On Our Hope in Christ’s Resurrection

Homily offered by Father Matthew C. Dallman, Obl.S.B., for the Parish of Tazewell County on Easter Day, 2021

A blessed and glorious Easter to you all. And our Easter together is blessed and glorious because as was said at the beginning of Mass in the Introit: I am risen and am present with thee, Our Lord Jesus says to us, and says to His holy Church. He is risen and present: risen, of course because He is always risen, He is the Eternal Word of God, He through Whom all things are made—yes, He is risen; but He is risen and present with us. He is not risen and gone far away; He is risen and is present to us, present with us. He is with us as we carry our cross and follow Him; He is present with us as we stumble and fall. Through His guiding Hand we are able to stand up and carry on in the struggle, and do so with joy: often quiet joy, through the chances and changes of this life, but joy nonetheless. His very Name means “God with us”: Emmanuel. And He spoke to Moses at the Burning Bush and revealed His Name: “I am,” so did Jesus say to Mary Magdalene at the tomb; so did Jesus say to the disciples along the way to Emmaus: He said to them and to us: “I am.” He says this so we can say with Job: “I know that my Redeemer liveth.”

And so it is because He is risen, and it is because He is present with us, that we on the Easter Day, the Sunday of the Resurrection, are given access to hope. Through Christ and His glorious Resurrection, true Christian hope is attainable: for Christian hope is to live with confidence in newness and fullness of life, awaiting day by the day the coming of Christ in glory and the completion of God’s purpose in the world. This Christian understanding of hope is the Easter message, as it flows directly from Our Lord’s Resurrection, from Our Lord’s passage through death, going before us—even trampling down death by death; with His death destroying death itself, destroying its power over us, and taking away any need to fear death: for by His rising to life again in our hearts He has won for us everlasting life, and what can give more hope than that?

Christians, from the first, are a practical people. The Easter message is hope given through Christ’s Resurrection, yet the practical question remains: Yes, but how? And the how of Easter hope is shown in the accounts of the Gospel by the holy evangelists, and from their accounts the question “how?” is seen to have three practical answers: the first is Faith, the second is Scripture, and the third is Sacraments. It is through Faith, Scripture, and the Sacraments that the promise of hope through the Resurrection of Jesus is realized.

Faith we see in the early morning of the first Easter, in the example of Saint Mary Magdalene. It is her faith that brings her to the tomb in the first place—faith in the honor and reverence due to the Body of Jesus, which she thinks is still laying the tomb. And because of her faith, she sees the stone rolled away from the tomb: rolled away not so Jesus can escape, but so that we (with Mary Magdalene) might enter in to the Mystery of Jesus. And in her discovery of the empty tomb, and her hearing angels speak of Christ’s Resurrection, and then meeting the Gardener who after speaking Mary’s name is revealed as Jesus Himself, we see Mary’s faith rewarded with the saving presence of Jesus which transforms Mary’s heart and empowers her apostleship. Faith always comes first.

What feeds our faith is exactly what fed the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. We see faith in them—imperfect faith that was clouded with misunderstanding of Jesus, but still an active relationship with Jesus and a desire for Him. To remedy their imperfect faith, Christ fed them Himself through the Scriptures, expounding unto them in all the scriptures the things concerning Himself. It is the Scripture that feeds us, feeds our faith, and corrects our faith—and this is done through the Liturgy day by day in the Office, Sunday by Sunday and Holy Day by Holy Day in the Mass, and then through our personal devotion to Scripture, carrying into our study of Scripture the Holy Name of Our Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God.

And, likewise, what feeds our scriptural faith are the Sacraments—specifically Baptism and Eucharist. Baptism—as in the words of Archbishop of Canterbury Michael Ramsey: the life of a Christian is a continual reflection upon the fact of our Baptism; and Eucharist, because Our Lord became Flesh, became the heavenly bread, that in our receiving of Him in Holy Communion, He might dwell among us, dwelling in our heart, and feeding our heart’s transformation.

Brothers and sisters: the Easter message is Hope, only through Christ’s Resurrection: and this message let us receive through our Faith, which yearns and desires deeper relationship with Jesus; and through the opening of Scripture and breaking of bread, which reveals Him as the Crucified and Risen One, the very Jesus Who draws our hearts to Him, that He might burn within our heart. 

On Being a Sacrament of Hope

Homily offered by Father Matthew C. Dallman, Obl.S.B., for the Parish of Tazewell County on the Third Sunday in Lent, 2020.

We have no power of ourselves to help ourselves. We hear these words in our Collect, and for many of us these might be difficult words to hear, difficult words to take seriously, difficult words, that is, to believe. Of course I have power to help myself, we might think to ourselves. I can be a responsible person; I can live morally; I can take care of my family and provide for them as I am able; I can clean up my room and my house; I can cook and clean; my gosh, I can dress myself; I can read books or whatever in order to improve my mind; I can make sure I am in relationship with others in case I need their help, or they need mind. What do you mean, holy Mother Church, that we have no power of ourselves to help ourselves? Has God given me nothing?

And of course, God has given us the faculties to help ourselves, in all those ways I just listed. And we are to use them, use them as best we are able, even when it hurts. And we are to remember that God has given them to us. God has given us bodies to live in; God has given us morals towards which to aspire; God has given us a sense of responsibility to our family members; God has given us hands and legs to do the cleaning and cooking; God has given us a mind, and He has given us a conscience. And underneath it all, God has given us the very reality of love—true love, what is called charity, self-less giving of oneself for others. And He has given us His peace, which is what His love feels like when it is received. We have no power of ourselves to help ourselves because the power of peace and love by which the world even exists comes only from God.

Through our faith—that is, living relationship with God—we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, is what Saint Paul teaches us. Through Him, Paul continues, we have obtained access to this grace in which we stand, and we rejoices in our hope of sharing the glory of God. Through our faith, our living relationship, we participate in the redemptive Body of Jesus Christ; and through Him, we have obtained access to the grace by which we stand—and, Paul might have added to elaborate—the grace by which we breath, the grace by which we move, the grace by which we think, the grace by which we listen and pray and love and sleep and serve. This grace is called by Jesus “living water,” and the living water has been poured into our hearts. If we would drink of it, let us not harden our hearts, brothers and sisters.

Although our translation of scripture is often very good, the translation of the beginning of our lesson from Saint John does not quite capture the sense of the original. It reads that Jesus, wearied as He was with His journey, sat down beside the well. No—it is literally that Jesus sat down not beside the well, but that Jesus sat down on the well. The water of the well, in other words, is no longer the water that truly quenches thirst. Rather, Jesus is the Temple, the Temple is His Body, and the living water flows through the Temple which is Him.

His sitting upon it is deeply symbolic, in that His doing so recapitulates, or sums up, all of the well-scenes of Scripture: Isaac’s servant and Rebekah in Gen 24; Jacob and Rachel in Gen 29; Moses and Zipporah in Ex 2. And note, too, each of these well scenes have something to do with marriage, as does this scene with Our Lord. Living relationship with Jesus means marriage to Him, Who is the Bridegroom, and the Church His Bride; and this is the deepest meaning of baptism: through the waters, we are married to God. And there is symbolism in the location. On this mountain where the well is, is where Abraham sacrificed Isaac, where Jacob had his vision, and where God revealed Himself to Moses. Images of Christ nailed to the Cross often have at the very bottom of the Cross a mountain—it is all one well of grace, it is all one mountain of pilgrimage. By His holy Cross has Christ redeemed the world.

And note as well that it is the Samaritan women who so shares the Gospel with her people that her people believe in Jesus through her. She has no power of herself to help herself or help her people find Truth—but Jesus works through her, being fully present in her proclamation of Him.

Brothers and sisters, what are we to make of all this? In this time of plague and uncertainly, we are to make of it this: in our love for others, Christ makes Himself known through us. The living waters that flow between Him and the Father flow through us in our service to the lonely. We have no power of ourselves to help the world—but when we recognize that, we have at our disposal the power of heaven, the living power of God Almighty, His heavenly peace and love. Let us be this Sacrament of Hope for the world.

On Advent: Facing East in Hope

Homily offered by Father Matthew C. Dallman, Obl.S.B., for the Parish of Tazewell County on the Second Sunday of Advent, 2019.

The basic disposition of Christian life, which begins in Holy Fear of God—awe and wonder at His majesty—is further captured when we speak about the nature of Christian hope. Saint Paul wrote that everything of the Scriptures was written that we might have hope. He also speaks of God as the God of hope, and desires that the God of hope fill His disciples with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit all disciples may abound in hope. So the basic disposition of Christian life is found not only in hope, but has the character of abounding in hope.

This is the orthodox teaching of the ancient and young Church; and it is found in our catechism in the Prayer Book. To the question of “What is the Christian hope?” the Prayer Book says, “The Christian hope is to live with confidence in newness and fullness of life, and to await the coming of Christ in glory, and the completion of God’s purpose for the world.” This is why we speak of “hope” as a “virtue” or “life habit” (along with Faith and Charity). Hope is a way of living with confidence in newness and fullness of life. But not just for its own sake, but rather always as a means to the End of Days, the eschaton, living also in such a way as to await the coming of Christ in glory: await the coming again when, in glory, Christ will judge both the quick and the dead.

This puts us squarely two-thirds of the way through the Nicene Creed. At that moment in the Creed, we profess that Jesus has ascended into heaven, and sitteth on the right hand of the Father; and He shall come again, with glory, to judge both the quick and the dead; whose kingdom shall have no end. That is where the Church lives, in the present moment: at the 2/3rds moment in the Creed. This moment is a moment that has lasted nearly two thousand years—a long moment; and it might last two thousand years more, or two million. Living our lives that we may heed the warnings of the prophets to repent and forsake our sins, that we may greet with joy the coming of Jesus Christ our Redeemer.

That is Advent. Advent is about the in-between period of the Ascension of Christ and His Second Coming. To inhabit Advent is to renew our Christian life—to live in hope with our bodies and our prayer oriented toward the Second Coming.

And as we saw last Sunday, this was established in the first days of the Church. The “holy mountain” that Isaiah and the prophets speak of through the Scriptures, and which Moses prayed upon for forty days before receiving the Word of God, came to be seen as the “Mount of Olives” which was to the geographic east of the Upper Room Church, where all Christian worship took root and began. From the Mount of Olives Jesus ascended, and angels told the 120 disciples that Jesus would come again in the same way as they saw Him go into heaven. This confirmed the promises made to the patriarchs and prophets, which the young Church saw after the scriptures were opened to them by the Crucified and Risen Christ as He appeared to the Church from the first moments of the first Easter on throughout the forty days until His Ascension, and as His presence has continued to guide the Church ever since and teach us how to find Him in the scriptures. The Cross is the light.

It was looking together to the east, from the sacred space of the Upper Room to another sacred space which was the Mount of Olives, that facing east got tied up with facing the rising sun and facing the cross. Facing the cross represents all of it, for the Light of light, the Sun of Righteousness, the day-spring from on high rises from the glory of the Cross to visit us and to give us rest. As we repent our sins and confess them to God—which Advent is a traditional time to do, along with Lent—we are purified that again we can face eastward to the Cross not only with our bodies but inwardly with our hearts. When our bodies and our hearts align to face the glorious sun of the Cross is when our path is made straight. The bitter words Saint John Baptist had for the Pharisees and Sadducees stemmed from the hypocrisy of their words not matching their actions: their bodies and hearts were not aligned but were crooked.

The virtue of Hope is what makes His path straight. By properly aligning our bodies and our hearts toward eastern Mount of Olives, which is to say, as one people facing the Cross by which we are redeemed, we learn how to live with confidence in newness and fullness of life, awaiting the coming of Christ—this is what gives us stillness; this is what gives us rest in our bones; this is the source of health in our soul. Brothers and sisters, let us continue steadfastly to repent of our sins that we can be filled with the transfiguring Light of Christ.

On Knowing that Our Redeemer Lives

Homily offered by Father Matthew C. Dallman, Obl.S.B., for the Parish of Tazewell County on the Twenty-First Sunday after Trinity, 2019.

“I know my Redeemer lives,” Job proclaims to his interlocutors. Indeed, he is pleading to them. Immediately preceding this passage, Job says, “Have pity of me, have pity on me, O you my friends, for the hand of God has touched me! Why do you, like God, pursue me?” Job has become repulsive to his wine, loathsome to his relatives. All his intimate friends abhor him, and those who once loved him have turned against him. Physically he is a shell of himself, for his bones cleave to his skin and to his flesh. He feels alienated from the world, he feels a profound estrangement. He feels lost—and perhaps some of us have experienced something of this deep alienation, estrangement, and lostness.

There are some commentators on the Book of Job—which if you have never read or have not read recently, would make for excellent reading and prayer during Advent—who detect throughout the book a semi-obscured sense of creeping Pride on the part of Job, such that because of his Pride, if indeed he displays it in the story, would be occasion for God’s wrath upon him. But there is far from consensus among interpreters on this point. By my lights, Job is how he was described by God himself: a servant of God, none like him on the earth, a blameless and upright man, who fears God and turns away from evil. And so what befalls him is simply a test from God. God allows these difficulties to occur, even invites Satan in the opening sequences of the book to have at it, try to turn Job from me. I do not think you will succeed, but do not believe me, God is saying, see for yourself.

Why does God allow Satan to make life difficult for Job? It is because God trusts Job to be able to handle the burdens and remain faithful to God. And so why does God allow difficulties to come upon us in our life? It is for the same reason: He trusts us that we can handle the burdens, and no matter how onerous and challenging our circumstances, that we are capable of remaining faithful. God, our loving God Almighty, made us in His image and likeness. Because of our tendency toward selfishness portrayed in the sin of Adam and Eve in the Garden, our active likeness to God—that is our virtuous life of faith, hope, and charity—is disfigured and distorted and without God’s grace is lost to us. But we have never lost God’s image in us. Despite our sinfulness, we are God’s image. The Greek word for image is “icon.” So we are the icon of God.

And because of that, God trusts that we can endure. God trusts that when we fall, we will turn to Him and by His grace stand up again. God believes that, when we find ourselves in such a bad place that we wonder will I ever get out of this? Is this as good as it gets?—that His love for us will overcome our darkness; that His love for us will be a light leading us from the dead end; that His love for us will give us the sense of direction that leads us back to Him.

And why? Because our God is not God of the dead, but of the living, as our Lord Jesus taught the Sadducees. All live to Him, He taught. The impulse to live to God is part of the image He gave us that we can never lose. The spark to hunger and thirst for righteousness—that is, hunger and thirst for right relationship with God—is part of the image He gave us that we can never lose. God, our God, our wonderful God, knows that His love wins, because His love must win—His love is heavenly. His love is mercy. His love is true healing. His love is true nourishment. His love is true peace and unity of the heavenly city where the triune God lives and reigns.

God knows that if we want to live, we will find Him, either in this life or the next life to come. Being His image—being His icon—by His grace we will seek to be reformed back into His likeness: that, we He shall appear again with power and great glory, we may be made like unto Him in His eternal and glorious kingdom.

Homily: “On the Four Last Things, Part 2: Judgment”

Offered by Father Matthew Dallman, Obl.S.B., for the Parish of Tazewell County on the Second Sunday of Advent, 2018.

We reflected last Sunday, the first of Advent, on the fact that there is a certain tension to Advent—the tension of already and not yet. The Kingdom of God through Jesus Christ is already here—Jesus and His kingdom with His Rule, with His saving pattern of life He demands of His disciples has indeed come, has been revealed to us, our baptized bodies within the Body of Christ are temples of His Holy Spirit, and through the saving pattern He taught—daily prayer in the Offices, the Eucharist, and devotion to the Sacred Humanity according to the Bible and the gifts we each are given—the Church perpetuates His mission, perpetuates His kingdom, perpetuates Him. All this is true of the here and now.

And it is true that the Kingdom of God through Jesus Christ has not yet reached the end of its manifestation. Jesus, as we say in our Creeds, will come again to judge the quick and the dead. “Will come again” adds a dimension to our whole way of thought: the dimension of time and of God’s action deferred until some point in the future (or, at least, oursense of future, because it appears that to God, past, present, and future are seen by Him in a single glance. So this tension of already and not yet in fact is the air we breathe, the world of God’s action that we inhabit. As baptized people, who by God’s gift of baptism, have died to sin that we rise with Christ Crucified in His resurrection, the baptismal life itself inhabits the tension of Advent, at all times. Advent is the air that the baptized breathe every day.

The preaching of Saint John the Baptist captured the tension of Advent. Through him, the people of God began to breathe Advent air, in this sense of it being ordered to Christ, Who for John the Baptist had both come already (remember, in the womb of his mother, John the Baptist leapt after hearing Blessed Mary speak—the sound of her words, and the words themselves,undoubtedly full of grace with the presence of God Who Himself was in her womb),and Jesus had yet to come. The hymn “Joy to the World” which we sang last week and will sing again next week, is roughly analogous to the overall content of John’s preaching. In the hymn, fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains, repeat the sounding joy. For John, “Prepare the way of the Lord . . . Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be brought low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways shall be made smooth.” It is the same imagery, it is the same action of God, And it was in Baruch, as well: “God has ordered that every high mountain and the everlasting hills be made low and the valleys filled up, to make level ground.” Why? “So that Israel may walk safely in the glory of God.” So that we may delight in His will and walk in His ways. In John the Baptist, in Isaiah, in Baruch: it is the same Gospel, the same Good News. The same action of God.

What is, then, this action? The Christian term for this is judgement. The making low of mountains and hills, the filling up of valleys, the straightening of the crooked, the transformation of the things of our reality—fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains, and everything else—from mere objects observed into occasions of God’s transcendent presence which means wonder and joy to the world—this is the action of God’s judgment.

Too often we think of the word “judgement” and think “sentence of condemnation.” We get this from the secular meanings of judgment, whether in a court of law or in the court of public opinion, or the opinion of even a small group of people—who judge a person and pronounce upon that person in a way that reduces their standing, manifests a sense of inferiority, and all in all is a negative thing: “don’t judge me, man,” is the cliché that pulls all of that together neatly.

Now, as is so often the case of vocabulary used both by the secular world and the Christian Church, the Christian understanding of judgement expands upon the secular meanings, not erasing the secular meaning but uncovering a more profound depth of revelation. Yes, in the case of sins committed, particularly sins of malice which are deliberate, premeditated, and committed consciously contrary to God’s will, God’s judgement is severe and unbending—left unconfessed, the consequence of that sin upon a person is a live lived in hell, both in this phase of life and into the next. Perhaps not permanently, but hell nonetheless until his or her examined conscience through the grace of God calls to contrition and confession.

But God’s judgement, in the fullest sense, is much more than this. And the best way I think to understand is through an experiential example. Imagine, in your own main area of interest—say a hobby or activity you do—that you find yourself in the presence of the person or persons whose performance in that activity reaches the highest level of accomplishment. So, if you are a golfer, imagine being in the presence of Arnold Palmer. If you are a painter or artist, imagine being in the presence of Michelangelo. Or even being in the presence of a true and genuine teacher, of music or some other subject, or simple a teacher of life.

When we are in the actual, tangible presence of such mastery, our own weaknesses or lack of skill within that activity are made quite manifest, but it is hardly a completely negative experience. In fact, it can be a very positive—humbling, but positive—experience. Being in the mere presence of greatness, to say nothing if we receive any kind of guidance or advice or teaching from such a master, somehow has the effect of improving our own skills, or if not that, at least opening up new horizons for us, that will time and effort your skills would improve. You might have to practice that tip on putting you heard from Arnold Palmer for years before you get it, but after you do—well, all of this is analogous to God’s judgement. Held up to the light of light, standing before the light that knows no darkness, being Moses on the mountain—yes, we see our shadows the closer we are to the light, but we are also closer to the light—closer to the joy of our salvation, closer to such beauty and such truth that, like Moses, we begin to glow, and become light to the world.

Homily: “On Eating His Flesh and Drinking His Blood”

Offered by Father Matthew Dallman, Obl.S.B., for the Parish of Tazewell County on the Twelfth Sunday after Trinity (Thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost), 2018.

Although a number of people know this quite well, I have found that it is not universally known that one of the mandatory steps within the process of being ordained to the Priesthood is to spent a significant amount of time in an internship as a hospital chaplain. In my case, I spent twenty weeks in four hospitals in suburban Chicago, near Hinsdale, La Grange, and other towns. Although you hear clerics often bemoan the experience, and I heard some priests share horror stories as to why their experiences in their estimation were unhelpful towards parish ministry, priests I trusted, including our Bishop, assured me that hospital chaplaincy was for them revelatory and deeply, and permanently, meaningful.

And I must say, it was for me as well. It was never easy, and often unpredictable. My very first overnight duty on-call saw me assist an experienced chaplain whom I was shadowing as we ministered to a large family of over 25 relatives who that night suffered the loss of one of their family members to a kind of brain hemorrhage that, tragically, was inoperable. Talk about being thrown into the deep end of the pool and having to learn how to swim. Over the twenty weeks, in not only hospital patients and their families, but in the hospital staff, nurses, doctors, and my fellow chaplains, I witnessed so many instances of loss, of tragedy, of suffering and confusion, but also I witnessed joy, love, faith, and remarkable examples of God active in people’s lives, holding them up by His grace. Examples abounded of true sacrifice, and examples abounded of hopeful life.

The highest example of both sacrifice and life are what Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ gives us. His example to us, being a human example that stretches into the divine, is so profound that it is well past our ability to grasp it completely and finally. This is why we are drawn to continually revisit the accounts of His life given to us by the Evangelists—that by hearing them, by which we read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them through their many senses of interpretation, we are drawn deeper into the mystery of Him, which along the way reveals the mystery of ourselves.

“Truly, truly,” Jesus says to us, “unless you eat the flesh of the Son of man and drink His blood, you have no life in you.” This was a teaching, a hard saying, that really weeded out the true disciples from the larger group of Jesus followers. We are told that upon hearing this, many drew back and no longer went about with him. Some of us, even today, might flinch at the image, at both its physicality and its bluntness. Jesus, often winsome and generous in His public ministry, was none the less never above teaching in a direct and even aggressive way. Being poked awake from a cozy, care-free, bourgeois discipleship is a lesson disciples then, and now, constantly need.

And yet the Church, in remembering the words of Jesus, and taking them to heart in prayer in the years and decades after the Ascension of Christ, began to discern within the hard sayings of Jesus—including the teaching about the necessity of eating His flesh and drinking His blood—wisdom that echoed profoundly in the Scriptures. We hear an example in our passage from the Book of Proverbs. Wisdom, who we learn in the Scriptures was God’s first creation, and who from the beginning of her creation rejoiced daily in God’s activities, invites the simple, meaning those people, like Nathaniel, who are without guile but also yet to some extent naive about life, to into her house: “Come,” she says, “eat of my bread and drink of the wine I have mixed. Leave simpleness, and live, and walk in the way of insight.” The term “bread” here is a general reference and would include the meat of the beast spoken of as recently slaughtered. And so to connect this to Jesus, the Church saw in His teaching a connection to the long biblical tradition of hospitality—to eat His flesh and drink His blood at least involved an invitation to intimacy with Him.

We see this in the Eucharist, when we receive Christ’s Body and Blood, an event that itself rings on several levels of meaning and signification. Our nourishment is towards eternal life, and so to eat the consecrated bread is to receive into our souls He that is our life—to receive His sacrifice on the Cross, just as the beast was sacrificed in the house of Wisdom, although Christ’s sacrifice was self-offered once but for all time. And to drink the consecrated wine is to receive Christ’s life, because blood in ancient days was always considered the source of life in animals. And so to drink His blood is to receive that life which is triumphant over death and united to God in heaven. Indeed James and John were correct: they could and did drink from the cup from which Jesus Himself drank, and even pleaded on the night before He died that His Father might take away. If this is all a hard teaching for us, we can trust it was a harder teaching for Jesus Himself to accept, and yet fully accept He did.

Our Collect captures all this when we pray to Almighty God, Who has given His only Son to be for us a sacrifice for sin, and also an example of godly life. Let us know that as we celebrate and receive the Sacrament of the Eucharist, the source and summit of Christian life, we are opening ourselves to receive Wisdom, and be received by her. When allow ourselves to participate fully and completely in the Eucharist, we become part of God’s redemptive stream, a river of wisdom, the streams whereof make glad the city of God, the holy place of the tabernacle of the Most High. Kneeling before the heavenly throne, let us be still, and know in the Eucharist is God.

Homily: “On the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist”

Offered by Father Matthew Dallman, Obl.S.B., for the Parish of Tazewell County on the Feast of the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist, 2018. The words that the prophet Isaiah hears in the fortieth chapter come to him after the Babylonian conquest of Jerusalem, the destruction of the temple, and the exile of its leading citizens.  The religious, political, and social institutions were no more. The Davidic dynasty was gone, the temple was in ruins, its priesthood scattered. Darkness pervaded everything. And so it was for this reason that in Isaiah we do not hear a call for the people to recognize their failure and confess their infidelity to God. There was no way to deny those were the case, the truth of their infidelity to God was so self-evident and pervasive. Read more “Homily: “On the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist””

Homily: “On the Way, the Truth, and the Life”

Offered by Father Matthew Dallman, Obl.S.B., for the Parish of Tazewell County on the Fifth Sunday of Easter, 2018.

We ask of our loving God in our Collect this week something extraordinary. We ask that He grant us so perfectly to know Jesus Christ to be the way, the truth, and the life, that we may follow his steps in the way that leads to eternal life. I say this is extraordinary for two reasons. One because the claim made herein about Jesus—He is the way (and there is no other); He is the truth (and there is no other), and He is the life (and there is no other). We need to have this clarity about our loving Lord Jesus—clarity about who exactly He is, and clarity about what His mission was in becoming Man in the Incarnation. Jesus is the definitive revelation of ultimate reality, and He chose to be born, to live, to minister, to die, and to rise again so that the whole world could join Him with the Father in eternal bliss.

And that is the second way that our Collect is extraordinary—the clear articulation of Hope. Read more “Homily: “On the Way, the Truth, and the Life””

Homily: “On Micah’s Prophecy of Peace”

Offered by Father Matthew Dallman, Obl.S.B., for the Parish of Tazewell County on the Third Sunday of Easter, 2018.

In beginning our third week of living into the one day of Easter Sunday—living into its transcendent mystery—we continue to survey how the early Church began to see Jesus Christ in His glorified Body. We do that so that we can participate in the wonder and awe of Our Lord’s resurrection. The consequences of the Passover of Jesus from death to life are nothing short of outrageous. It is like a whole mountain range dropped into the ocean—waves and ripples everywhere in all directions of reality. The resurrection of Jesus washes the whole world with grace—nothing is left out, everything changes. But it is not a change in physical appearance. Rather it is a change in meaning, with new depths of meaning revealed and broken open for the People of God. The Resurrection of Jesus is first and foremost a religious event—and being a religious event, it is experienced through prayer and with the eyes of faith: eyes that see into the depths because God has opened them to us. Read more “Homily: “On Micah’s Prophecy of Peace””

Homily: “On the Parable of the Talents”

Offered by Father Matthew Dallman, Obl.S.B., for the Parish of Tazewell County, on the Twenty-Fourth Sunday after Pentecost (Proper 28, Year A), 2017.

Last Sunday we heard the Parable of the Ten Maidens, and today we hear about the Parable of the Talents. Our eyes are being directed toward the coming of the Lord, the Christian term for which is a Greek word, Parousia. This is the end and fulfillment of the whole history of salvation. What Saint Matthew in his Gospel intends with these parables is not that we should evade the present, but rather, to help us to live fully in the light of the completion of the history of salvation. We do not know when the end will come, but that it will is essential to ancient, Catholic faith, as we confess in our Creed: “He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead.”

Indeed, the Lord will come. Read more “Homily: “On the Parable of the Talents””