Pentecost Sunday Reflection

Pentecost Sunday

(Acts 2:1-11; 1 Cor 12:3b-7, 12-13 or Gal 5:16-25; Jn 20:19-23 or Jn 15:26-27; 16:12-15)

According to the old cliché, Timing is everything. On November 21, 1783, Benjamin Franklin, the American Ambassador to France was at the Bois de Boulogne near the palace of King Louis to witness the second experiment in human flight. Someone had already managed to ascend a few feet in a hot air balloon, but on this day, two soldiers were going to try not just ascending but actually flying with the goal of making it from one side of the Seine river to the other. There was some trouble at first, but they managed to climb nearly five hundred feet into the air, make the crossing and land safely on the other side. And they didn’t have to pay a fee to check their bags.

After this success a rather smug Parisian who knew Franklin remarked to him: “What possible use could this have?” Franklin replied: “What possible use could a newborn baby have?” Timing is everything and Franklin knew that what he witnessed that day would someday have an enormous impact on the way people lived.

In today’s readings we heard two different accounts of the Holy Spirit being poured out upon the Church, each with its own unique sense of timing. Probably, the more familiar account comes to us from the Acts of the Apostles, the second volume of Luke’s Gospel and the action takes place a considerable amount of time after the Resurrection and Ascension of Jesus. But in John’s Gospel Jesus enters the locked room where the disciples are gathered in fear and he brings the Spirit with him.

These two accounts may differ a bit in the timing, but they absolutely agree on the result: The pouring out of the Holy Spirit upon the Church unleashes a creative energy unknown by humanity since the beginning of Creation itself. The disciples are transformed from a trembling mass of humanity to men and women who become relentless in their preaching of the Gospel in every corner of the world. The Gospel itself becomes transformed from the memories of a few to a universal proclamation of truth, known in every human language and culture.

And the fledgling Christian community becomes transformed, finally, into the Body of Christ, the Church. As amazing as the power of the Spirit of Jesus is to the disciples and apostles, it is even more amazing to the leaders of Jerusalem and not in a good way. Much like the unnamed Parisian in the story, they were convinced that these Christians, few in number, would come to nothing—at least that was the plan in getting Jesus killed.

But remember Franklin’s rhetorical question: What possible use could a newborn baby have? What is the use of new life after all? Perhaps not much until we understand that all life comes from God. And that is what the Church is: new life; new life in Christ, the Son of God, through the Spirit. Timing is everything and at the moment the disciples receive the Holy Spirit of Jesus, they receive exactly what they need: not a placeholder for Jesus while they waited for him to return, but the Spirit of Jesus himself, to teach them, the guide them, to unify them, to work with them to open the Kingdom of God to every person in every place.

Paul tells us in the second reading: To each individual the manifestation of the Spirit is given for some benefit, even though we are all parts of the one Body of Christ. Paul loves to talk about the Spirit because the Spirit is the ultimate understanding of what freedom really means, the kind of freedom that can only be experienced in the love of God. Ultimately, this is what the gifts of the Spirit, unique to each person, are all about: freedom. With faith in Christ, the Son of God, comes new life through the Spirit and in this new life comes the potential for what the early Church called metanoia or change: turning to Jesus.

When we hear the Pentecost account in Acts, it all sounds so automatic, doesn’t it? The Spirit descends and they all run out into the street to proclaim the gospel. This is why we need John’s account too, to remind us that the journey to becoming witnesses to Christ is not all neat and pretty; in between there is a lot of fear and trembling behind locked doors. And even though the Son of God, Jesus, and the Spirit throw open those doors, you can be assured that not everyone ran into the street with joy in their hearts. A few will always remain behind, choosing to remain in their own false sense of security, rather than embracing the freedom of God that comes in the Spirit.

The only way to make that choice, to allow the Spirit to lead us instead of fear, is through faith. Because faith alone allows us to see past the moment and to know that what we have witnessed has potential. That potential is in you and me and every believer through the Spirit, waiting for each of us to say, ‘yes’.

Brothers and Sisters, timing is everything and the time for the Spirit of Jesus, the Son of God, is now. Goodbye to fear and trembling. Goodbye to disillusionment and hopelessness. Welcome the newborn life in every believing heart that will never die again. Alleluia!


– Fr. David Kaczmarek, T.O.R.

"Field Work" - Franciscan Poetry & Prose

(Corn Field at St. Bernardine Monastery; Hollidaysburg, PA)

Field Work

(for Ambrose)

Let me resume

my words announcing a psalter

of tool, earth,

kingdom of the earthworm,

stake and furrow ...

where there is ground

that never goes fallow.

Let these hands

wake to the ways

dank, soft, leaf-rot,

the command of my fingers

darkening, waiting to tap

the trek of root, runner and vine.

In the pale half-light

where the air is alive

with ochre, russet,

and the assertion of stones,

let my body remember the pull

of this fair patch of soil,

the blister of the sun

touch by touch and how

my labor rests in tne hickory

handle of a hole as it

harnesses a deeper power.

When day's done

let sleep's secrets

nestle like seeds

in my cranial fields:

dreaming of laced ferns, molten

mosses, rusted dogwood and laurel.

Then let me rise

with pollen in the corner

of my eyes and the sun

blessing my branches forever.

– by Bro. Didacus R. Wilson, T.O.R.

(© copyright All Rights Reserved Wilson, Richard S.)

(Bro. Matthew, T.O.R. working in the field.)

Easter Reflection: The Ascension of the Lord

Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord

(Acts 1:1-11; Eph 1:17-23 or Eph 4:1-13; Mk 16:15-20)

It’s tempting for us to view the event of the ascension as the conclusion of Christ’s earthly ministry, but—as the author T.S. Eliot reminds us—what seems an ending is also a beginning. And that is what we really celebrate today.

As we just heard in St. Matthew’s gospel, before he ascended to his Father, Jesus instructed his disciples: “Go...make disciples of all the nations.” He urged them to baptize, to preach the Good News, to do the work he called them to do. In a sense he is telling them, “The world is waiting for you, so...GO!”

This sending of the disciples is also confirmed by the reading from the Acts of the Apostles. After they watch Jesus disappear into the clouds, two men appear and ask, “Men of Galilee, why are you standing there looking into the sky?” In other words, what are you waiting for? ... GO!

There is a sense of urgency about the command of Jesus and the admonition of the heavenly messengers. The disciples were not to waste time staring up at the sky, wondering where Jesus was going and when he would return. Nor were they to look back nostalgically on the good old days when Jesus was with them, working miracles, healing the sick, and calming the storms. There was a world waiting to be converted and, after all, Jesus’ last word to them was go. Go and transform the world. Go and pick up those who have fallen. Go and heal those who are hurting. Go and love those who have been forgotten or neglected. And we know from the Acts of the Apostles, the Letters of Paul and other disciples, and the history of the early Church, they went and great numbers came to believe in Jesus Christ as a result of their work and witness. Through the centuries, other men and women have also heard that call and brought people to faith in Jesus Christ.

What about us? After Mass, we will return to our homes, our families, our routines. We have appointments to keep, errands to run, and all the business that makes up our lives. Where in all of that does that command of Jesus fit? How and where do we heed Jesus’ simple command to go and proclaim the gospel? How do we participate in the great commission given to the apostles and all believers? So much of the world still needs to hear and know the Good News; that they are loved, that they have not been forgotten by God, that they, too, have a place at the Table. And, if we who gather here day after day and week after week do not tell them, who will? It is not enough for us to gather here, nurture ourselves, and return to our homes. We need to hear the simple command of Jesus: Go! Take what you have received and share it with others. We need to be reminded as were the disciples—don’t linger too long. Don’t waste time dwelling on the past. Look instead at what lies before you. Get ready and GO! The kingdom of God still needs to be built. The Ascension was just the beginning; the rest is up to us!


– Fr. Anthony M. Criscitelli, T.O.R.

"Alzheimers Magnificat" - Franciscan Poetry & Prose

Alzheimers Magnificat (2004)

My soul proclaims God's glory
                                                     Do you know my story?
My spirit exults the Lord
                                                     Can you hear my word?
Who favored a lowly servant
                                                      I'm lowly too, and bent.
                                                 ... and holy is the name of God.


All people will call me blest.
                                                    Where will I find rest?
God has done good for me;
                                                     I can only see darkly ...
God's mercy lasts forever.
                                                    Can you turn my page?
                                                ... and holy is the name of God.


God has shown a strong arm
                                                    Protect me from harm.
and has scattered the conceited;
                                                    Who has pride anymore?
God has pulled rulers from thrones
                                                    Why am I Alone?
and has lifted up the lowly.
                                                    I'm lowly too, and bent.
                                                ... and holy is the name of God.


God has filled the hungry,
                                                 Will you feed me?
but given the rich nothing.
                                                 Am I anything?
God has aided a servant,
                                                 What's my name?
in remembrance of God's mercy.
                                                 Do you remember me?
                                             ... and holy is the name of God.


– by Fr. David Kaczmarek, T.O.R.


(© copyright All Rights Reserved Kaczmarek, David.)

The Friars Celebrate the Renewal of Vows of a Brother

“…I Jeffrey R. Wilson, in the presence of the assembled

friars and into your hands, Father Patrick,

vow to live in obedience, in poverty, and in chastity

according to the Rule and Life

of the Brothers and Sisters of the

Third Order Regular of Saint Francis…”

The friars of the Florida region, along with our Provincial Minister, Fr. J. Patrick Quinn, T.O.R., gathered to witness Brother Jeffrey R. Wilson renew his vows as a Franciscan Friar on May 14, 2012 (Feast of St. Matthias) at San Pedro Retreat Center in Winter Park, FL. The ceremony took place during the celebration of Evening Prayer. Afterwards, the celebration continued at San Pedro Friary with a festive meal and socializing.

Brother Jeffrey first professed simple vows on May 30, 2009. He is studying for ordination to the priesthood and is beginning his third year of theology at The Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C.

"Holy Ground" - Franciscan Poetry & Prose

Holy Ground

Grackles with eyes of halfed lopes

jabber along the loose coils of barbed wire.

Weeds grow to dizzy angles here

while I call out the friar's names:

Osbelt, Smyth, Hatch, McNammera.

Something calls from the scrub pines

that casts scented shadows from sun-stung

needles. The pine cones mime balmed secrets

that gather meaning from the wind.

At the priory across the road,

shades are pulled to the noon sun

and the refectory is filled with

the clutter sounds of spoons against bowls.

I stand here among these headstones

where the air is as still as a young possum's breath

and the field rocks doze in the drainage culvert,

their backs bleached and dry.

it is late.

The slow sanctus of the Angelus bell

Encircle our small lives.

Come Sit. Listen.

McNammera, Hatch, Smyth, Osbelt.

– by Bro. Didacus R. Wilson, T.O.R.

(© copyright All Rights Reserved Wilson, Richard S.)

Easter Reflection: Sixth Sunday of Easter

Sixth Sunday of Easter

(Acts 10:25-26, 34-35, 44-48; 1 Jn 4:7-10; Jn 15:9-17)

Have you ever had the experience of a family member or friend move away. How did you feel? Did you give them a gift or receive a gift or memento from them to help you remember them?

In today’s gospel something like that is happening. Jesus has been with his disciples for a long time. They have shared many special and exciting times together and now he is preparing them for the fact that he is going to be leaving them. Naturally, they are saddened to hear this. They have come to love Jesus very much and he loves them. They have also come to depend on Jesus to pull them out of trouble and to help them when they had any kind of need. Not only are they sad; they are also afraid—afraid that they will be alone and they will have to face the future without their friend.

Jesus knows this, but he also knows that he must be faithful to what his Father has asked him to do. So, he gives them something very special to remind them that they are never alone—that he is always with them. He gives them the gift of Himself in Holy Communion. He shares this one last meal with them and before they eat the bread he says, “This is my Body.” Then, when he shares the cup of wine with them he says, “This is my Blood. Whenever you do this my memory, I will come to you. I will fill you up with my love and you will know that I am with you.” Jesus becomes food for them and for us so that we can become one with Him and be filled with his life, his strength, and his love.

Today we also hear Jesus tell his friends—and us—that we must love one another as he loves us. Sometimes that’s hard to do. But if we are filled with the life and the love and the strength of Jesus we can do that because, as Jesus lives in us, he also acts in us and loves in us. So Holy Communion is so special because it is the wonderful gift that Jesus gives us to help us remember that we are not alone—that He is always with us—that He desires to become a part of us. That’s how much He loves us; that’s how much He wants us to love one another.


– Fr. Anthony M. Criscitelli, T.O.R.

Easter Reflection: Fifth Sunday of Easter

Fifth Sunday of Easter

(Acts 9:26-31; 1 Jn 3:18-24; Jn 15:1-8)

In today’s first reading from the Acts of the Apostles, Luke, speaking about the Church throughout the then-known world, makes the enviable comment, “The Church throughout all Judea, Galilee, and Samaria was at peace.” How nice that must have been—for the people, for the leaders of the local communities, and for the apostles like Paul and Barnabas who had left all things in order to proclaim the Reign of God. When we look around at the state of the Church today—be it our parish church, the Local Church, or the Universal Church, we do not see this enviable peace. Marriage amendments and mergers, the role of the laity and of women in particular, clergy abuse and cover-ups...all these things and more give us pause and tell us that it’s no small wonder that people remain a part of such a flawed body. And so one of the things the Scriptures challenge us to ask ourselves—individually and as a community of faith—is how can we return to—how can we know—the early Church’s deep sense of peace?

In truth, we cannot, because in many respects it never existed! One needs only to read the letters of Paul to see that all was not well with many of the local communities or the Church as a whole. Paul publicly denounced Peter as a hypocrite in Antioch; he cursed anyone who disagreed with him on the essence of the Gospel; he constantly berated the Corinthians for the ways in which they conducted their lives; and he reminded those who criticized him for his past as a persecutor or the Church that he was in no way inferior to the apostles who had the privilege of being called by Jesus. When we consider that, we think, “That’s more like it! That sounds more like the Church I know!”

In telling us that the Church was at peace, Luke is not really lying to us. Instead, he is giving us the ideal Church, rather than the messy one that existed, reminding us—maybe even challenging us—to see that it is still possible to know deep peace even while enduring persecution from the outside and challenges from within...that even though we don’t all agree with one another or have the same understanding of the Church...we can still be one body in Christ. It is interesting that this very passage in Acts describes Paul’s meeting with the pillars of the Church in Jerusalem—men who were responsible for leading both the local communities as well as the larger Church. Having known him as a persecutor of the Church, they are not quite convinced of his sincerity. Barnabas, a respected man known to them, assures them that Paul is truly one of them and, as result of his testimony on Paul’s behalf, Paul is able to move about freely and he is ultimately accepted by them.

That kind of intimacy and trust must be rooted in Christ. In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells us that he is the vine and we are the branches. He reminds us that without him, we wither and die, but with him and through him, we flourish and produce great fruit.

If we want the Church to be at peace—locally and on the larger scale—we should gracefully and graciously accept that the Church includes leaders and members who run the gamut in terms of their theology, how they understand Scripture, and the ways in which they are inspired by the Holy Spirit. We need people in the pews as well as pastors and bishops who can be stretched and challenged. And we need wise and respected people like Barnabas who know how to bring them together. We need to know that the arms of God are wide and that within them all are embraced. Above all, we all need to know that we draw our life from the vine that is Christ.

The late Walter Burghardt, a renowned preacher and respected Jesuit theologian, made this observation on the fiftieth anniversary of his ordination:

In the course of a half century I have seen more Christian corruption than you have read of.
I have tasted it.
I have been reasonably corrupt myself.
And yet I love this church, this living, pulsing, sinning people of God with a crucifying passion.
Why?
For all the Christian hate, I experience here a community of love.
For all the institutional idiocy, I find here a tradition of reason.
For all the individual repression, I breathe here an air of freedom.
For all the fear of sex, I discover here the redemption of my body.
In an age so inhuman, I touch here tears of compassion.
In a world so grim and humorless, I share here rich joy and earthy laughter.
In the midst of death, I hear here an incomparable stress on life.For all the apparent absence of God, I sense here the real presence of Christ.

The Second Vatican Council taught us that we are a Church of churches and that our uniqueness and diversity—what makes us us, individually and as a parish community—helps us to understand better the life of the Spirit. Through it all, let us strive to be at peace.


– Fr. Anthony M. Criscitelli, T.O.R.

Easter Reflection: Fourth Sunday of Easter

Fourth Sunday of Easter

(Acts 4:8-12; 1 Jn 3:1-2; Jn 10:11-18)

This Fourth Sunday of Easter is often called “Good Shepherd Sunday” because the gospel presents us with the image of Jesus as shepherd—one who knows his sheep and whose sheep know him and who spares nothing in order to protect and care for us. It’s a pleasant enough image, one that many people take great comfort in. However, some people find it an insulting –even demeaning –image; primarily because sheep are really very stupid animals and we bristle at the idea that we are in any way like them.

Think about it. Have you ever gone to a circus and seen an act involved sheep that have been trained to do tricks or amuse a crowd? Sheep have a very strong flocking instinct and seldom act independently. If they get separated from the flock, they don’t know how to survive and will likely end up as another animal’s dinner. They have no survival instinct, nor do they have any natural protection like claws or antlers or a touch hide they can use to protect themselves. They do have wool, but that only makes it easier for an enemy to grab them and pull them down. Their voices are not threatening and will not scare away any predators; quite the contrary, their bleat is kind of whiny and probably makes them more annoying than anything. And on top of all this, they can be willful, stupid and stubborn. And this is what we are compared to in the Scriptures?

But it’s not just the sheep that come across as less than sterling; shepherds are not the most polished or sought-after group of people, either! At the time of Jesus, they were looked upon as the lowest of the low. Although they were hard workers, they were thought of as bandits and thieves and they were believed to be so dishonest that their testimony was not accepted in courts of law. Being a shepherd is certainly not something you would want one of your children to aspire to!

And yet, this is what the Gospel uses as an image to speak of our relationship with Jesus and his with us. Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor? Given what we have observed about sheep, maybe we are not as different from them as we would imagine ourselves to be. Lord knows, we can be easily swayed by the opinion of the crowd and not very firm in our own convictions. We can get caught up in the rat race of our work lives and move from one thing to another without a whole lot of thought or reflection. We can subscribe to the economic philosophy of success at any cost and believe that the more things we have, the happier we will be. And we can be herded into believing that we create our own success, but we usually discover that no matter how much we have we always seem to want more and that whatever success we achieve is never enough, either for ourselves or others. Perhaps that’s why Jesus has chosen this imagery. Like sheep, we need to depend on the shepherd for our safety, for our sustenance, for our wellbeing. In using this image, Jesus is telling us that if we allow ourselves to depend more on him and less on ourselves, he will give us a life. If we silence so many of the conflicting voices we allow to distract us and listen to his voice he will lead us to a place of life and refreshment where we will know the abundance and peace God desires for us...all the beautiful things we hear in Psalm 23. By listening to his voice, by being grateful for the care he gives us, we can free ourselves from so many of the burdens we allow to weigh us down and we can begin to recognize the wonderful graces that are already a part of our lives.

Sure, there will still be disappointments, failures, sickness and death, but by giving all of those things over to God, by finding the ways that God has been good to us…by listening to God’s voice we also find the happiness and peace that God desires for us and that we cannot achieve on our own. “I came that you may have life,” Jesus says, “…and have it in abundance.” That’s the voice of our Shepherd and we would do well to follow it and come to know that life.


– Fr. Anthony M. Criscitelli, T.O.R.

Easter Reflection: Third Sunday of Easter

Third Sunday of Easter

(Acts 3:13-15, 17-19; 1 Jn 2:1-5a; Lk 24:35-48)

The scriptures this weekend—particularly the first reading and the gospel—are all about recognition; recognizing the presence of Christ and who he really is. In the first reading, we find Peter and John in the temple in Jerusalem. By the power of Jesus’ name, they cured a man who had been crippled from birth and who had been begging money from people who passed by him. Naturally, his cure caused a big stir—especially among the temple officials—and Peter and John seized the moment to remind them that this man was cured not by them but by Jesus of Nazareth...the one they had put to death, calling out for him to be crucified.

The gospel verses we hear today come right after the disciples’ encounter with the Lord on the road to Emmaus. Today we find those same disciples back in Jerusalem, telling the others about their encounter with the risen Lord and, while they are speaking, the risen Lord comes among them. To prove himself real to them, he invites them to touch him and even eats some of their food. Once they are convinced that he it is he, he commissions them to do the work for which he called them—to preach to all the nations and tell them the Good News that he is risen and that they have reason to be hopeful.

When we hear these scriptures—the stories of how slow the disciples were to believe that Christ had indeed risen even as he stood before them, we sometimes shake our heads and wonder why. Yet, if we are honest, we know that they are not the only ones who doubt the presence of Christ in their midst. How often have we doubted? How often has Christ stood before us to assure us that he is with us ... how often have we received the very body and blood of Christ in the Eucharist ... and still wonder where God is when we are anxious or fearful. Maybe it’s because we would rather keep Christ at a safe distance, lest we feel compelled to change and be the better people he knows we can be. Maybe we fail to recognize Christ because so often he comes to us in the guise of the poor, the needy, the person or people we would rather not have to deal with.

I said at the beginning that the scriptures this weekend are about recognition...or the lack of it. And recognition is more than perception...seeing what is in front of us. Recognition is seeing with understanding ... not only seeing what is in front of us, but knowing and understanding who and what it is. It is something far deeper than merely seeing with our eyes. And this is part of the gift of the risen Christ to us—not only the assurance that he is risen and with us, but also—and more important—a share in that risen life so that we can rise above whatever it is that saddens us ... whatever it is that drags us down...whatever it is that prevents us from knowing the fullness of life God desires for us.

We see that so clearly and beautifully in the life of the disciples and the early Church. Having seen Jesus crucified and buried, they had been plunged into the depths of despair. They were a broken and frightened community; grieving people who felt that they lost everything meaningful for them, but each time the risen Lord appeared to them they grew confident in his presence among them and with them, they experienced a transformation that empowered them to unlock the doors and windows and go out into the world with confidence and joy to bring the Good News to any and all who would listen.

Although our presence here says that we believe in the risen Christ, we all have moments and times in our lives when, like the disciples, we feel like life has lost its meaning. We get mired down in sadness and grief and forget the times we have seen and experienced the presence of the risen Christ. It’s at those moments that we need to know and understand that the risen Christ is with us and that we have been and are loved by God more than we recognize. And the more we recognize—know and understand—this presence, the more our sadness is transformed into joy and we are empowered to be his witnesses to other.


– Fr. Anthony M. Criscitelli, T.O.R.

Easter Reflection: Easter Sunday Morning

(Acts 10:34, 37-43; Col 3:1-4; Jn 20:1-9)

If you listen closely to the gospel passage we just heard proclaimed, one thing becomes apparent—none of what they were seeing and experiencing on that morning of the first day of the week was making any sense. Not to Mary Magdalene or her companions, not to Peter nor John. The author of the gospel attributed this to the fact that none of them—neither his closest apostles nor his most devoted followers—understood the Scripture that Jesus must rise from the dead. Yet, when the beloved disciple followed Peter inside the tomb and saw the clothes lying there, we are told that he believed. The gospel does not say what he believed; only that he believed. There is no further conversation between him and Peter that is recorded for us, only that they returned to their homes. The rest of the story—as Paul Harvey used to say—belongs to Mary Magdalene. She is the one who saw the angels...she is the one who saw the risen Lord. Peter and John saw nothing but a vacant tomb and some clothes piled up in a corner. Any way you look at it, that’s a mighty shaky beginning for a faith that has lasted nearly two thousand years and has billions of adherents throughout the world.

And yet, that is where we continue to focus our attention on this glorious Easter morning—on an empty tomb...on what did or did not happen there...and on how we might explain it to anyone who does not believe. Resurrection does not square with anything else we know about physical human life. No one saw it happen on that first Easter morning; no one has ever seen it happen since. Ironically, this most important event in the life of Jesus is the one and only event that was not witnessed by anyone; it was entirely between him and the Father. There were no witnesses whatsoever; they all arrived after the fact. Two of them saw a pile of clothes, one of them saw a vision of angels, and most them saw nothing because they were home in bed, hiding behind pulled up blankets and securely bolted doors.

In the end, none of that really matters and to focus on an empty tomb is to miss the point. The tomb was just an empty shell—a cocoon—and the living being that had been inside was no longer there. Maybe that’s why Peter and John did not stay very long. Clearly, Jesus was not there. He had outgrown his tomb and the stone walls could not contain the life, the energy, and the hope that were radiating from his new being and that needed to be shared. As we are sometimes wont to say, the risen Lord had people to see, things to do, and places to go. His business was among the living to whom he appeared over and over in John’s gospel. And every time he came to his friends they became stronger, wiser, kinder, more daring. Every time he came to them, they became more like him. That’s where our focus should be this morning; not on an empty tomb, but on the presence of a living and breathing God who showed himself to his frightened disciples and transformed their fear into the ability and desire to continue to live and proclaim the message he spoke to them while he was among them.

That is the Easter miracle, my brothers and sisters; not an empty tomb, but an encounter with the living Lord. Easter began for Mary Magdalene not when she stood frightened and confused before an empty tomb, but when she saw the Lord and he spoke her name. It is no different for us. Easter is not about bunnies or colored eggs or even an empty tomb; we will know the true meaning and deep joy of Easter when we acknowledge the Lord who stands before us in our sisters and brothers...in all the moments of our lives...who speaks our names...and offers us nothing less than a participation in his own new and glorious life.


– Fr. Anthony M. Criscitelli, T.O.R.

Easter Reflection: Easter Vigil

The young man dressed in white, sitting where Jesus’ dead body should have been, says one of the strangest things imaginable to the women who visit the tomb: “Do not be amazed!” Given that they had gone there to lament and anoint the body of their dead friend, how could these women not be amazed?

Astonishment and amazement is a natural response to the mighty acts of God. Throughout the Scripture readings this evening we have recounted the history of God at work in the world and in our lives. God speaks—says a word—and the sun, the moon, the stars, the animals, all of humanity are born out of nothing. That is amazing!

God rescues the Israelites from the bondage of Egypt, giving them freedom and life when slavery and death seem their only possible future. That, too, is amazing!

Throughout the Scriptures, God provides a way when there is no way, rescuing his people from slavery, defeat, and exile. How could one not be amazed when God is at work in the world?

But, biblically speaking, amazement is more than mere delight and astonishment. Underneath this word is also a sense of being terrified or afraid—that combination of fear and wonder that reminds us that we are in the presence of a God who will let nothing defeat his life-giving desires. So maybe it’s not so unusual that, in the face of the women’s wonder and fear, the young man says, “Do not be amazed!” This message is at the heart of the Easter story—that we need not be afraid because even death can’t stop God’s life-giving desires. “Do not be amazed” that God is at work in our lives and in our world and it is God’s life-giving desire that we overcome the fears that keep us from living life as fully as God intends for us.

Our new life in Christ is born from the font of Baptism. “Are you not aware,” Paul writes to the
Romans, “that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were indeed buried with him through baptism into his death so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life.” Here is our life in God—our hope beyond fear. God, whose mighty acts once rescued people from slavery, defeat, and exile, has defeated the powers of sin and death by raising Jesus from the dead. This same God makes us one with Christ through baptism and raises us to newness of life.

The first word of Easter is a word for all of us: “Do not be amazed!” We need not fear because God has raised Jesus from the bonds of death and we are called to live as people of courage, peace, and hope...today and every day of our lives.


– Fr. Anthony M. Criscitelli, T.O.R.

Holy Week Reflection: Good Friday of the Passion and Death of the Lord

Good Friday of the Passion of the Lord

(Is 52:13-53:12; Heb 4:14-16; 5:7-9; Jn 18:1-19:42)

“Behold the wood of the Cross, on which hung the salvation of the world.”

These are the words that the priest proclaims as he begins to unveil the cross during the Liturgy of the Lord’s Passion and Death which the Catholic Church celebrates on Friday of Holy Week, or Good Friday. The congregation, then, responds, “Come, let us adore” and venerates the cross singing: “We adore your Cross, O Lord, we praise and glorify your holy Resurrection, for behold, because of the wood of a tree joy has come to the whole world.”

At first, the adoration of the Cross could seem strange. After all, in Jesus’ time, the cross was a form of torturing punishment and extreme humiliation. In fact, prominent atheists use the veneration of the cross to attack the principles of Christianity. For example, Any Rand states, “I do not believe in the sacrifice of one man to another. […] I am not merely anti-Christian. I am anti-mystical. The cross is a symbol of torture, of the sacrifice of the ideal to the nonideal. I prefer the dollar sign – the symbol of free trade, therefore of the free mind.” [1] This is not a new or modern development. During the 13th century, some heretical groups thought that the cross should be cursed and not blessed because it “was the instrument for the suffering and death of the one who had come to show us the way of salvation.” [2]

However, one of the mysterious ways that God works in the world is to take something that is lacking, or even evil, and raise it up to achieve good, and thereby, sanctify it and make it holy. This is not to say the God desires evil things. However, God tolerates evil and, because of God’s divine Power, God can make good out of evil. The cross is a perfect example. Before Jesus’ crucifixion, the cross was a symbol of torture and death. However, through Jesus’ selfless embracing of the cross, he transformed it into a holy instrument. The one who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new” (Rev. 21:5). Thus, the Church acknowledges the holiness of Christ’s Cross and, in fact, established a feast, the Exaltation of the Holy Cross (September 14), to honor the holy Cross of Christ. A portion of the preface prayer on this feast day states, “For you placed the salvation of the human race on the wood of the Cross, so that, where death arose, life might again spring forth and the evil one, who conquered on a tree, might likewise on a tree be conquered, through Christ our Lord.” Since the original sin of humanity began with a tree, the eating of the fruit from the tree of knowledge of good and evil, God decided to use a tree as an instrument for humanity’s salvation through Jesus Christ.

So, as we reflect on the passion and death of our Lord Jesus Christ, we are conscious of our sinfulness and we thank Jesus for his saving love. We ask that Jesus take us, who are lacking and sinful, and purify us; make us new, so that we may be instruments of his peace throughout the world. And so, we echo the favorite prayer of St. Francis of Assisi:

“We adore you, Lord Jesus Christ, in all your churches throughout the whole world, and we bless you, because by your holy cross you have redeemed the world.”


– Bro. Jeffrey Wilson, T.O.R.



[1] The Saturday Evening Post (Nov. 11, 1961) quotes Ayn Rand in an interview with Mike Wallace.

[2] Raoul Manselli, St. Francis of Assisi. (Chicago: Franciscan Herald Press, 1988) p. 68.

Holy Week Reflection: Holy Thursday

Evening Mass of the Lord's Supper

(Ex 12:1-8, 11-14; 1 Cor 11:23-26; Jn 13:1-15)

Today is known as Holy Thursday, or Thursday of Holy Week. The Church commemorates and celebrates the Supper of the Lord, or the Last Supper, in which Jesus institutes the Eucharist and the Priesthood. In addition, in John’s Gospel, the Evangelist portrays Jesus giving an example of how to minister to others and how to be ministered to by others in his washing of the feet of the disciples. Both cases require both meekness and humility.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines meek as “enduring injury with patience and without resentment” and humble as “not proud or haughty; not arrogant or assertive.” In addition, St. Bonaventure, the Seraphic Doctor, explains, “A person is meek by loving his brothers [and sisters], humble by loving lowliness. To be meek is to be a brother [or sister] to everybody; to be humble is to be less than everybody.” [1] Both meekness and humility refer to one’s relationship with others. Humbling oneself is lowering oneself in relation to another. Meekness is loving another in a certain way.

Jesus’ washing of the feet of the disciples is an example of both meekness and humility. First, Jesus’ act of ministry requires meekness, that is, Jesus’ brotherly love for his disciples. Love is the primary motivation for all of God’s actions, and therefore, Jesus’ actions. After all, God is love (1 Jn 4:16) and for God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life (Jn 3:16). Because Jesus loves the disciples, he ministers to them by washing their feet and so gives them (and us, for that matter,) an example of how to minister to others.

Second, Jesus’ act of ministry requires humility. In Jesus’ time, the washing of one’s feet was the job of a slave or house servant. Jesus had to lower himself, that is, his social standing and role in society, and be free of any sense of pride or entitlement in order to perform this task. Jesus’ action echoes St. Paul’s words, “Who, though he was in the form of God, did not regard equality with God something to be grasped. Rather, he emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, coming in human likeness; and found human in appearance, he humbled himself, becoming obedient to death, even death on a cross” (Phil 6:8). This is such a lowering of Jesus’ self that, at first, Peter refuses to have Jesus wash his feet. St. Bonaventure describes Peter’s response as fearful reverence. He explains, “He came to Simon Peter, that is, to wash his feet. And Peter said to him: Lord, are you going to wash my feet? Peter was speaking as one terrified: You are doing this for me? You, as Lord, are doing this for me, a servant? You, the Master, are doing this for me, the disciple? You, the Almighty, are doing this for miserable me? [2]

Peter’s response leads to the second point: being ministered to by others also requires both meekness and humility. Jesus tells Peter, “If I do not wash you, you will have no part with me.” In order to be obedient, Peter must also be meek and humble. Through his love for Jesus, he must allow himself to me ministered to by his Lord, the Master, the Almighty. Peter must lower his desire and will in relation to God’s desire and will, that is, humble himself before the Lord. And it is Peter’s love for the Lord that allows him to do this.

So, as we enter into these holy days of the Triduum, let us stop and take time to reflect how we can be meek and humble in our ministering to our brothers and sisters and in our being ministered to by our brothers and sisters. After all, Jesus instructs us, “Learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart” (Matt 11:29).

– Bro. Jeffrey Wilson, T.O.R.


[1] St. Bonaventure, “The Evening Sermon on Saint Francis” in Francis of Assisi: Early Documents, Vol. 1 - The Founder. Eds. Regis J. Armstrong, O.F.M. Cap., J.A. Wayne Hellman, O.F.M. Conv., and William J. Short, O.F.M. (New York: New City Press, 2000), 517.

[2] St. Bonaventure, Works of St. Bonaventure, Vol. XI – Commentary on the Gospel of John. Trans. Robert J. Karris, O.F.M. (Saint Bonaventure, NY: Franciscan Institute Publications, 2007), 688-9.

Holy Week Reflection: Palm Sunday of the Passion of the Lord

(Is 50:4-7; Phil 2:6-11; Mk 14:1-15:47)

As Christian people, we are a community shaped by stories—stories of God’s love, which called us and all creation into being, God’s promises to be with and deliver his people throughout history. Each weekend we come together to reflect on stories found in the Scriptures and we gather around the altar to re-enact one of those stories. But on no other weekend is the story as clear as it is this weekend—a weekend that we call by two names: Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday. This double name reflects what is going on in the liturgy. We begin by blessing palm branches and shouting, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” and, before it’s all over, we find ourselves shouting with the same crowd, “Crucify Him!”

Like so many of the stories we hear throughout the year—indeed, throughout our lives this story sometimes loses its impact, its ability to grab our attention, to shock or startle us. And yet, when this story is proclaimed, we are invited and challenged to enter into it—to think of ourselves not simply as a 21st century community listening to the retelling of something familiar, but to ask ourselves, “Where do I fit in this story? With what character do I identify?”

We are used to the usual cast of bad guys: Judas Iscariot, Caiphas, Pontius Pilate, the fickle crowds. But in Mark’s telling of the Passion, even the disciples of Jesus come off looking not so good! They should have been there to witness what Jesus was going through as he was about to fulfill his mission. After all, Jesus had—directly and indirectly—prepared them for what was ahead. On the mount of the Transfiguration, in the garden, and at other times he spoke about his impending passion and death. Yet, when his time had come, they all “forsook him and fled”—even Peter, who only hours before, protested, “Even if all desert you, I will never desert you.” At the foot of the cross, where his disciples should have been, Mark tells us the only one who would recognize and profess Jesus for who and what he was a Roman centurion—one outside the Law. How ironic that an outsider should recognize Jesus when those who were closest to him didn’t have a clue and ran off in fear for their safety.

In the end, perhaps what should shock or startle us about the telling of Jesus’ Passion is not that God’s anointed should suffer the indignity of the cross—not that Judas should have betrayed him—not that Caiaphas or Pilate should have sentenced him to death. No, the real scandal is that his own disciples—those who heard his words and witnessed his deeds—were so slow to recognize him. When they thought his life and mission had been a failure and he was being dragged to his passion and death, they abandoned their hope in him.

What about us? Are we willing to put our faith and trust in a God who submits himself to the humiliation of the cross? How do we hear Paul’s words to the Philippians, “Your attitude must be that of Christ’s; though he was in the form of God he did not deem equality with God something to be grasped at…?”

Throughout this week, the Church invites us to listen to this story—perhaps as if for the first time—not so much that we may understand it, but that we may enter into it and ask ourselves who we are as the drama unfolds.


– Fr. Anthony M. Criscitelli, T.O.R.

Lenten Reflection: Fifth Sunday of Lent

Year A Scrutinies

(Ez 37:12-14; Rom 8:8-11; Jn 11:1-45)

The Greatest Miracle in the World

What is the greatest miracle in the world? Is it the Wedding at Cana? The miracle of the fish? The healing of the many people who are sick and diseased? Is it the feeding of the five-thousand or the walking on the water? Or is it as today’s Gospel says; the miraculous resurrection of Lazarus? I would think that one could make a case that of all the extraordinary, astounding and astonishing miracles that Jesus has performed, none has been greater than this most awesome expression of God’s life giving power.

Now in light of this realization that Christ has performed the greatest miracle in the world what does it mean, then, when he says to his disciples (as he says to us today) in John’s Gospel, “Very truly, I tell you, the one who believes in me will also do the works that I do and, in fact, will do greater works than these, because I am going to the Father. I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If in my name you ask me for anything, I will do it. “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” (Jn 14:12-14).

Greater works than these … greater works than these? We are told we will do greater works that those of the Our Savior, the Lord Jesus Christ!? I say that with an exclamation point and a question mark as well, for frankly, I find it quite intimidating that the Truth tells us that we will do greater works than those that the disciples had witnessed at that we hear proclaimed year after year.

What could be greater than raising someone from the dead? I believe the answer is raising those from the living dead; our brothers and sisters who share this holy existence of life among us on this earth. Many of us have experienced the life of mediocrity. We have in many different ways settled for an altered way of life because of lost dreams. We have surrendered our self-esteem to negative persuasions, and have settled for just getting by. We may have lost our desire to cooperate with God’s Divine plan for our lives; we may have fallen into the nightmare of compromise filled with regret, dejection, and hopelessness. We may have fallen upon a path of disdain for any respect for human life, a track with alcohol and drug addictions, or even a journey in which some of us shared in the despair, bleakness, and fear of a life that was filled with “unanswered prayers and nights of tears.”

But there is hope! There is joy! There is Jesus and his promise to us all: “You will do greater deeds than these.” We, my brothers and sisters, can and must be ready to follow in the Lord’s footsteps and raise those in need from the living dead.

How are we to do this? Look at the example of our patron St. Francis of Assisi: feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, make strangers welcome, visit the sick, visit the imprisoned, clothe the naked.

What is the greatest miracle in the world? The wine, the fish, the loaves? … It is the gift of life! God is challenging us today to resurrect those from the living dead; those who look upon themselves with disgrace and terror; those who live in fear and failure and thrash hopelessly and helplessly in their own image of worthlessness and mockery.

My brothers and sisters, we must raise our hands in prayer and in honor to the Almighty and ask for the promise that Jesus foretold: to share in his ministry; to perform the greater miracle; to raise those from the living dead. As we seek and find those in need we will then cry out in a loud voice “Lazarus, come out!”


– Br. Matthew Hillman, T.O.R.