering, anger, discouragement, and loss.
We are not alone. Our faith embraces the comforting presence of God, who is not
detached from and indifferent about our sorrow and suffering, but, through the gift of the
Son, shares in our struggle. We seek his peace; we find calm in storms.

As a mission focused parish community, the storms of human suffering and chaos are
familiar to us. We see human suffering everyday. Hopefully, we offer to others a place,
and a way of being in relationship, that brings calm, peace, and reassurance. We are to
pray if we are to be faithful, so that the peace and love of the Lord can rest in our hearts.
As we serve others, his peace can be made known. As we nurture relationships with
others, his love is made real.

Finally, join me in welcoming two student volunteers from Notre Dame, Megan Trout, a Master of Divinity student, and Emily Salvaterra, our Summer Service Learning Program intern. Welcome Megan and Emily!

Catholic Identity

2009-08-05T15:45:00.000-07:00

June 14th, 2009

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One morning last weekend, when I was at Notre Dame for my class reunion, a conversation about the school and Catholic identity was shared with friends while we were having breakfast. We asked, “What is meant by Catholic identity”? For many, it is about Catholic teaching and adherence to the teachings of the Church. From this perspective, Catholic identity is about the relationship of the teachings of the Church with those in authority whose role is to teach. But that alone is not sufficient in understanding the meaning and fullness of our identity.

A “Catholic identity” is different than, let’s say, a Presbyterian identity, or other Christian denomination, in another significant way. The Sacraments. We live the Sacraments. We celebrate the Sacraments and live their grace, and the Eucharist particularly.

The Eucharist, the source and summit of our faith, forms, shapes, and defines our identity. As sign and symbol, the sharing of the Eucharist is the Body of Christ sharing at table. Christ is present among us in our gathering at his table. Today’s opening prayer speaks of his presence, “Lord Jesus Christ, we worship you living among us in the sacrament of your body and blood.” Our identity is found in our union with him, the community of disciples, gathered at table, doing his mission.

Our identity is more than appearance, of course. It is not like wearing a pin on a lapel to signify who we are and what we believe. Our identity is made known by the ways we live our faith. We model our lives after Jesus, living our lives for others, with generous love, in humble service. We are the Body of Christ—the Eucharist—blessed, broken, shared.

When the Eucharist is separated from the mission of the Church, the ritual action from the living of faith, something is missing. It is not meant to be detached from the world, a world in need of saving grace and redemption. The Eucharist, the presence of Christ in gifts of bread and wine, defines who we are what we do. The self-gift of Christ is or model for living.

As a parish community, we recognize that we are the Body of Christ present on his corner of the city, opening our hearts and doors to do his mission. If Baptism gives us life in Christ, the Eucharist gives this life sustenance, meaning, and the grace to live his gospel of service. Among those we serve, we see the hunger of souls in search of God’s compassion and mercy. We are willing servants of the Lord who calls us to serve him by our care for the poor and the stranger. The sufferings of Christ continue in the lives of those who are in need of healing and long for the peace of his kingdom. From our Opening Prayer today, we offer to others “a life poured out in loving service of that kingdom.”

Soon we are to make improvements to our worship space, which means a temporary change in where and how we will celebrate mass. After next Sunday, work will begin in our chapel. It is expected that the work will take four to five weeks to complete. We will be moving our Sunday mass to our “upper room” on the second floor while work is being done. Week day masses will be in the basement. This new experience of our worship and celebration of our Sunday liturgies can bring a unique awareness of how we gather and pray, of how we see sacred space, of waiting with expectation through a time of transition. I appreciate the efforts all will be making to make these weeks ahead rich by our presence to one another, in prayer and song, with patience and good will.

Also, in anticipation of the completion of the chapel improvements, and the installation of our icon, Christ the Healer, we will gather as a community, along with Archbishop Vlazny, for the blessing and dedication of the icon on Sunday, August 16, at the 10 AM mass. Please, mark your calendars and join the celebration. This will be a special event for us, a celebration of our life and mission.

A Place at a Table

2009-08-05T15:17:00.000-07:00

June 7th, 2009

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From a very early age, a person develops a sense and awareness of belonging. For most of us, our identity, our sense of self, was developed around our family relationships. Within the family system we were formed and shaped, and as we matured in age, we recognized our place within the family structure, the comfort of knowing we were loved and belonged. In our early years this development of self-awareness was not something we were conscious of. Our parents love, and perhaps especially the nurturing and presence of our mothers, gave us this experience of connection, of belonging, of acceptance. The home was our sanctuary. It was where we belonged, where we felt secure in our place among our parents and siblings.

"Where do I belong? With whom do I belong?" These are questions one begins to ask as one grows and matures. The need to belong is strong, a desire that remains. From the family we extend our reach to find other ways we can connect and feel at home, to know that we belong--with someone, or with some group, or in some place. We want to make those connections and commitments where we can be authentic and honest, where we can make our personal contribution and have our voice heard, where we experience acceptance and unconditional love, where the best that is in us can touch the lives of others and make a difference.

For so many, the need to belong is strong but the search can be discouraging and lonely. One may feel isolated, unsure whether there is a place of love and nurturing for them. They do not feel at home anywhere, or with anyone. There is no place at a table for them. Their isolation can be anguishing; their spirit diminished. Every person has a need to belong.

Sometimes, even though there is this experience of belonging, there can be also this sense of something missing, of not quite feeling complete, of not being fulfilled. The heart can grow restless.

I have found the image of the table to be so appealing when reflecting on the human desire to belong. I am thinking especially of the table of the Eucharist. It is a powerful symbol of belonging and union. It is the Lord's table, and his desire is that all may see that they belong. If we have nothing else to show for our attachments, we have his table where we know we belong, where we stand among others, sharing a common life. And our hearts find comfort and rest because we know we belong to him.

The Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity reveals something very human about our understanding and experience of God. It reveals to us this concept of belonging. The union of the three persons of the Trinity points to the holy longing of the human heart. In every heart there is this God-like need to be in union with another, to belong. It is about our desire to be loved and to love. It seeks confirmation that one is known and accepted, that one has a place at a table, a place to call home, a life of meaning and purpose, secure in the knowledge that one is the "apple of God's eye."

We might interpret today's gospel to mean that all belongs to God. When Jesus instructed his disciples to go and baptize in the name of the Trinity his desire was that all may know that the name of God is engraved on every heart. As St. Augustine wrote, "You have created me for yourself, O God, and my heart is restless until it rests in Thee." The heart has this knowing, this inclination towards union with the divine.

We are grateful for the gift of community, of our belonging as parishioners sharing and living faith. We recognize the needs of others in search of help and support. We realize that perhaps the greatest gift we can offer to them is the gift of belonging. God's name is engraved on every heart. Our belonging, in union with Christ, acknowledges the presence of God in every person.