So, aside from Jesus sounding a little bit mean, what else is wrong with this gospel? It sounds a little bit like something we’re more familiar with, like “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven. Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the land.” You’re right. What I just recited comes from Matthew’s gospel, where there are eight “blessed”s and no curses. Here, there are four “blessed”s and four curses. Also, in Matthew’s gospel, Jesus went up on a mountain and sat down. And his disciples gathered around him, while everybody else stayed away. Here, he comes down from the mountain and he is riding high for everybody in the crowd.

I’m sure all of you have had this experience at some point in your life. You’re at one of those family restaurants, and you and your companion or companions are quietly having dinner when, all of a sudden, the wait staff comes bursting out of the kitchen with something with candles on it and goes to another table and sings Happy Birthday. And almost everybody else in the restaurant eventually joins in singing Happy Birthday, and so do you and your companion at your table. It’s a nice experience. And nobody in the restaurant has a mean-spirited attitude toward what’s going on. And nobody is singing Happy Birthday ironically, but everybody’s singing Happy Birthday out of a different point of view. The people at the table, presumably, deeply love the other people at that table. They’re singing Happy Birthday to someone who is very dear to them. The wait staff, on the other hand, is being paid to do this. That’s their job. And they do it sincerely and with lots of fun, but that’s their job. You, on the other hand, join in out of sort of a fellow feeling. There’s a moment of community among the people in the restaurant, even though no one knows anybody else. And so, there are different motivations and different experiences of the same singing of Happy Birthday. And that’s what will help us to understand what goes on in our gospels.

No matter what the future may hold for St. Joseph's, this will be my last Christmas as your pastor. It seemed to me that I should have some special Christmas homily. But, no matter what the future holds, I will continue celebrating Mass until my health or age prevents it, so my "last" is probably not my last, after all.

So, instead of leaving a legacy, let me tell you a story. It's about Jesse, an old guy who spent his career working each advent as a "Mall Santa."

It's December 24th. The shoppers are mostly gone. Jesse gets up from his Santa chair, stretches, takes off his beard, and steps down off the platform. Like every other evening, he's tired. But like every past December 24th, he's also relieved ... and a little sad.

The summer of 1967 was a terrible time in the United States. It was the summer of the burning cities. The New York Times says, “There had not been riots of this magnitude since the Civil War.” It was a difficult time in the United States. There was something happening on the college campuses that the older generation could not understand. There was an escalation of the war in Vietnam. It was becoming a burden on every part of American Society – in the homes of those who had lost young men to battle, to our finances, to our business, to our entertainment. But at the same time, out in Ann Arbor, Michigan a strange thing was taking place. A graduate student from Duquesne University, a Catholic university, and his mentor, as he worked on his dissertation, one Friday evening after supper, went to a Cursillo meeting. And they were very impressed with what they saw but, more importantly, by what they felt. They felt moved, physically moved by the Spirit in that room.

As a result of that, the next Friday night, they went to a Pentecostal meeting in a local Episcopalian church. And they were baptized in the Holy Spirit. Hands were imposed on their head. And they actually felt themselves filled with the presence of the third person of the Blessed Trinity. And, because the faculty member was very well situated on the Duquesne faculty, he got a bunch of professors to pray with him and he imposed hands on each of them and they, too, experienced the descent of the Holy Spirit and began speaking in tongues. And the Catholic Charismatic movement was born.

“Whoever receives a child such as this, receives me.” Jesus said three things connected with children across the gospels of Matthew, Mark and Luke. One was, “Unless you become like little children, you cannot enter the Kingdom of Heaven.” That’s not today. He said, “Let the children come to me, do not hinder them.” That’s not today. Pay very careful attention to what Jesus says today. “Whoever receives one child such as this, in my name, receives me.” What is that all about? We can’t imagine what it’s all about because of the way children have become central to social life ever since the mid-nineteenth century.

It began with things like David Copperfield, Oliver Twist, Treasure Island, Kidnapped, Little Women, and then, on into Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, Penrod. Almost all of the first novels that were child-centered involved adolescents who were on the outside of society for one reason or another and had to be brought back in through some tremendous deed on their part or on the part of somebody else. But, starting with the movies starring Mickey Rooney, Judy Garland, Shirley Temple, a different image of childhood was offered to us. Very unrealistic, but it dominated the popular culture.

One of the first games we play with children after they are able to talk is Who’s That. It starts out with, “Who am I?” A little giggling, “You’re Mommy. You’re Daddy.” And then, “Who’s that over there?” “That’s Pop-Pop” “Who’s that?” “That’s Mee-Maw.” And slowly, children begin to learn two opposing things that are equally important, socialization and interiorization. They learn that they are part of a community of people who are important to them and to whom they are important. And they learn how relationship works and what it means to them inside. Keep that in mind as we begin to talk about today’s Gospel.

So, I asked you what was missing from the Gospel. There was no, “You are Simon. I’m going to name you Peter because on this rock I will build my Church.” “There was no, “Blessed are you, Simon, son of John, no mere man has revealed this to you, except my heavenly Father. And I say to you, you are Peter. And upon this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of hell will not prevail against it.” Where’d that go? That’s in the gospel of Matthew, which was written fifteen years after Mark’s gospel, for a different Church with a different problem.

Some time ago, I went to have a hearing test, and they discovered that I have a severe hearing loss in one or two pitches at the highest level. And so, I was fitted with a set of hearing aids. I had to go back several times while they adjusted the hearing aids, so it was just those pitches that I was able to hear better. I am sure all of you have also had the experience of going to the eye doctor and being fitted for glasses. It’s, “Is it this one or this one that’s better? This one or this one?” And the thing is that, in both of those cases, there’s a gradual improvement. With glasses you never get a lighter set of glasses, you always get one that is a stronger prescription. But, over the course of time, the doctors are able to adjust and adjust and adjust and fix things better. That idea of gradualness in healing is something that we are going to use to help understand today’s gospel and the setting of today’s gospel.

I told you last week we’d have a guest speaker. Guess who? The Propagation of the Faith, like almost all Catholic organizations, is running out of people to speak. And so, I volunteered to speak on their behalf this Sunday. But I volunteered so long ago that, at that time, there was still a question of whether or not I would still be Pastor after this weekend, and you will see on the back of the bulletin that I am. And you probably already know what you are going to give in our second collection, unless you just happen to be passing through. So, the point of this talk is not to get you to give, but to explain the purpose of your giving and give it some context. And I am no stranger to preaching for the Propagation of the Faith.

The very first time I ever preached to a congregation as a deacon, 24 years old, with the oil still fresh on my hands, was the weekend of June the 5th, 1968. Do you remember what happened on the weekend of June the 5th, 1968? Robert F. Kennedy was assassinated. So, I had a congregation, for the 9 o’clock Mass in my home parish, of the children from the school - two hundred and some odd of them - with their parents sitting around the side pews. A whole bunch of children, many of whom had no notion of what Robert Kennedy represented. And a bunch of adults, most of whom were dyed-in-the-wool Republicans. And I had to say something meaningful about the death of a very public Catholic figure.

For the next couple of minutes, it’s going to appear like I’m talking about politics, but I’ll be talking about theology. And it’s going to look like I am preaching on the second reading, but I’m really preaching on the first reading and the Gospel.

Each of the four people involved in the current race for the presidency has a different religious background. Tim Walz was raised Catholic and then left the Church and became a Lutheran. Donald Trump was raised in the Presbyterian faith, and he has since adopted what the Fundamentalists call the Prosperity Gospel. If you do good in this world, God will reward you. Which is easily flipped into the very ugly idea that, if you’re doing well, it must mean that you are favored by God. Kamala Harris is a Buddhist and a member of the Black African Baptist Church. Now who did I leave out? J.D. Vance began his life as a Fundamentalist Christian, became an atheist in his college years, and finally was converted to Roman Catholicism sometime late in college life. So, none of the four have real authority to speak about what the Scriptures mean about certain things.

For the past two weeks, I’ve spoken rather directly about the real presence of Jesus in the Eucharist. So, today I am going to take a slightly different approach as Jesus continues to talk about his being true flesh and true blood.

Graham Green, one of the most famous authors of the 20th century, became a Catholic after he was an adult. And, after he converted to Catholicism, he wrote several novels that had truths of the Catholic faith as their pivotal structure. The most famous of them, by far, is a novel called The Power and the Glory. It’s about a little-known piece of history in Mexico called the Cristero War. If you want to learn about the Cristero War entirely, there is a good movie out called, For The Greater Glory, and it stars and was produced by Eva Longoria, from Desperate Housewives, and Anthony Garcia. So, just a thought, alright? But anyway.

Bonaventure Finnbarr Broderick, a fine Irish name, was ordained a Catholic priest in 1885 - so, 135 years ago - for the Diocese of Connecticut. There was only one back then; only one Diocese of Connecticut. And, after a few years teaching in the seminary, was sent by his bishop to be the Secretary of the Bishop of Cuba. Cuba, at that time, was a United States Protectorate and we had Catholic parishes there that were cared for by priests from the Diocese of Connecticut. After a couple of years in Cuba, he helped the Cuban people in their fight to gain independence from the United States and he was made the Auxiliary Bishop to the Bishop of Cuba. And then something happened. We don’t know what exactly what it was that happened, but he quarreled with Pope Pius X over some issue and Pope Pius X threw him out of office. [Remember, Pius X is a saint, now.] He didn’t excommunicate him. He didn’t defrock him. He didn’t suspend him. He just took away his job and didn’t give him another one.

And so, humiliated and disgraced, Bonaventure Finnbarr Broderick came back home to the United States. And he settled himself in the little village of Millbrook, New York, which was really a tiny village back then. He bought himself a gas station. And, for 39 years, he ran that gas station.

“Boy, the way Glenn Miller played songs that made the hit parade.
Guys like us, we had it made. Those were the days.

Didn’t need no welfare state. Everybody pulled his weight.
Gee, our LaSalle ran great. Those were the days.

People seemed to be content. Fifty dollars paid the rent.
Hair was short and skirts were long. Kate Smith really sold a song.
I don’t know just what went wrong. Those were the days.”

I am sure many of you recognize that as the theme song from All in the Family. And it captures the attitude of Archie Bunker. Most of the time the plot of each half hour show was that Archie had to let go of something from the good old days in order to get something or learn something good about the here and now. Every now and then there was a changeup. Meatball had to learn something about the value of tradition or the meaning of holding on to treasures from the past.

I have a very dear friend, just about a year or so younger than myself. A very bright woman, who spent her whole life in teaching, and a very, very faithful Catholic who brought up her children to be faithful Catholics. Once, a long time ago, she told me that Jesus didn’t really multiply the loaves and fishes. That every intelligent person knows that what really happened is, when Jesus took the five loaves and the two fish, people were so impressed with the attempt at generosity, that they all started taking out the lunch they had brought for themselves and sharing it with the person next to them. And so, everybody got to eat because everybody shared their lunches. And she really believed that this is what happened; that the real miracle was a miracle of sharing, not a miracle of creating an abundance out of nothing. She was both very, very wrong and quite right. Let’s talk first about how she was wrong.

The story of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes was so popular among the first Christians, that it’s told six times in four gospels. In two of the gospels, the story appears twice. The first time, Jesus feeds five thousand people with five loaves and two fish, and they have twelve baskets left over. The second time, he feeds four thousand people with five loaves and two fishes, and they have seven baskets left over. There are some questions about maybe two or three of the miracle stories in the gospels, but there is no doubt that this was one of the firmest memories of the apostolic group who went out preaching after the resurrection and ascension of Jesus. Absolutely bonafide. But there are some things to notice about the story.

“Once upon a time.” From the time you’re about three or four years old, those four words meant that something good was coming. Your ears perked up, excited to hear a story. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” “Call me Ishmael.” Even Snoopy’s, “It was a dark and stormy night.” The introductory words to a story are more than just a mere introduction. They get our attention and draw us in. We find those kinds of things used by all four of the gospel writers. And we encountered one of them in this morning’s gospel.

“When Jesus saw the vast crowds, his heart was moved to pity for them and he …” Fill in the blank. This morning it was, “… and he taught them many things.” If you look at another place in Mark’s gospel, “… and he healed many of their illnesses and drove out many demons.” If you turn to Matthew’s gospel, you will find, “… and he healed them of their diseases.” Luke’s gospel doubles down, “… and he healed them and taught them many things.” Matthew’s gospel also has, early on, at the beginning of what we call the Sermon on the Mount, “Jesus saw the vast crowds coming toward him and he … went up on the mountain, sat down there, and his disciples gathered around him and he … taught them.” And, in all four gospels, that’s the introduction to the story of the multiplication of the loaves and fishes. In John’s gospel, he doesn’t go anyplace else. He just goes there. “Jesus saw the vast crowd, it was near evening, and he said, ‘How are we going to feed these people? What have you here to eat?’”

So, a very strange list of things that Jesus tells the disciples not to take with them and even stranger instructions about what they are to take. “By the way, you are to wear sandals.” Well, wouldn’t you wear sandals if you were walking on the road? The thing is that, as you move from Matthew to Mark to Luke across the gospels, you find different things listed as stuff to take or not take. Especially, one gospel says they can’t take sandals. Another gospel says they can’t wear a second tunic. Another gospel says not to take a walking stick. So, what’s going on here?

So, what was wrong with the picture? Two things, actually. The first is that Nazareth is not mentioned by name. Mark writes, “He went to his native place.” I’m sure that, when you are talking to people, you never refer to Wurtsboro as ‘my native place.’ It’s Wurtsboro. And, in Luke’s gospel - and I’m pretty sure, in Matthew’s - when we get to this story, the writer says Nazareth. But Mark chose to put it that way in order to focus on the prophecy. There is something in the Old Testament that says, “A prophet is not without honor except in his own native place,” and he wants to focus on that expectation or that sad reality.

The other thing that’s wrong with the picture is that Mark tells us that Jesus was able to do no mighty deeds there, except for curing a few sick people. But, if you think about it, that’s all Jesus ever did. The multiplication of the loaves and fishes was a one-off. In John’s Gospel, the changing of water into wine was a one-off. The raising of the daughter of Jairus was a one-off. The raising of Lazarus was a one-off. The raising of the son of the widow of Naeem was a one-off. The stilling of the waves was a one-off. Happened one time in the entire ministry. But Jesus is constantly, everywhere he goes, curing those who are ill. So, if he cured a couple of people in his native place who are ill, what’s the difference between that and any place else? Why does Mark say he wasn’t able to do any mighty deed there because of their lack of faith? It’s faith that Mark wants to focus on.

Did you spot the fundamental question? The writer of Mark’s Gospel tucked it into a throwaway sentence. After the story of the woman is finished, it says, “People arrived from the synagogue official’s house saying, ‘Why trouble the master any further?’” Nowadays, we wouldn’t use the word trouble anymore. We’d say what? Why bother? Don’t bother me. Why bother him? That’s the question that this gospel story, or these stories, are meant to address. Why bother?

How often do we say that or feel that way? Something goes wrong at the job. Not everybody is on the same page. People are not cooperating. Why bother? Something goes wrong in our family. We try several times to make amends or to bring people together. Everybody is resistant. Why bother? You want to do your best in your school or on the team, but the teacher or coach plays favorites. Why bother? A fundamental human question across all times and places.

We look at the way the world is today. There are a number of people working for change. A number of people working for progress. A number of people working for the poor. But the challenges seem overwhelming. Why bother?

One summer, when I was a teenager, my parents decided that we should go to the Jersey shore for a week. Not the Jersey Shore but some little town on the Jersey shore where they could find a motel that took dogs. That was the primary consideration. So, we wound up in a little tiny town that had one main road. The main road ran right along the ocean. On this side was the motels and stores, then the road and then the beach. No break whatsoever. So, the first day that we were there, after breakfast we all put on our bathing suits and went to the beach. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining. The waves were gentle. Tons of people at the beach. People frolicking in the water and the whole thing, you know. And we had a great time. The next day it was a little warmer than the day before but a little bit overcast. The sun was through a haze, which meant you’d burn more quickly. It also meant it was more humid and it felt hotter. But also, we discovered that the waves were stronger and the way the people were enjoying the ocean that day is that mostly they were going into the surf and turning their back, waiting for a big wave to come and splash over them. But still, lots of fun.

The next day, we woke up to a terrible storm. Not so much teaming rain, as a persistent rain with very strong winds, very strong winds. And we had to put on sweaters. We couldn’t go on the beach because the waves were so high from this storm that they were crashing over the beach onto the road. It was quite a spectacle to see. And the locals told us that the storm was actually 20 to 30 miles out in the ocean. All we were getting was the aftermath of it, yet some of the waves were two stories high. Gives you a good idea of what the ocean can really be like. Now, Jesus and his friends, they weren’t in the ocean they were on the Sea of Galilee. But the Sea of Galilee is large enough that it has its own current, its own tides.

So, I bet you picked out the word, right? The word was blood. It appears prominently in all three readings. Blood. Our archaeological anthropologists - people who study ancient civilizations - tell us that some sort of sacrificial gesture is among the oldest practices of human beings. They find evidence of altars and utensils going back thousands of years before the Israelites. It’s almost hot-wired into the human psyche to want to offer some sort of gesture to some higher power. And that gesture almost always involved the shedding of blood in some form because the blood is the life and, in shedding the blood, it was understood that you were rendering it unusable to yourself or anyone else, except to the deity and, in doing so, making a contract, a covenant, with that higher power to do something for you if you would do something for that higher power.

Let’s set that aside for a moment. I am standing while I am talking instead of sitting down because I wanted to model these vestments for you. The first time I wore these vestments was 55 years ago yesterday, on June 1,1969. At the first Mass I ever celebrated as the main celebrant. In a little church called St. Ann’s, in the Bronx. And, the next weekend, I celebrated another first Mass right here in this building. And there are some people in our congregation who were there at that first Mass.