Fifth Sunday of Easter Homily (May 3): “I Go to Prepare a Place for You”
Readings and Virtual Homily for May 3, Fifth Sunday of Easter; The Hills Are Still Green; Sister Act at O'Dowd; Countdown to Summer
Readings for Mass this weekend:
Acts of the Apostles 6:1-7
Psalm 33:1-2, 4-5, 18-19
1 Peter 2:4-9
John 14:1-12
Dear Friends and Family,
Unable to identify any clearly identifying unitive factor among this Sunday's readings, I am going to do what I sometimes do, in these written homilies. Take each reading by itself. And then, with the Gospel passage, expand a bit, as it is one of my favorites from the Gospel of John.
The reading from Acts of the Apostles tells us of the creation of the office of deacon in the infant Church. This was a milestone moment in terms of the organization of the early Church. The apostles made clear that their ministry was about prayer and preaching (vs. 2); they needed help, basically, with aspects of administration, and the office of deacon was created precisely for that purpose.
The ministry of the apostles, freed from certain oversight tasks, thus acquired a more priestly character; priests (and priestesses) in any religion being primarily occupied with making intercession for the people. The word "presbyter" (which can be translated as elder, but from which we also derive the title priest) now came into use -- leaders of the community who were neither apostles nor deacons, came to be referred to as such. In time, by which I mean, no more than a few decades, a formal distinction was made between apostle and presbyter; the word episcopus came to denote the office of the leader, or apostle, of a local congregation, the bishop. A great deal more might be said here about these distinctions and divisions of ministry in the formational decades of the early Church. But that is not the focus of this homily.
The psalm, that is the verses from Psalm 33 that are included in today's readings, largely extols the mercy of God and encourages trust in that mercy.
The second reading recaps Psalm 118 in that it speaks of a stone, "a living stone rejected by human beings but chosen and precious in the sight of God" (vs. 4). Psalm 118, which was read at Mass on both Easter Sunday and the Second Sunday of Easter, predicts that "the stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone" (Ps. 118, vs. 22)
The reading from First Peter goes on to assure the early Church's largely Gentile converts that their election was foreseen from of old, and that they constitute "a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of his own...called...out of darkness into his wonderful light" (vs. 9). These verses apply to all the Gentile converts for all time -- that is, they describe us.
Then there is John 14. When I am doing a funeral, if the family leaves the selection of the Gospel passage to me, this is the passage I typically choose. I select it because of what it tells us about the reality to be experienced by our loved ones who have passed. I stress the future tense here -- to be experienced -- because it is just realistic to assume a stop-off in Purgatory for most of us, on the way to the banquet. I've reserved a suite there, myself...
Chapter 14 in John is part of John's five-chapter description of the Last Supper, far and away the most detailed description we have of the event. Being Jesus' last night on earth, he naturally is talking with his closest disciples about the Big Things. The Holy Spirit. The Trinity. The absolute necessity of service to others. And so on. One of the things Jesus addresses is the afterlife.
"In my Father's house there are many dwelling places," Jesus says, adding that "I am going to prepare a place for you" (vs. 2).
Jesus is not speaking metaphorically here. When he says I go to prepare a place for you, he means exactly that. Heaven is a physical place. It has physical attributes that will remind us of earth. A carpenter by training, Jesus knows how to "prepare a place." He also knows the deepest longings of every human heart. And he has the power to fulfill those desires -- and go beyond them. As St. Paul says it has not entered the mind of man what God has in store for those who love him (1 Corinthians 2:9).
Other translations of John 14 specify that in the house of the Father there are "many mansions". Whether our place in eternity would qualify in earthly terms as a mansion is unknowable from our present vantage point, but it is also irrelevant, because that place, designed by Jesus himself, will precisely fit our deepest desires -- and expand upon them.
What I say at funerals is that the deceased had special places on earth; favorite places on earth. We all do. We all have places where, when we arrive, we say to ourselves, "I don't know why I don't come here more often," or maybe, "When I am here I feel as if I could stay forever." These places are signposts along our earthly journey; they are echoes (pre-echoes is a better term, if it does not flat-out contradict itself) here in time and space of the place that Jesus is preparing for us in eternity.
When I think of my favorite places here on earth, I am left to conclude that the place Jesus is preparing for me will look a lot like California, like the Portuguese islands of the Atlantic, like the coast of Morocco from Tangier to Casablanca. That is, seaside, sunny, subtropical, but with arid influences, nothing humid, nothing wet and sticky. As to the "dwelling place" or "mansion" itself -- it can be a tiny home, as far as I am concerned, as long as I one day inherit it!
On the subject of beautiful places, the Hayward hills are qualifying as such as we head into May. All those April showers prolonged by more than a month the green in the hills, though of course already by the end of our bone-dry March the vibrance of the green had begun to fade. And there are stretches of summer-gold in the midst of the lingering green. But I was really happy to see the green endure the way it has, this past wet month. On a purely practical level it delays the fire season, but aesthetically, too, it is gratifying to look out my windows on spring green slopes.
Of course I love Hayward's hills anytime of year, and the same goes for those along 580 into the Tri-Valley. I was with a member of the old Marysville Youth Group one evening last week, and we drove from the rectory over to Pleasanton for dinner. Miguel (the former youth grouper, now in his early forties!) commented on how pretty the green hills were. He lives in San Diego now, where the window for green hills each winter is substantially shorter than it is here. But as I say, the East Bay hills are beautiful when they are that summer yellow-gold as well. I will not be surprised if, when I get there, the place Jesus has prepared for me has a view out over such hills.
It being the start of May, the Drama Department at O'Dowd is presenting its spring musical. This year the production is SISTER ACT. I did not realize it had been adapted for the stage. I remember both films (from the early-mid '90s) well -- I went to see them with my Oakland nieces. I am seeing the show opening night (Friday) but am writing this earlier in the week, so cannot give a "review." I bet I'll give it a rave, next e-mail! Our teen thespians never fail to amaze me with their talent and their dedication.
And of course, when the spring musical is in production, it means we have really hit the lower slope of the downhill run of the academic year. There are fifteen school days 'til the last day of classes. (Who's counting? ALL of my colleagues and myself.) I can say, though, that this May I am not dragging myself panting toward the finish line. The reason is that I only worked half the academic year. I am still feeling the effect of the rest of the sabbatical; and I am still just really glad to be back on campus, after seven months away.
That said, I'll take ten weeks off for the summer. Take them happily.
Gonna wrap it there.
Take good care. God bless.
Love,
Fr. Brawn