Fr Kevin Kilgore

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Doesn’t it seem like most sermons center around being a good person? Love one another. The golden rule. Be kind, forgive one another, care for the poor…

It’s how we put our faith into practice.

But that’s not the very center of our faith.

At the heart of our faith is our belief that Jesus Christ died and was raised from the dead. Without the resurrection, Christianity is nothing more than a good idea.

As Saint Paul says, “If Christ has not been raised, your faith is in vain; you are still in your sins. And those who have fallen asleep in Christ have perished.”

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At this time of the year, the growing darkness is a reminder of the coming winter. It’s also a time when the Church remembers our departed loved ones.

By a show of hands, how many of you were present at the Mass of Remembrance last Saturday? Or how many of you have ever attended one?

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I’ve heard many of you comment on how moving it was. 

I was nearly moved to tears while reading name after name of the people who’ve died from our parish this last year.

After each name was read, family members and friends brought a lit candle forward, placing it on a table by the altar.

Among those remembered were grandparents, parents, spouses, even a young father of three.

It was bittersweet. 

Bitter seeing how many people have lost someone they love; bitter sharing their grief. But it was also sweet, seeing the faith that brought them to church that day. 

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As the old saying goes, “Nothing is real until it’s personal.” Death for so many of us is real; it’s personal.

But herein lies the difference between us and the Sadducees in today’s Gospel. They denied the possibility of the resurrection, so they throw a riddle at Jesus to display their unbelief.

“A woman is married seven times,” they say. “Now at the resurrection, whose wife will that woman be?”

“At the resurrection of the dead,” Jesus says, “they neither marry nor are given in marriage. They can no longer die, for they are like angels.”

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They are like angels.

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That’s heaven – a place filled with angels, including our loved ones. It’s literally paradise.

Think of death as the doorway allowing us to pass from this life into the next. It’s a gift; without it we cannot go to our permanent home. 

Death is not something Jesus wants us to fear; it’s merely a transition.

Perhaps the most comforting words I’ve read on death come from Saint Paul, who was the first person to write about death in the New Testament.

In his first Letter to the Thessalonians, he says, “We do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, about those who have fallen asleep, so that you may grieve like the rest who have no hope.”

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That’s key.

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Paul says that death is like “falling asleep.” You and I enter into a state in which we can be reawakened. 

Think of death like taking a nap.

For example, what was the last thing we did last night? We got into bed, pulled the covers up, and fell asleep. We entered into a state in which we could be reawakened. 

And the first thing we did this morning? 

We got up. We rose again. We resurrected. 

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We practice this pattern of death and resurrection every day of our lives. God designed the world this way to help alleviate our fear of the unknown.

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I’m 34, for example. I have fallen asleep and risen again some 12,590 times.

In comparison, Jesus only did it 12,000 times. He died and rose at the tender age of 33.

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And remember what he did after his resurrection. 

Before returning to his Father’s house – that place where angels reside – Jesus reappeared to his disciples for 40 days and 40 nights in his resurrected body, giving them a glimpse of what life would be like after death.

He showed them that death did not erase his memory.

Rather, Jesus brought his memories of his earthly life with him into the kingdom of God.

The same will happen to us. Death will not erase our memories. 

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The same is true of our loved ones, those whom we remembered at our Mass of Remembrance, and all others whom we’ve commended to God.

They remember us, they love us, they are waiting for us to come home.

That’s not spooky. It’s very good news.

All God asks of us is to continue running this race of life, keeping the faith. 

How, then, might we grow a little more in faith this week and live accordingly?

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Jesus refers to himself as the Good Shepherd. We are his sheep. But why must we be sheep? Why not something mighty like a lion or a gorilla?

Imagine Jesus saying, “I am the Good Gorilla, or the Good Lion. You are my cubs.” Sounds better than sheep.

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Sheep are defenseless. They have no claws, no paws, no fangs, no venom. When a wolf comes along looking for his next snack, sheep have no way of defending themselves.

They literally run around in a big circle, hoping they are not the one eaten! 

Can you imagine these poor animals thinking, “Catch him! Catch her! Just don’t catch me!” That furry frenzy reminds me a bit of musical chairs. 

Cowardice at its best.

Sheep need a shepherd, because only he can defend them.

Therefore, we need Jesus. 

He is our shepherd, our protection against the wickedness and snares of evil. 

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We all know that feeling of being overwhelmed like a sheep under attack. Flustered. Afraid. 

So what threatens me? What makes me run around circles like a sheep without a shepherd?

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It may be that heavy weight bills that pile up, a negative turn in our health, a death in the family, or dryness in prayer.

Whatever the case may be, Jesus is clear. “Don’t run around in circles. Run to me.”

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Many of us remember Billy Graham, the most popular Protestant preacher of the 20^th century.

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He once shared a story about his wife, Ruth, who was driving through miles of construction on a highway. After carefully following the detours and warning signs, she finally came to the final sign that read: 

“End of construction. Thank you for your patience.”

Struck by the message, Ruth went home chuckling, telling Billy that she wanted that line engraved on her tombstone.

And it was. 

Ruth Graham. 1920 – 2007. “End of construction. Thank you for your patience.”

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In our journeys through life, we will all have our share of highs and lows, detours and bumps in the road. 

Like Ruth Graham, aren’t we all “under construction,” works in progress from beginning to end?

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Consider, for example, the life of Zacchaeus in today’s Gospel, the most hated man in town. 

He’s the chief tax collector, who’s made a living off of squeezing pennies from the penniless.

Zacchaeus is ambitious, powerful, and greedy. But he’s also “desperate,” as the Gospel tells us, “desperate” to see Jesus.

Zacchaeus is a man with competing desires. After years of living high on the hog, he remains unfulfilled.

His work has forced him into social isolation. Though he appears strong and powerful to the outside world – as so many of us do – he’s starving for life’s intangibles – love, intimacy, and friendship.

Things he longs to share, above all else, with God.

As the French philosopher Blaise Paschal once wrote, “In every person’s heart is an empty space that has the shape of God…and nothing else can fill it.”

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Nothing else can fill it.

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No degree, no position, and ultimately, no person can fill that empty chamber within. Our hearts remain restless until they rest in God.

As Bono, the lead singer of U2, famously sang, “I still haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

Similarly, how many of us are searching? 

We have so much to be grateful for – great friends, a successful career, a beautiful home, a fruitful ministry, yet we’re still restless within.

Something is missing. We still haven’t found what we’re looking for.

Zacchaues felt something was missing, too.

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It was that desire – the desire for something more – that drove him up the sycamore tree. 

And look how Jesus responds. “Zacchaues, come down from there. I must stay with you today.” That is, “Come here. Come closer.” Jesus reels Zacchaeus in like a fish hooked on a fishing line.

Instantly, Zacchaeus is changed. He’s found what’s he’s looking for.

He’s had an encounter with the divine. 

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It doesn’t mean that he’s a finished product. There’s still much for him to do. Zacchaues must make amends, repay those whom he’s wronged, and seek their forgiveness. 

Such is the path of discipleship; often we must start anew. Like Ruth Graham and each of us, Zacchaues is a work in progress. 

But at least he’s on the right path.

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Like Zacchaeus, are we “desperate” to see Jesus, to have an encounter with the divine? 

Or are we trying to ignore the existence of that inner chamber, perhaps stuffing it with other people or things?

Doing so will ultimately never work; it leaves us unsatisfied.

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Here’s a note of encouragement: The Gospel tells us that salvation came – not only to Zacchaeus – but also to his household. 

Faith rippled out from the inner chamber of his own heart, changing his entire family, reminding us that once Jesus has an opening, all things are possible.

The faith that you and I are nurturing here at Mass does make a difference, not only in our own lives, but also in the lives of those around us, even if we can’t see it yet.

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May the hunger of Zacchaeus, the same hunger found within each of us, drive us ever closer to the God we seek, for our hearts will remain restless until they rest in him.