5th Sunday of Lent

Bishop Gary Gordon
St. Andrew’s Cathedral
March 29, 2020

Throughout this country, we are invited to a deep communion of prayer, for all things are possible in Jesus Christ, our Lord, our Saviour, the vulnerable one who weeps with us so that we, too, can live.

Transcript

My dear friends, I want to just leave a few words with you. I’m not too used to standing behind the pulpit. Hopefully we’ve got this camera thing set up so I can wander around as I usually do.

This is indeed a moment of silence. And it’s good that it is silent here, at St. Andrew’s Cathedral. It is silent throughout all of the churches in the Diocese. It means you’re staying home! We’re supposed to stay home. This is a good way to take care of one another, by staying home.

There are many words spoken in these days, many newscasts, many predictions. But one of the things that is common to me, to you, to all of us, is a grieving, a loss, a suffering. Jesus, too, in his humanity, shows the depth of vulnerability, shows the depth of becoming all things with us, through us, in us.

This Gospel today invites us to see the weeping Jesus. He is close to us. He is close particularly to the most vulnerable, to those who have no defences—the elderly, the young, the vulnerable on our streets and in our prisons. He is close to those who have lost loved ones. He weeps.

This closeness is not limited to his own experience, or to our own experience, for the closeness of Jesus is also a power, a grace, an amazing gift, and that gift is new life. The closeness and the weeping of Jesus is something that we experience also as a power to overcome all indifference. It is the power of Jesus to command, “Roll back the stone! Lazarus, come out!”

And so, my dear friends, my dear families, at this time of anxiety and trepidation, we are invited as people of faith to roll back the stones that may hinder our hope. To roll back the stones that keep us weighed down from being truly free. To roll back the stones that maybe for too long have weighed us down, and we are invited to hear Jesus speak, to me, and to you: Lazarus, come out. Be free.

And so we see that freedom experienced in these days by so many people who are making enormous sacrifices to reach out to others. We see the sacrifices and the commitment of healthcare workers, and frontline workers, and store clerks selling us groceries. We see that Jesus, in his spirit, can enkindle a freedom to act, and a freedom to create solidarity not only within our communities, but within our world—a freedom to create a kind of humanity that truly values the least of these, and the greatest of these. We are invited to remain faithful, to remain hopeful, to remain calm. We are invited to be people of faith.

Jesus responds to Martha, “I am the resurrection and the life.” And so let us live, and let us live in sacrificial love, let us live in quiet, let us live in deep prayer for our loved ones.

Finally, here on Vancouver Island, in the Diocese of Victoria, we are invited to a deep communion of prayer for all of our brothers and sisters in our towns and villages. Throughout this country, we are invited to a deep communion of prayer, for all things are possible in Jesus Christ, our Lord, our Saviour, the vulnerable one who weeps with us so that we, too, can live.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit,

Amen.

2019 March for Life

Bishop Gary Gordon
St. Andrew’s Cathedral
May 9, 2019

"Never underestimate the power of your life, the grace of your life that witnesses to the presence of Jesus Christ and the Gospel of Life in this world."

Thank you, Deacon Phillip, for proclaiming the Gospel. Welcome, brothers and sisters in Christ. I see many from the Diocese of Victoria, from different places on this vast wonderful Island, and I see a few people from the Archdiocese of Vancouver. It’s so wonderful you could cross the pond to be with us. It’s good to see some of our priests who have joined us. Thank you.

I see another gentlemen with a zucchetto (pink hat): Msgr. Carl Reid, who has just been appointed as the Ordinary of the Personal Prelature of Our Lady of the Southern Cone Anglican Ordinariate Diocese. Which is Australia, Japan, the Philippines, and Oceania.

Because it’s Oceania, we’re neighbours. About 7,000 km across the Pacific, but we are neighbours. When he comes home to visit in Canada, his first disembarkation will be the Diocese of Victoria. It’s good to have a friendly face as a neighbour.

The people asked Jesus for a sign to believe in him. The only sign to believe in him is the friendly faces of the body of Christ. This is the sign. You are the sign: the people of God who have embraced in love Jesus Christ, and the Gospel of Life. This is quite a sign. Over at St. Patrick’s, there’s another big sign, with Archbishop Miller, and in Ottawa, with Archbishop Prendergast. There’s another big sign. Never underestimate the power of your life, the grace of your life that witnesses to the presence of Jesus Christ and the Gospel of Life in this world.

The response to the Psalm is almost incomprehensible. Let all the earth cry out to God with joy. Let all the earth cry out to God with joy. Well I don’t know about you, but the earth is not crying out with joy. We are well aware of the ecological crisis that is upon the earth. The wholesale elimination of species was in the news last week. The commodification of water, which is essential for life. The selling of women and children for the pleasure of the rich, and the ongoing, even more incomprehensible throwaway society.

And for this, we are gathered to mourn. To mourn the decisions that we as Canadians have made, to throw away the most precious of life—in the millions. And the ecological crisis continues as now the vulnerable and the unwell are no longer marketable for the economy, and so we have found a way, as a Canadian society, to throw away.

I speak in this language of an integral ecology from our Holy Father’s Encyclical, Laudato Si’, because the issues of life are totally integrated into a mentality of throwaway, and we’re all part of it. We must all repent that we have bought into a throwaway consumer way of being as Canadians. All of creation is interdependent. Not that there isn’t a hierarchy of importance to different parts of creation, this is true. And human life is essential. But it is completely and utterly philosophically connected. This is the great gift that our Holy Father Francis has brought to the mind and the life of the Church. That what we are dealing with in the world is an attitude, and though we would like to compartmentalize this attitude and say, “I am Pro-life for humans, but not for those on death row,” the Holy Father is saying it is interdependent. And so how do we move forward and be consistent, and really bring about a change so that we can sing, truly, Let all the earth cry out to God with joy? How do we achieve that interdependence and dependence?

Let’s look at a Canadian hero who just passed away: Jean Vanier. A Canadian hero, a son of our country, who has made a bold and radical statement through the L’Arche Communities of the essential life of the most vulnerable: those with mental and psychiatric disability. We know what he has done. In Vancouver, there is a L’Arche community, here in the Diocese of Victoria, there is a L’Arche community. This is an essential, powerful sign of one person changing the culture of throwaway society and being recognized by the world as a hero.

So how can we do this in our own particular parish, and home, and life? How can we overcome the throwaway society, be it the unborn, the vulnerable sick, the river, the sky, the earth? How do we begin to sing the song of joy of the earth?

Let me give only one example. I’m celebrating this Mass for all of you, but in particular, for the soul of Jacob Linder, who died two days ago in Florida, a dear, dear friend of one of our parishioners at St. Peter’s, Nanaimo.

Jacob Linder was not supposed to be born. But God had other plans. He was born with serious brain deficiencies, with brain injury. He was not supposed to live past six months of age. But he had his first birthday—and then lived to 31. The story is not about this particular child overcoming great medical challenges. The story is his parents, who gave up their careers to love their child, who gave up profound advancement in their professional lives to accompany their child right through to adulthood.

So how do we cause the earth to rejoice? How do we sing the song of joy in a culture of death? Pope Francis has given us a new word, and he says everyone must be trained in the art of accompaniment.

This is the invitation of the Church today, in our world, in our time, in Canada. To accompany. To accompany with the gaze that we possess—the gaze that saves. To accompany with the vigilance of care and concern of those parents of Jacob Linder. To put on hold our own projects and plans to take the time. I have known many women who have chosen abortion, and every single one cried out to me on my side of the confessional, “If someone had been with me I would not have done this!”

We know that when we are able to accompany people as they are, and who they are, and in their struggle, the in-built life that is life itself in a heartbeat called Hope will choose life. And so we are invited to this art of accompaniment. We know for our frail elderly, and our vulnerable in our hospitals and care homes, and at home, that if the dignity of their own weakness and poverty of life in their old age is loved and accompanied, they will not choose euthanasia.

We have the solution to the culture of a throwaway society. We do have it! It’s called love. It’s called accompaniment. It’s to hear our Holy Father so very clearly speak to the Church and to the world, voicing the cry of the earth, that we are all interrelated, and that our attitude as a consumer people must be to overcome all structures, policies, and economics that throw away.

This is one of the great revelations of our time: that we are called to seriously think about every part of our lives and our actions, because they are connected. The way forward to change and to create in this beautiful country, Canada, the beauty that it is meant to have, socially, economically, politically, spiritually, environmentally, is to accompany. To take the time, to give the time, to our brothers and sisters, in every possible way.

So, I leave it with you. It’s simple, but you know how hard it is to give time. We started Mass late today because the Bishop is never on time! But it is the only thing we have, and it is a great challenge to hear from our Holy Father that everyone in the Church needs to be trained in the art of accompaniment—like the dear parents of Jacob Linder.

I leave it with you. I am grateful for your presence, for it is a sign that as the Psalm at the very last stanza says, Blessed be God because He has not rejected my prayer, or removed His steadfast love from me. No matter what happens, no matter our poor choices, no matter our own weakness and poverty and sinfulness, God does not remove His steadfast love for the earth, and for you.

Hold on to His steadfast love for you.

2019 Chrism Mass

Bishop Gary Gordon
St. Andrew's Cathedral
April 11, 2019

This is the work of the Church, to sustain and carry one another in this amazing ministry of Jesus Christ. To be an anointed Church, and primarily an anointed Church for healing.

Thank you for proclaiming the Gospel, Deacon Michael. Thank you, sisters and brothers, for coming out tonight. I think this is one of the biggest crowds I’ve seen at the Chrism Mass—even though the Boston Bruins are playing Toronto, and the Red Sox are playing tonight. I know that there are a lot of sacrifices being made for some of you to be here. I’m really grateful.

I want to begin this homily at the very, very end of our liturgy this evening. Maybe in a way it’s always a good thing to know where we’re going before we start. At the very end of the liturgy this evening each parish community in the Diocese will be announced, and representatives of that parish community will come forward to receive the blessed oils: the Oil of the Sick, the Oil of Catechumens, and the Oil of Chrism. There are people here from every parish community in our Diocese. This is always my favourite celebration of the year, because we get everybody together, from every part of the Diocese. I’m so, so grateful that you’ve travelled to be with us.

At the end of the Mass of Chrism, the oils are given to you. To you. To the Body of Christ. They’re given so that you may hold them and carry them for your community, so that our brother priests receive them from you for the community. And that’s why, before they’re blessed, the priests who are ordained to exercise the ministry of the oils that you carry, will renew their promises as priests, to exercise that ministry to the whole people of God, with fidelity, with love, and with compassion.

The oils symbolize in many ways what is needed in the life of the Church, and the life of this Diocese.

The first oil that I bless will be the Oil of the Sick, for the Sacrament of the Sick. You’re going to take it home, and the phone’s going to ring, and somebody is going to need to be healed. Then you’re going to give the oil to the priest, and say, “Go. Go.”

This is the work of the Church, to sustain and carry one another in this amazing ministry of Jesus Christ. To be an anointed Church, and primarily an anointed Church for healing. To bind up, as Isaiah says, the hearts that are broken. To be an instrument of healing, together. It will be the work of the ordained to equip the saints of God for the healing ministry of Jesus Christ, and it takes place in a multitude of ways. The most beautiful is to simply accompany the frail, the vulnerable, the weak, the broken-hearted, with our presence and our love. And so, we are all an anointed priesthood.

The second oil is the Oil of Catechumens. This is the oil of strengthening those who are coming into the Church. We use it before baptism, to strengthen the ones who want to be equipped as the Body of Christ. We strengthen them so they have the courage to become the Body of Christ.

The third oil: Chrism. We pour rose oil into the olive oil, and it smells exquisite. You will give that oil to the ordained, so that they will be able to equip the Body of Christ as anointed in the power of the Spirit—anointed to be a beautiful fragrance in this world, anointed to indeed do what Jesus did, together.

And so, in this celebration of the Chrism Mass, we have this collaboration, and co-responsibility, for the life of the Church on this island and all the other little islands. It is a work that we do together, and it is essential that we do this work—together. That’s why the very end of the liturgy is so important. The oils are entrusted to God’s people, God’s people give them to the ordained, and the ordained equip the whole Body of Christ to transform, transfigure, to bind up the broken-hearted, and to heal the infirm, to strengthen, and ultimately to be anointed in chrism as Christ was anointed—priest, prophet, and king.

And so, as God’s priestly people, we are sharing in the very life of Christ. To be, to be the life of Christin this Diocese. And in case you haven’t noticed, I would say it’s very much like the mustard seed in the middle of a vast ocean. And yet God has chosen you, and me, and my brother priests, to be that mustard seed of life, of light, and maybe in this particular time and age, of healing.

Healing. So that the fullness of life may come to all. What a privilege that we share together. To heal, and to love, and to become a beautiful fragrance of God’s love in this amazing Diocese.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

The Art of Negotiation

Pastoral Centre
April 4, 2019

The whole point is God’s grace is 'greater than'. Greater than the golden calf, greater than the Commandments, greater than … God’s grace.

The First Reading (Exodus 32:7 – 14), and the Gospel (John 5:31 – 47) of course, both mention Moses, and that’s because Moses is seen in many ways as an archetype of the Messiah, of the Saviour. And it is precisely because of this particular passage about Moses, in the First Reading.

You could also say that the First Reading is the ‘art of negotiation with God’. How to negotiate! It’s very cagey. God is really not happy with these people: he’s just been replaced with a golden calf. Imagine! So God’s fed up. “Let’s start over, Moses, you and I together, we’re going to get this thing right!”

Just a few chapters before this reading, Moses was saying, “God! Get me out of here! These people are crazy! We have to do something differently.” And now Moses is interceding for them. This is the primary way that Moses is an archetype of Christ. Christ is the great Intercessor. Precisely because he becomes man in all things, he now deeply understands the plight of the human race, and so he becomes the Intercessor before the Father, by saying, “I’ll take it on.” And, of course, he does, and he is crucified, and gives his life for us, for the world.

Moses does the same thing. He’s going to take it on, but he’s quite cagey. He says, “You don’t want the Egyptians to think you’re a puny little god, do you? You’re theGod, and if you go ahead and knock out these people, then the Egyptians are going to say, ‘we told you so!’” So Moses is kind of crafty in this conversation with God, and that may not be a bad thing, sometimes, to be a little bit crafty when negotiating.

At the end of the day, Moses, as the archetype of Saviour, of Jesus, as the Scripture says, stands in the breach. He takes it on, and he says We’ll work with what we’ve got. I think that would be a great summation of this particular passage: we’ll work with what we’ve got. We can say that in all our endeavours: we’ll work with what we’ve got.

The whole point is God’s grace is greater than. Greater than the golden calf, greater than the Commandments, greater than … God’s grace.

Ash Wednesday

Bishop Gary Gordon
St. Andrew’s Cathedral
March 6, 2019

Prayer puts us in our place to remind us that without the breath of God, without the grace of God, we are dust. But because of the breath of God, because of the love of Jesus Christ, this dust is redeemed and given the promise of eternal life.

Lent. It means ‘springtime’. And it is springtime, here in Victoria. It’s nice to be back in Victoria for a couple of days. You may not know it, but I’m living in Nanaimo now. I’m looking after St. Peter’s parish in Nanaimo, so if you want something to do for Lent, you could pray for vocations to the priesthood.

The springtime for us, who believe in the Lord, is captured in the opening line of the First Reading: to turn to the Lord with all our heart. To invite the Lord to renew our hearts. And in fact, to expand our hearts for the celebration of the joy of Easter. This is the 40-day journey that we are on: that our hearts may be expanded to hold the joy of Christ’s death and resurrection—a joy that we share in through our baptism, and a joy we are invited to. To hear the Word of God, to rend our hearts, and not our garments.

In other words, all the outward signs and the things that we do that would be religious and pious, are about the transformation of our hearts. Let me describe some possibilities for us, to work on our own hearts so that they be completely open to the joy that God has for us and that we will celebrate at Easter.

It starts with understanding that in springtime, at least in Nanaimo where I walk the dog every day through the streets, as soon as the snow had disappeared from their yards, people were out in their gardens with their shovels. And I called over to someone a couple days ago, as they were trying to move a pile of snow off their garden, and I said, “It’s a little early, isn’t it?” And they said, “Oh no! It’s never too early to start turning over the soil.”

And so that is the invitation of Lent: to turn over our hearts. Maybe to use a spade to dig up the earth of our hearts so that they are turned over to receive the grace of Easter, like a seed of God’s love, so that we are able to live the joy that we are called to through our baptism.

The Scriptures invite us to fasting, to almsgiving, and to prayer during Lent. Let me give a few ideas about this fasting, and almsgiving, and prayer, that can possibly expand our hearts for the joy that God wants us to have at Easter.

For 40 days, we fast. When I was a child, I gave up chocolate chip cookies. Big. Deal. I was a little overweight anyway. But what is the fast we are called to? It is a fast that allows us to recognize that we are hoarders.

I drive the highway on Vancouver Island all the time. You know which business I see most often on the Island Highway? Storage containers for the consumer goods that we continue to hoard. Fasting is an invitation to consider what we are doing to this planet by our consumption, by our devouring. We even say that when we’re absolutely famished and we show up at a dinner or a banquet, I’m just going to devour that whole table! I’m starving!

I’m not really starving. But I’ve got built in to my western psyche the need to devour everything around me. And fasting causes us to stop and think about what we are doing to our planet by our consumption.

So, a couple of possible fasts. Fasting from food probably wouldn’t hurt anyone. Give up dessert. You’ll feel better anyway. But how about a social media fast? How about a fast from consuming the enormous advertising that comes at us on TV? How about a fast from being overwhelmed by messaging of consumption? We’re all part of it. Radio, TV, social media … I even go on websites that are supposed to be Catholic, and on the sidebar are all these advertisements to get me to consume that which I don’t really need.

And so, let’s give some thought to a real fast that might get us to just stop and think about what we’re doing, and what we are consuming. Let’s consider how are we devouring God’s gracious gift in God’s beautiful garden, the earth, to the detriment of millions and millions of people on our planet.

Then, we move from fasting to almsgiving. And again, it is this sense of I can give of what I have to the other, to my neighbour. But this is greatly challenged by the fact that one of the gravest sins that happens to us is indifference. We don’t reallysee, or maybe we see so often we become numb. Sure, there’s millions of refugees on our planet. Tens of thousands of people are dying. I put out the invitation to the parishes: Have you got a refugee family? Are you sponsoring someone? We can’t do it all, and I don’t ask, Are you sponsoring. No, I want to know how many families we are sponsoring in the Diocese, in the parishes. This is an urgent cry of our Holy Father: that we are invited to almsgiving, which makes a difference for people.

At St. Peter’s parish, where I am now the pastor—I love being a pastor!—there’s something really amazing going on. On December 1, 2018, the parish council and the former pastor made a decision to allow the City of Nanaimo, BC Housing, and the Women’s Shelter Society to put 35 beds in the hall, in the basement. Every night, 7 days a week, there are 35 people who are sleeping in a shelter, out of the cold, at St. Peter’s parish. That, to me, is what it’s all about. I am so proud to be the pastor of St. Peter’s parish. I don’t know how big your hall is downstairs, but I do know you feed people every day, and that’s great. As I said to parishioners today at St. Peter’s at the noon Mass, “Do we see ‘my friend’ sleeping in the basement?” No. You’re right. We don’t. We become, in some ways, indifferent.

And so, almsgiving is the challenge to overcome our indifference, to be engaged with what’s in our pocketbook, to make a difference for someone who is in need.

And then: prayer. Prayer is what opens our heart to the God of love, and the enormity of the mercy of Jesus Christ. Prayer is what puts us into that place of I am not self-sufficient. Prayer is what challenges my ego that says, I’ve got it all. I will be in control. I am the master of my destiny. Prayer puts us on our knees. If you’re like me, with a shopping list of Dear God, my friend Paul has cancer. Dear God, my wife is sick. Dear God, I need help. Prayer puts us in our place.

And prayer is an invitation to consider the dust. In a few moments, we’re going to put dust on our foreheads as a reminder that this is who I am. I am made from the dust of the earth. Oh, Bishop Gary, yes you have a mitre, and yes you have a big staff, and yes you have a magnificent cathedral, and yes you are the Bishop. And you’ve studied, and you’ve got responsibility, and you’ve got authority …

Prayer puts me in my place, that all of my ego is dust, and that I am dust. Prayer puts us in our place to remind us that without the breath of God, without the grace of God, we are dust. But because of the breath of God, because of the love of Jesus Christ, this dust is redeemed and given the promise of eternal life. Dust to dust. Ashes to ashes.

Prayer allows us to know who we are without God and opens our hearts to the immensity of joy that I am loved. I belong to God, and I am definitely not in control.

Lent: a springtime of new beginnings for our hearts. Turn to the Lord with all your heart, and you will have a joy at Easter beyond your wildest imaginations. The joy of knowing you belong. You are loved, and you are promised eternal life.

Rend your hearts, not your garments. Maybe one little thing we can do during Lent is this: smile lots. How many people do you make smile every day? How many people can you ignite with your love and smile, to know that they are loved, beloved of God, saved by Jesus Christ, and given eternal life?

I really am praying for you, and for the whole people in the Diocese, that this really be a springtime of renewal, a springtime of being instruments of healing for broken hearts, for hardened hearts, for wounded hearts, and that we’re called as God’s people, as the Church, and we have the same mission as Christ: to bring the love of the Father. That’s one thing that I get to know very, very well, travelling throughout the Diocese. There are a lot of people and they are really hurting, they’re really hungry, and we are the people who have been called to shepherd and to heal. So that’s my hope for all of us, to be instruments of renewing hearts.

Above all, during Lent, we are called to walk very humbly, and as Pope Francis has told us, we need to take our shoes off in the sacred presence of the other. It’s going to be a good Lent. The breath of God has turned me, and you, into the springtime of joy, to make a difference for others, and for our world.

God bless you.

Without any baggage …

Bishop Gary Gordon
Homily at the Pastoral Centre Mass
February 7, 2019

"Jesus called the twelve and began to send them out two by two ... He ordered them to take nothing for their journey except a staff; no bread, no bag, no money in their belts;  but to wear sandals and not to put on two tunics ... So the twelve went out and proclaimed that all should repent."
~ Mark 6:7–12

The Gospel is very apropos for a new year, in this case, the Chinese Lunar Year of the Pig. It is an indication of the new covenant in Jesus Christ, and the opening prayer for today gives us the way forward, and why it is so powerful. The opening prayer talks about being founded on, standing on, God's love for us. It is in the light of that love that the Twelve has experienced in their relationship with Jesus, that he can send them out. He sends them out, and what I really want to ask them, is Did you have a discussion about this? Was there a planning meeting? Was there a vote taken? Because the way they are sent out is pretty radical.

No money, sandals for sure, which indicates the ability to move quickly—bare feet, you don't get to run too fast, but sandals allow you to move quickly—not two tunics, and you get to take a staff; again, that enables you to move quickly. And, whatever place you come to, whatever house you're at, just stay there. Just land.

This is really very rarely ever been tried. After the Twelve, I don't know who did this. St. Francis may be an exception. It's very, very risky. But they were able to do this because they were founded in a relationship of covenant love with the Lord. They had a love so deeply planted in their hearts and souls that they didn't have to have any other 'loves' in order to keep them going. Like, an extra tunic, or money in their belt, or a game plan. They didn't need a game plan, except the power of the Lord.

And it has rarely been tried, but it's really fundamental because it allowed them to go only with the healing power of Jesus, with the announcement of repentance—which is fundamentally change of heart—and to cast out evil spirits, whatever they might be, without any cultural baggage. They could bring the Gospel without bringing their own stuff. We've sometimes run into problems as a missionary Church, because of what we bring, or where we come from. 

In the 1600s, Mateo Rici, a Jesuit, had begun a missionary outreach in China and was trying to bring the Gospel of Jesus without the Western European cultural baggage. He was beginning to make inroads in discipleship among the people and had begun to overcome the distrust of foreigners.

But because he ran into roadblocks from his European superiors who resisted an enculturated process—in other words, making the Church look ‘Chinese’—so the mission of the Gospel experienced significant hindrance, and it was seen as foreign. We made the same mistake with the Indigenous Peoples in the Americas, North and South America. It looked either French or Spanish.

So, this Gospel today is really, really important, and it's really, really difficult to do. Where it has been done, the planting of the Gospel and the Good News of Jesus Christ have been amazing. But whenever the stuff is brought, what ends up happening, is people grab the stuff and leave behind the repenting, transitional, transformational power of the Gospel. Looking back over 2000 years, it hasn't been so successful.

So, it's a challenging Gospel, and it only is possible when there is this incredible firmness of God's Love in one's heart. You can't step out into the deep if you think you're going to sink. But if you know you're not going to sink, then stepping out into the deep is like, Bring it on!

I leave this with you as a New Year opportunity, for the Year of the Pig.

Bringing the Light

Trinity Catholic Church, Nanaimo
February 3, 2019

Thank you, Fr. Joe for proclaiming the Gospel, which it is my happy privilege to give a little reflection on. Foster gave a great reflection on Hebrews, Remi gave us a wonderful welcome. It’s only fitting that the youngest of the clergy present be the last to speak before my elders!

So: we’re on the road. Just as Mary and Joseph were fulfilling the law, the Mosaic, law, the Levitical law, to bring to the temple after 40 days their firstborn child for presentation, so we too have been part of a passage, a ceremony, a rite of presentation through our own baptism. Perhaps in this building itself we have gone through a rite of passage, of reconciling love, the great covenant that has been made with the world through the cross and resurrection of Jesus Christ. This building, Trinity, represents a place of passage. It represents where communities of faith, in this case United and Catholic, have celebrated passages of faith. Probably some of your children, maybe your grandchildren, have been baptised here.

And these passages of faith are shared, so that the dream of Simeon may come forward. Forty years ago, there was a dream at the beginning of what was the ecumenical movement in the life of the Christian church around the world: a building to become part of that dream. Simeon’s beautiful dream for his people that a Messiah would come. And the Messiah would be light: light to the Gentiles, and to the people of Israel, bringing divergent peoples and cultures into a light of saving love in Jesus Christ. We are part of that passage, the ecumenical passage.

The late Cardinal Cormac Murphy-O’Connor, who had been President of the Pontifical Council for Christian Unity, about ten years ago said to us, “There are no exits on the ecumenical highway.” It’s beautiful, isn’t it? There are no exits on the ecumenical highway.

So how do we look to the next forty years?

Perhaps it is to be reinvigorated with the hope of Simeon. The light will dawn, will come, and be embraced. Perhaps it is with the hope of Anna, the prophetess, that there will be the grace of Christ’s light to diminish all darkness. There seems to be a growing darkness in so many parts of our world, and so we are continually reminded that we must bear that light, and let it shine brightly.

Let me conclude with what could be a vision of the next forty years, not necessarily here at Trinity, but perhaps for our human family. Perhaps it’s what we may be challenged to as Christians.

When I was the Bishop in Whitehorse, where this time of year was absolutely the best time of year, not because it was -40˚C, but because the light was coming back! How many of you have lived north of the 60^thparallel? You know what I’m talking about! By the time you get to the beginning of February, you know you’re going to survive another winter. You’re going to live to tell the story, because the light is dawning.

And so, it was a February day, maybe close to this Feast of the Presentation, and I had celebrated the Holy Eucharist in our little cathedral. It was very small; I think we could have put two of them in here. I had put things away, and cleaned up, and everybody was gone. As I prepared to depart the church, I saw was a youngish family standing over on the side aisle where we had some candles that people could come and light.

They had lit some candles. Of course, I’m a rather inquisitive sort, and I hadn’t seen them before. It’s a pretty small population—within about two months you know everybody. These are new people, and I like meeting new people. So, I go to the back of the church, and I’m just kind of hanging out, counting the bulletins or something like that. These folks come out, and I greet them. “How are you? Who are you? Welcome to Whitehorse.” They’re quite shy, quite reserved. I said, “It’s really nice that you came. Are you just visiting?”

“Oh, no, we’ve moved here. We like to come here,” they responded. “We like to come here and light your candles.”

And then, in a rather quiet way, they added, “We’re Buddhists. But we don’t have a temple here, and there’s no place else for us to light candles. We like to light candles when we pray.”

I replied, “Catholics light candles too.”

“Is it OK if we light candles?”

I said, “Absolutely. The doors are open all day, every day, and whenever you want to come and light a candle, you come and light a candle.”

They were so grateful. I share that story with you because we have been on an amazing presentation rite of passage in the ecumenical life of the Christian church, but there’s more. There’s something much bigger than being United or Catholic. There’s something much bigger. It is that light that dispels the darkness of fear and enmity between peoples.

I shared that story because it was a moment of opportunity and grace and of communion. I believe, as I have been part of different interfaith dialogues, that we have achieved great harmony within Christianity. Is there perfect unity? No. But we have achieved something in the last two years called receptive ecumenism.It’s a way of moving forward, that we’re able to receive one another’s gifts, because there’s something greater.

And in receiving each other’s gifts, we can indeed be the light, and cross those thresholds that in so many places are causing horrendous damage to the human family, causing great conflict and wars. And thus we are invited—and I’m not going to pre-guess the Holy Spirit—but perhaps the next forty years will see a renewal of justice and peace, will see a resurgence of claiming the light of Christ, and that we will do as Christ himself came to do: to die for all, and to give his life as a ransom for all.

For not only our planet, but the wellbeing of our own lives, and certainly our grandchildren’s lives, depends on you, and me being faithful and hopeful, like Simeon and Anna.

God bless you.

It started in a manger ... 

Christmas Eve Midnight Mass 2018
St. Andrew's Cathedral

First of all, I want to just thank you for coming tonight to celebrate Christmas. It’s really nice when our home is full. Thank you. And I thank you in a special way also, because your participation in our liturgy, whether you’re Catholic or not, is a participation in the mystery of Christ’s birth. I’m going to explain how that participation happens, but I just really had to thank you for coming tonight. It’s really nice.

There’s a lot of people here, and every time I celebrate here in a full cathedral, it brings me back 12 Christmases ago, when I was just a brand-new bishop in the Diocese of Whitehorse. That’s in the Yukon. The first Christmas Mass that I celebrated in the Diocese of Whitehorse was in a little place called Beaver Creek. 

It was a 560-kilometre drive from Whitehorse, and if you’ve ever driven the western end of the Alaska highway near the Alaska border, you know that you go airborne several times. The road has got lots of frost heaves in it. I arrived there safely, and realized that little church is a Quonset hut. The little church would fit into a corner of our cathedral: just picture it. And at that Christmas Mass, my first Christmas Mass as a bishop, there were five people. Two Catholics and three Protestants. 

I have never, ever experienced, so far, a more amazing experience of midnight Mass than in that little Quonset hut in Beaver Creek. It caused me to consider deeply the experience of the Holy Family in the little town of Bethlehem, and the small number of participants at the first midnight Mass: some shepherds.

The second experience of Christmas that has endeared itself to my heart, and is right up there with Beaver Creek, was the second Christmas in the Diocese of Whitehorse, when I went to the Whitehorse jail. The Warden was a parishioner; he’d asked if I could go to the jail and celebrate Mass on Christmas Day. I said, “Sure.” So I got there, and celebrated Mass, and then he said, “Would you have time … we have a small population of women.” There were six women in the Whitehorse jail. I said, “Sure, I can stay. I’ve got nothing else to do except eat turkey all day.” 

I will never forget the experience. We didn’t celebrate Mass, but I had some hymn books, and I opened up the hymn book and I thought, Well, we’ll start with Silent Night.Why not; everybody knows Silent Night. So, we just started singing. We didn’t get through the first line, and they’re all crying. And then I’m crying. We spent a whole hour crying. 

That was a place of utter darkness on Christmas Day. We hear in the First Reading that the light will come into the world to dispel the darkness—and that was the darkness that was dispelled on that Christmas Day, as we cried together. There is nothing more dark, more lonely, more isolated, and more impoverished, than a prison on Christmas Day. Especially a women’s prison, as they shared with me about their grandchildren and their children—and they weren’t going to see any of them on Christmas Day.

Jesus has been born for us to dispel the darkness, and to invite us into a marvellous light; a light that can illumine our minds and our hearts to be able to see the world for what it is, and to see the beauty of each and every person for who they are—made in the image and likeness of God. The great message of Christmas, the birth of a Saviour, a Messiah, the Lord, is found in the words of Paul to Titus. At the end of that reading, he says that God will choose a people who will be zealous for good works. You’re it! You showed up, and so you’re chosen!There’s no getting out now. You’re it!

To acknowledge Jesus Christ, to accept and to hear this message of his birth, and then of his death and resurrection, changes our hearts and our minds, and we are transformed. Let me show you how this transformation happens: it happened with the shepherds.

The angels showed up, and they weren’t just sort of flying around the earth looking for somebody who might be awake, to whom they could tell the good news. These shepherds were chosen. They were picked. And the angels announce this good news—and look what happens. They could not resist this good news. They had to respond. Their response was: Let us go and see this thing that has taken place, that has been revealed to us, and they go in haste. They became the first participants of God-made-man. The ancient fathers of the Church used to say that in God becoming man, man became God. We are now irrevocable participants in the saving, life-giving, healing peacemaking mission of Jesus Christ. You can’t leave. You’re in. 

We participate in a multitude of ways. A smile to someone who’s sad. A handshake, a kind deed. Christmas is just so amazing. I love all those beautiful Salvation Army folks who stand in front of the liquor store ringing their bells. Not that I’m at the liquor store all the time, but I did buy a few bottles of wine for gifts! Radio stations sponsor collections of food and goods to help the poor. It just seems that this time of year just pulls us out of ourselves to a profound encounter with the other, and that’s because Jesus was born: he entered a world of darkness, and continues to be reborn again and again, in our world, creating opportunities for new life, for peace, for justice, and for love.

Are we there yet?No! Does the road have a lot of frost heaves in it?Absolutely. But we’re on the way, despite everything, to what God desires for everyone. To be all that they can be, to be the best version of themselves in the image and likeness of God. And once we’ve encountered Jesus Christ, and he’s encountered us, there’s no turning back.

So, from this moment of utter poverty and vulnerability, when only a few shepherds showed up at the first midnight Mass, let me just give you a couple of statistics of how things have been transformed.

One quarter – that’s 25% – of all delivery of health care on this planet is delivered by the Roman Catholic Church. One quarter! It started with some shepherds, and they caught the fire. Once the encounter with Jesus Christ happens, it means that we are no longer alone, and must share the joy by making a difference. Eighteen thousand health care clinics. Sixteen thousand care homes for the elderly and the vulnerable. Fifty-five hundred hospitals. Catholic health care, globally.

It started in a manger. The largest non-governmental educational organization on the planet is the Roman Catholic Church. Forty-eight thousand secondary schools, and ninety-three thousand primary schools, globally.

It started in a manger. Jesus Christ transforms everything. You’re here because you want to be transformed, or are transformed, and will transform, and change our world so that we become shepherds. That’s why the angels picked the shepherds. We’re all invited to be good shepherds. Shepherds of our beautiful earth, shepherds of our children, shepherds of our grandchildren, shepherds of whoever needs taking care of. It’s not rocket science. It’s really simple, and that’s why it was shepherds who were the first witnesses to the birth of the Saviour. For it has marked the very nature of how we are Christian. It is by shepherding, by taking care, by bringing the joy, the love, the peace, and the mercy of our God made visible in Christ Jesus our Lord.

It is a Merry Christmas. It is a Merry Christmas every day of the year. It is Light dispelling darkness, it is the Prince of Peace, and we’re all part of it.

Thank you for coming. Merry Christmas.

Homily from Mass at the Diocesan Pastoral Centre
December 20, 2018

But you can just imagine the utter transformation of our lives, and of the world, if we actually, really could hear the truth of those words, spoken to us. Greetings, highly favoured one.

It would be an explosion of joy.

As you can very clearly see, the image of Isaiah, as named the fifth evangelist, is so very clear today as he prophesies the Virgin will be with child, and his name will be Emmanuel, God With Us, and this is what of course we are preparing for, the God With Us.

The greeting of the angel to Mary is absolutely pivotal. Greetings, highly favoured one, or in older translations, Hail, full of grace. And this is the moment of absolute transformation of the whole earth. The whole earth is transformed by that greeting. 

Greetings, highly favoured one. This word is spoken to the world. This is spoken to you. Greetings, highly favoured one. This is the most amazing greeting, for it now, in the light of Christ’s saving action, is absolutely true. There’s no “Yeah, but …” No one can say Yeah, but … and then start listing off all of their vices and wayward ways. This greeting is spoken to the world, and this is the quintessential Gospel proclamation to everyone: Greetings, highly favoured one. The great challenge is to overcome the Yeah, but … This is the thing.

If I could get a dollar for every Yeah, but … that I’ve gotten from people, I would be a billionaire. The response to this is again transformational. It’s never happened before. Here I am, the servant of the Lord. It’s only Mary, and therefore, then, every other person who now has this incredible ability to respond without a Yeah, but … To respond with absolute clarity OK God, if you say I’m the highly favoured one, OK. Now that’s the proclamation. That’s the whole Christmas Message, and it is so hard to get that message through to people.

But you can just imagine the utter transformation of our lives, and of the world, if we actually, really could hear the truth of those words, spoken to us. Greetings, highly favoured one.

It would be an explosion of joy.

The Horizon of Advent

Homily from Mass at the Diocesan Pastoral Centre
December 4, 2018

Jesus, in this Advent season, will slowly but surely reveal the way.

Well, yesterday was the opening salvo of the intention of Advent, as I mentioned. The wonderful challenge before us of going up to the high place, up to the mountain, and the sort of over-arching theme of Advent of the new horizon, looking to the light, to the new horizon. God’s eternal love. Jesus comes to even heal the Roman centurion’s servant. All of this is this expansion of what it’s going to mean for the Saviour’s coming.

So now, we get a little bit more detail about what that will look like. Isaiah is the prophet of Advent. Isaiah is often called the fifth evangelist, so closely does the prophet Isaiah speak about what this Saviour will look like, what he will do, what will this message be. If you read Isaiah, you can sort of say, “Isn’t this in the Gospel some place? This sounds like Jesus.” So that’s why we call Isaiah the fifth evangelist.

So here in this beautiful reading from the book of the prophet Isaiah, we find again the intention of God in sending his son. Isaiah paints this picture of complete opposites somehow getting together. The wolf will live with the lamb. The leopard shall lie down with the kid. The calf and the lion and the fatling together. And a little child shall lead them.(Isaiah 1:6-7) We need a lion tamer, not a little child! 

But this is again the horizon to which Jesus invites us in Advent. And then, in the Gospel: he’s sent out the seventy, and they’ve gone ahead of him, casting out demons and healing the sick and proclaiming the Good News. It’s this horizon of healing what seems to be totally opposite. It’s a wonderful sort of vision, and maybe a kind of intentionality of What is the Church about? What are we about? 

Jesus, in this Advent season, will slowly but surely reveal the way. It’s an ongoing work to continue to see the horizon of God’s desire, the horizon of God’s hope for humanity, the horizon of God’s justice, the horizon of God’s peace. 

So now, just a little story of wild animals, doing something that is totally out of character. One day, and it was a June day, driving to Telegraph Creek, which was about a ten-hour drive from Whitehorse. It was a horrible road, it was an off-roader’s paradise. I came around a corner at Ten Mile Hill, which was basically, in the rainy season, about 2km up a greasy one-lane slope, on which if you stopped, you would slide backwards; it could be like that.

I came around a corner, and I saw a bear. Of course, whenever I saw bears, I would stop, and sit and watch them. I saw a bear. And the bear was playing with a fox. Bears and foxes don’t get along! And then, a coyote came into the picture. I watched this for half an hour. There was a bear, and a coyote, and a fox. They weren’t in any fear of each other; it was amazing. At one point the fox actually jumped over the bear. And the coyote was running around in circles. Then the fox would chase the coyote, and then the coyote would chase the fox, then the fox and the coyote would chase the bear! Then the bear would turn around and chase the fox and the coyote. 

This was play! I share that with you as a true story, and I leave this with you: the horizon of Advent is that all things are possible with Christ.

A Voice for the Voiceless

Homily from Mass for the 2018 March for Life

Thank you, Fr. Michael, for proclaiming the Gospel. Fr. John and dear brother Priests, Sisters, holy people of God—Welcome! A special welcome to the folks who are across the water … a special welcome to the time that you have taken in your own busy lives here in the Diocese of Victoria and the Archdiocese of Vancouver, and perhaps beyond. I see some Yukoners here, but I think they relocated to Victoria.

I’m really gratified that you’ve taken the time to show your respect for the dignity and the sacredness of life from conception to natural end. My hands go out to you. It’s beautiful.

At the end of the Gospel, Jesus says that the world will rejoice, and you will have pain, and be mourning and weeping. This doesn’t sound like a very good throne speech for government. It doesn’t sound like an exciting message to rally behind, and yet you are here, because you, as believers in Jesus Christ, have decided to follow Jesus, even though it has often historically, for us as Christians, and particularly today, meant a mourning and a weeping, and certainly significant pain in the present political climate.

But let me invite you to a radical Pro-life stance in this particular time and place, on the West Coast of Canada. I suggest that a radical Pro-life stance is the invitation to accompaniment, to drawing close to, and indeed, embracing in a powerful and real and tangible way, those who weep and mourn. Those who are in pain. In fact, as this rally today is about raising our voices—to be the voice of the voiceless, to be an authentic voice of the voiceless, the vulnerable—is to embrace the mourning and weeping of the voiceless. To embrace in real terms, the suffering.

Let me, in the middle of this homily, quote something from our Holy Father Pope Francis in his most recent Apostolic Exhortation (Gaudete et Exsultate, Rejoice and Be Glad, published April 9, 2018), which is the call to holiness in the contemporary world. None of us would be here unless we had heard that call, and in some measure in our lives, have been trying to live out a holy life, and that’s why we’re here.

Our Holy Father, speaks very clearly about the defense of innocent life; of ideological errors; and of the tremendous harmony that people like Mother Theresa made between the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and the living of the Gospel in real terms with real people. Pope Francis says that sometimes we get divided. I suppose in ordinary parlance, we’d say, You gotta walk the talk. And so, Pope Francis:

The other harmful ideological error is found in those who find suspect the social engagement of others, seeing it as superficial, worldly, secular, materialist, communist or populist. Or they relativize it, as if there are other more important matters, or the only thing that counts is one particular ethical issue or cause that they themselves defend. Our defense of the innocent unborn, for example, needs to be clear, firm and passionate, for at stake is the dignity of a human life, which is always sacred and demands love for each person, regardless of his or her stage of development. Equally sacred, however, are the lives of the poor, those already born, the destitute, the abandoned and the underprivileged, the vulnerable infirm and elderly exposed to covert euthanasia, the victims of human trafficking, new forms of slavery, and every form of rejection. We cannot uphold an ideal of holiness that would ignore injustice in a world where some revel, spend with abandon and live only for the latest consumer goods, even as others look on from afar, living their entire lives in abject poverty. (Gaudete et Exsultate, 101)

The late Cardinal Bernardin would have described this as the seamless garment of a Pro-life stance in life.

The invitation in this particular time in Canada to a Pro-life stance is an invitation to profound encounter and accompaniment. Our voice is only credible, and can only be credible, when we are close to the voiceless: when we feel the pain of those in addictions, in those suffering illness, in those in long-term care institutions. The voice of the voiceless is heard through our own personal witness of encounter.

Marches are nice, on pleasant spring days in the capital of our province, and I’m glad we’re here. But the real voice for us as Christians, and the real impact, is when we can say, I have a friend who is addicted to drugs. I have a friend. I have a family member who is in a long-term care facility, and I sit with them every day for two hours. The real voice is expressed when each of us can personally say that this circle of family and friends, the ones who are most vulnerable, is my circle of friends. We don’t have to go too far because most of us live in a rather urban setting. The streets and sidewalks of our urban settings have many people that are voiceless. The poverty is grinding; the homelessness is real. The opioid addiction crisis is taking so many, every day.

The real challenge for a Pro-life voice is that between this day and next May’s March for Life, we’ve made a friend of the vulnerable, the marginal, and those that our society would just as soon see disappear. It is the only voice that we have left as a Christian church, that is credible in this country. I’ll say that again: it is the only voice that the Christian church has left in this country, that is credible—that we have a friend who is voiceless because of the marginalizations of addictions, homelessness, poverty, and grave sickness.

So if I can leave you with a challenge as we go out the doors of this amazing cathedral, St. Andrew’s, it is that we start to think about our own sidewalks in our own village, and discover ways of creating closeness and encounter. I can tell you with every honesty that then your voice will be heard, and will resound to the heavenly halls where our Lord has ascended and continues to weep and to mourn with those who weep and mourn. 

I’ve got notes this time! I don’t usually have notes, but there’s a few things that I want to be very accurate about. And sometimes my memory fails me just momentarily. But I wanted to begin this homily in this beautiful moment of the Chrism Mass with a quote from the First Reading, and then to continue to look at the First Reading and the Gospel, particularly for what it means to be anointed ones.

This is where I’ll begin: All who see them shall acknowledge that they are a people whom the Lord has blessed.

That’s you! All who see them shall acknowledge that they are a people whom the Lord has blessed. Don’t look over your shoulder! It is you. All of us, here. The Word of God goes on to describe God’s people as anointed. Anointed. We are the anointed ones by virtue of our baptism and confirmation, and the Sacrament of Holy Orders. Anointed.

And we are anointed and consecrated in the same way that Jesus Christ was anointed and consecrated. And the question, of course, is: For what? Why?

Well, first of all, let me remind you and our brother priests, and myself, that this home here, our home, St. Andrew’s Cathedral, at this moment, is filled with amazing gifts, contained in us. One of the wonderful things about being here for a little more than three years, is, I actually know some people! I actually know my brother priests quite well. Better than you think!

And I know many of you quite well. I’ve had opportunity to be in your communities, and to stay awhile. You are amazing. The gifts that the Holy Spirit has poured out upon this congregation, and upon the congregations in our Diocese, are amazing, are everything that we could ever wish for. Everything that is needed in this Diocese is here. We don’t have to get anybody to come in from outside to be the fullness of the Church of God in this Diocese. Because, my experience in knowing you, in knowing my brothers, is all the gifts are here for the fullness of the proclamation of the Good News of the Gospel of joy, right here.

And now I go back to that question: For what are we anointed as a priestly people? For what are we ordained as a ministerial priesthood? Let me give two reflections on that.

The first one is that there is only one priesthood of Jesus Christ, by virtue of baptism, which is lived out, and seen, in a twofold reality of the priesthood of Christ: with giftedness, and with leadership.

The leadership of the priestly people, found in the ordained, is to be at the absolute service of the whole people that live in this Diocese. Now, the priests have heard me say this before, when I’m in their parishes, “Father, did you know that you are responsible for every living soul in your geographic boundaries? Not just the ones who show up at church: you’re responsible for all of them.” And as I say that, oftentimes they kind of sink in the chair a bit. But then, they are lifted by the fact that they look out and they see the giftedness of the priestly people of God, who together share a responsibility for all those people.

To do what, though? What’s it all about, to be a priestly people with gifts of leadership, and gifts of service, and gifts to be the body of Christ?

This is where my second point lies. And here we go directly to the First Reading and the Gospel, and we find the words that describe our collaborative effort together as the Church of God in this Diocese. Here’s the description of how the prophet Isaiah and Jesus Christ saw themselves as a priestly people, and a ministerial people, and a people of service. These are words I think would give a pastoral plan in a parish, and in a diocese, and these are definitely challenging words.

But they’re not my words, they are the Word of God, about what it is we are about. What it is to be Church, what it is to be anointed ones.

Anointed for bringing Good News to the oppressed. Anointed to bind up the brokenhearted. Anointed to give liberty to captives, release to prisoners, and to comfort all who mourn.

And in the Gospel: 

Anointed to bring Good News to the poor, release to captives, sight to the blind, and let the oppressed go free, in a year of favour from the Lord.

That’s the pastoral plan of Jesus Christ! That’s the pastoral plan of our God! At every single Finance Committee meeting, and every single Parish Council meeting, this should be the Mission Statement: God’s Word about what we are anointed for. The oppressed. The brokenhearted. Captives. Prisoners. Those who mourn. The poor.

And how does that happen? The same way that Jesus made it happen. Closeness.

That’s why we use oil. You know, we don’t use a spray bomb for the oil. Oil can only be applied when we are really close. Really close. And this pastoral plan given to us by the Word of God—for the oppressed, the brokenhearted, the captives, prisoners, the mourners, the poor, the blind—this pastoral plan can only happen the same way that Jesus Christ made it happen—my dear brothers and sisters, because he was close. I think Pope Francis likens it to smelling like sheep.

This is a big challenge. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, but nothing in this list refers to the cultic actions of the liturgy. It doesn’t talk about Mass, or Church. Not that Mass and Church aren’t good, to give us strength and grace, but if we’re going to craft a pastoral plan as anointed ones, together as God’s people, as a priestly people in the image and likeness of the priesthood of Jesus Christ, then I am holding out to my brother priests, and to God’s people of the Diocese, a vision. A vision of radical closeness, and accompaniment.

We don’t have to go too far to find the oppressed, or the brokenhearted, for sure. If I just count the number of funerals that Fr. Roger, Fr. Joe, and I have done for victims of suicide … the brokenhearted. The captives. Oh my. People’s souls are so captive. Those who mourn. The poor. The blind.

We are anointed, and as the prophet Isaiah says, All who see them shall acknowledge that they are a people whom the Lord has blessed. Let us count our blessings, the gifts that have been poured out so abundantly upon this people, this Diocese, and let us put all of our gifts at the foot of the Cross of Jesus Christ, and say:

Lord, make us a priestly people, to do Your pastoral plan, as given in your Holy Word, and the prophet Isaiah, and the Gospel of Luke. Give us grace, Lord, give us strength, to live your pastoral plan, so that all may know the year of the Lord’s favour.

The Lord’s favour, for every single person in this beautiful Diocese, where the water never freezes, and the blossoms come out early, and the sun shines, and we live a perpetual springtime. 

Let us be that springtime in the pastoral plan of God’s Holy Word.

Amen.

Download this homily

I kind of forgot how big this place was! I’ve been away for six months in Port Alberni. Did you miss me?

There’s a lot of people here. It’s really something to see this many people showing up on a Wednesday night. This is really something. I’m impressed. More than impressed. I guess I shouldn’t be amazed because I know you’ve got so much faith, and it’s really beautiful.

And speaking of beauty, I thought, on this Ash Wednesday, I would talk about Valentine’s Day. It is Valentine’s Day, you know. A gentleman drove up in front of the Pastoral Centre today, and he was looking for what time Mass would be at Sacred Heart, and I didn’t know. He said, “Well, you’re the Bishop, how come you don’t know?” I said, “Because I’m not the pastor!” I rang the doorbell and got Fr. David, and found out Mass was at 6 pm. Then I said, “If you’re late for the 6 pm, you can come to the Cathedral at 7 pm!” And then he said, “Yeah, and it’s Valentine’s Day, and my wife wants me at home!”

You may all remember, when you were in grade school, we had all these little Valentine’s stickers and cards. This was a wonderful thing, and everybody had a lot of fun handing out these Valentine’s cards—and why am I speaking about this on Ash Wednesday?

Because Lent is all about the heart. Valentine’s Day is all about the heart, at least, I remember seeing the little cards with all these nice little hearts, some with an arrow through it … it’s all about the heart! That’s what Lent is about. Lent is all about the heart. God is not interested in what you look like! God is not interested in what you wear. God is not interested in whether you’re young or old, or big or small. God is interested in your heart.

And guess what? Here is something that we really need to think about during Lent: my heart and your heart look exactly the same! How about that? Did you know that? Modern science and medicine have shown us that your heart and my heart are exactly the same. Can you imagine the kind of world we would have if we just let our hearts speak to each other? Think about it. It’s beautiful, isn’t it? God is interested in our hearts.

I’d like to suggest a way in which we can approach this beautiful season of Lent. As we know from the Valentine’s Day cards, and the Valentine’s Day messages, it’s about being in love. And you often see two hearts on some of the cards, and they are very close to each other. It’s really hard to say that you’re in love if you’re far apart. 

I think, and we know, that love demands a closeness, a relationship, a communion, a conversation, a dialogue, so that there is love. So here’s my suggestion for Lent: Let’s invite Jesus to be close to us. And you know what? His heart looks just like yours. He’s got the same heart as we do. Let’s invite Jesus to be close to us, allow Jesus to be close to us. It says in the first reading that God is the God of compassion, and tenderness, and mercy. So it’s a wonderful invitation: Jesus, be close to me.

The second thing—in a few moments, we’re going to sprinkle a few ashes on your head. Look at how many people have shown up to get ashes thrown on them. You guys are really something. And I invite you to get close to your frail humanity. Get close to your fragility. Get close to your weakness. Get close to this fact that unto dust we return. Get close to the weakness that is our sinfulness, our pain, our suffering. Get close to this frail dust that is us. It’s a great time, Lent, getting close to this fragility, and God, in God’s graciousness, holds that fragility, holds that frailness. God holds that heart that is your heart, and my heart.

And the third invitation for this beautiful, wonderful season of Lent — Lent is a word that means springtime, newness. Something new is happening. Jesus is coming close to our hearts; we are coming close to our own frailty; and thirdly, we need to get close to the poor. Of all the things that we are invited to as Christians, it is to become close to those who are poor, to those who are vulnerable, to those who are weak. To be able to say, “I have a friend who lives on the street.” Get close to the poor and vulnerable. To be able to say, “I have a friend who is in William Head jail.” Get close to the poor and the vulnerable.

So in this beautiful time of Lent, I invite you to closeness, the closeness of Jesus Christ, the closeness of our own fragility and weakness—and the challenge for all of us is to become close to the poor, the vulnerable, and the weak.

I want you to know that I am praying for you, all through Lent. Actually, I pray for you all year, but in a special way, I want you to know that you’re really in my heart during Lent. It’s so that your hearts may know the closeness of Jesus. 

A nice thought is to let Jesus get close enough to take your pulse. It’s a beautiful thought. Jesus, taking your pulse. And if we could just get close enough to one another to take their pulse, especially close enough to the poor, the vulnerable, the people who we may not want to be close to. If we could just reach out, take their pulse—what you find is that everyone has the same pulse; it’s beautiful. So may this holy season of Lent, which just happens to start on Valentine’s Day, be a wonderful season for our hearts.

Have a good Lent. It’s a wonderful springtime. It’s a time of precious, boundless mercy, given to us in Jesus Christ, our Lord.

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Watch Bishop Gary’s homily online: www.youtube.com/watch?v=6OLen8ozg9Y