Sermons
Seventh Sunday of Easter, May 8th, 2016
“Do you suppose that Stephen cared much who was collecting coats when he was murdered? Or when he lat-er found out that the story of his death in the Acts of the Apostles (Acts 7,5-60) would also provide the intro-duction to the now-famous St. Paul? We know the full story—now. But Stephen could not have known, and perhaps could not have cared less. Stephen, like all of us, is caught in only a single moment of time. Stephen could not have known that the coat-check man at his murder was soon to become famous. Single moments of time have a way of doing that; single moments often hide as much as they reveal. But every human being is caught in the present—even our brother Jesus; he is human, just like us in all things save sin. And there is a sobering revelation in his story from today's gospel too (John 17,20-26). Jesus prayed for unity– and we really do not see that his prayer was being answered. The next time we are tempted to despair when we think our prayers are not being answered, let us think of Jesus in today's gospel. Jesus faces the same fate as we do — because of time. This section of John's gospel is known as the "High Priestly Prayer." It is perhaps the bluntest and most emotional petition Jesus addresses to his Father. Some might say this prayer is all he really ever asked for him-self: that his followers might be one, that they might be a single communion, that they might be a loving com-munity. Jesus prayed that they might become open and unafraid of differences; that they might not just tolerate a rich tapestry of diversity, but that they embrace fearlessly the entire spectrum of the rainbow. In short Jesus prayed that they might be an honest reflection of reality: all are God's children. I repeat: Jesus prayed that we might become open and unafraid of differences; that we might not just tolerate a rich tapestry of diversity, but that we embrace fearlessly the entire spectrum of the rainbow. In short Jesus prayed that we might be an honest reflection of reality: all are God's children. Jesus prays so earnestly, so solemnly, and all we have 2000 years later is this: this fractured Church, this tormented world! And you think that your prayers don't get answered! Stephen, the first martyr for the sake of Jesus, his first witness has to wait in time like us all. And so does Jesus: he has to wait in time like us all. Clearly the prayer of Jesus has not yet been answered. And it is now our challenge as his living body to make it true. But only time will tell! I am reminded of one of the wise sayings attributed to the great Athenian statesman and general, Pericles (5th century before Christ): "Wait for that wisest of all counselors, Time. " Because we never really know, do we? Let this day's liturgy be a reminder that prayer does not solve all problems. It has not done so for centuries. Prayer alone will not make us a more accepting and open church; prayer alone will not reconfigure an Archdio-cese like Berlin; prayer alone will not stop the destruction and inhumanity of war. It never has; it probably nev-er will! So why bother? If prayer does not change God's mind, change God's plans, change God's reign, what's the point? Maybe you remember me preaching already about prayer, I had quoted Søren Kierkegaard then (1813-1855). Søren Kierkegaard said best what I just tried to say: "Prayer does not change God, but it changes the one who prays." It is imperative that we pray in order to change ourselves. God's eyes and limbs are now ours. And countless people, like Stephen, continue to be murdered — literally and figuratively — while too many of us collect coats and hats at the door – like Paul in our Acts of the Apostles passage. Time has not yet disclosed which of us might be the next St. Paul. But our church and our world still wait, in time — they wait for us. Yes, my appeal would be at the end of this sermon: Pray hard for unity and peace. And then: “Just do it!”, go ahead. Everything finally does now depend on us—even the outcome of Jesus' own prayer. So, let our final prayer be like the prayer at the end of the Book of Revelation. For what else could we pos-sibly want? Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus, Come! Be with us—in us—again. Today and Always, in this time and in all time. Amen!
Fr. Wolfgang Felber SJ
Fifth Sunday of Easter, April 24, 2016
“Do you remember all the names of the Christian communities we just heard in the reading from the Acts of the Apos-tles (Acts 14:21-27)? The message Paul and the others in his group transmit always comes from a certain specific community. Many of us have yet to recognize the importance of these local communities in the early church. Certain-ly, there are individuals who stand out. But the local communities which helped form and sustain those individuals often fade into the background, are almost forgotten. That is why today’s first reading from the Acts of the Apostles is so significant. There is no way to ignore the com-munity which gave birth to the missionary journeys of Paul and Barnabas. Wherever Paul and Barnabas went, they always introduced themselves as representatives of the church at Antioch. That community, the church at Antioch, sent them out and paid their bills. And it was to that community that Paul and Barnabas eventually returned. The news they brought back to Antioch seems to have pleased everyone. In the last sentence of our reading we hear that through their evangelization “God ...had opened the door of faith to the Gentiles.” We know from other chapters in the Acts of the Apostles that the Antioch community was one of the first Christian churches to take the step of baptizing non-Jews. And this was an ultra-liberal step – unexpected, controver-sial, not unanimous. We know that this progressive Antioch community prompted Barnabas to travel to Tarsus and to encourage the newly-converted Saul to return with him to Antioch. Saul was a “Hellenist” Jew, that means he had grown up in a non-Jewish culture, he spoke Greek and he knew how to relate to Gentiles, to non-Jews. Saul was per-fect for carrying on a ministry among the non -Jews. Of course not every Christian community agreed with the practice in Antioch to baptize Gentiles, non -Jews, without first converting them to Judaism. We shall see this in later passages of the Acts of the Apostles. Paul would have to fight that battle literally until the day he died. The early church certainly had more variety “community to community” than we have today. Certainly each community dedicated itself to carrying out Jesus’ gospel command to “have love for one another.” But each community devel-oped and showed that love in different ways. It is like with couples: each couple must create its own path, its own way of loving one another. Love demands they do so. That is also the reason why no two Christian communities are exactly alike. Because each community exists in order to show love to one another, each will do that in a different way. That’s also why we have four gospels. Since each gospel springs from a different community, it is impossible to have just one single gospel. The author of Revelation often speaks about “a new heaven and a new earth” (Rev 21:1-5a). If God is really dwelling among us and helping us show love to those around us, we shall always be new and creative. I insisted on the importance of different communities, they enrich each other – and I insist on unity in diversity. Today almost every diocese is closing and combining parishes. The Berlin diocese has the process “Wo Glaube Raum gewinnt”, “New spaces for our faith”. And there we have a real challenge. Church by church, we are getting rid of each parish’s unique theology, the special way in which its members have loved one another. This process is disturbing. But it might be one way the risen Jesus proposes us. We need to re-flect on how our own community demonstrates that it is one of a kind love, caring for one another. A love that shows that we are Christians (the last words of today’s gospel, John 13,35), “and they’ll know that we are Christians by our love”, as the song says (Missalette N° 587).
Fr. Wolfgang Felber SJ
Fourth Sunday of Easter, April 17, 2016
“What do I want to do with my life?” This is a question young people are faced with at the end of their time at school. It is a hard question to answer because nobody can really know what our world will look like 20 years from now. Professional councillors may test you to find out what you are good at and you may have some expectations and hopes to help you in your choice of a profession. But is this good enough to know what your true vocation is? To discover my vocation means to find out what God has created me for. What is His intention for my life? Every person is unique and has not only a biological DNA, but also a spiritual DNA, a unique way to relate to God, to people, to the world around them. Nobody can ever replace you as a person. Searching for my vocation means to look for my true identity, for my place in God’s plan. How can I find my vocation? There is no single way to go about it. For some, it may come as an instant insight in a split second like for Paul on the road to Damascus. For most it is a long search and a gradual discovery. Some questions may help us on the road to self-discovery. “What is the deepest desire of my heart?” is such a question. This desire refers not simply to my wishes like the wishes children write to Father Christmas or the answers people give in opinion polls like having good health, a happy family, a well-paid job… These are external circumstances of life that may be favourable or not. They are not your vocation. St. Francis of Assisi, for example, lived a deeply fulfilled life although he broke with his family, was in poor health and chose a life of poverty. But he lived in harmony with God, with everybody around him and with God’s creation. The realisation of a vocation often starts with a sense of dissatisfaction. You may have been successful in life and yet there remains this nagging sense of being unfulfilled. Is this really all there is to life? Am I going to live like this for the next 50 years? You feel a deep desire for something more, which you often can’t even put into words. Many find their vocation when they allow themselves to be personally confronted with some grave injustice. Martin Luther King Jr. could no longer stomach the revolting discrimination suffered by coloured people in his country. He had to do something about it. His namesake Martin Luther could no longer accept some scandalous abuses in the Church. He knew it was a call from God to invest his life in the reform of the Church (even if that went wrong at one point.) Many find their vocation when they are profoundly touched by the person of Jesus or by his word. St. Francis Xavier heard one day the word: “What does it profit a man to gain the whole world, but loose his soul.” It changed his life and he became one of the greatest missionaries. The people who listened to Jesus said: “Nobody has ever spoken like this man.” A word all of sudden reveals to me what my true desire and my vocation is. To find our vocation we need moments of silence, of reflection on our experiences, of prayer
Fr. Wolfgang Schonecke MAfr