The rebellion of individuals and states against the authority of Christ has produced deplorable consequences … the seeds of discord sown far and wide; those bitter enmities and rivalries between nations, which still hinder much the cause of peace; that insatiable greed which is so often hidden under a pretense of public spirit and patriotism, and gives rise to so many private quarrels; a blind and immoderate selfishness, making men seek nothing but their own comfort and advantage, and measure everything by these; no peace in the home, because men have forgotten or neglect their duty; the unity and stability of the family undermined; society, in a word, shaken to its foundations and on the way to ruin. We firmly hope, however, that the feast of the Kingship of Christ, which in the future will be yearly observed, may hasten the return of society to our loving Savior.

— Pope Pius XI, encyclical Quas Primas , no. 24

The good thief is asking us this question: Do you not fear God? Do you not know you face the same death that you deserve?

“Have you no fear of God, for you are subject to the same condemnation? And indeed, we have been condemned justly, for the sentence we received corresponds to our crimes, but this man has done nothing criminal.” (Luke 23:35–43)

The Catechism tells us in 1008 that death entered the world through the sin of man. Is it not just that we too are condemned to die for the sins we commit? Words spoken against a neighbor, a co-worker, a family member. Greed that clouds our judgment — for more, more praise, more control, more power. For the things we place first in our lives?

My friends, this feast of Christ the King ends not in triumph, but in the cost of sin. Death comes for us all, yet Jesus, through His passion, His death, and resurrection, invites our mortality into eternity.

Why do you think the Church ends her year here, in the most humbling of ways? Where do you see yourself in this story?

Looking back over our sessions, we recall that the Cross is our hope; the wood of our torture, God makes a ladder of mercy. Jesus came not as the Pharisees were watching, casting down the Romans with fire and brimstone, but through the means of active participation in grace, where man cooperates with love. St. Luke gives us this model in the Good Thief. St. Dismas is our first canonized, or formally recognized by the Church. His humility, his recognition, shows us that grace is open to all, not just a select few.

The Four Marks and the Communion of Saints

Last week we spoke on the Four Marks of the Church. Who can tell me what they are? Did you make the connection with the Nicene Creed we recite at Mass?

“I believe in one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church. I confess one Baptism for the forgiveness of sins, and I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.”

What I want to look at now is what makes us holy. It is, of course, the Communion of Saints. St. Dismas, Peter, Mary Magdalene, John, Paul, Maximilian, and Thérèse — all these wonderful examples of men and women who have literally died with Jesus daily, in the crosses of their time, and rose with Him again and again to new life, new love, eternity.

But the Church actually tells us there are two types of holy within the communion.

What do you think they are?

The Sancta

Chiefly the Eucharist, the ONE thing that unites us all together as one body in Christ. I believe we have talked briefly about Eucharistic miracles, where the bread, transubstantiated, begins to bleed or turns to flesh. In each and every time it is AB+ — universal receiver.

Wouldn’t our Lord be the universal donor? Given from the Cross, for all mankind, donor makes the most sense. But when we look to the order of nature, St. Thomas Aquinas tells us that what we consume becomes a part of us. The Eucharist — being Jesus’ body, blood, soul, and divinity — is of a higher order, and therefore we become what we have consumed.

Remember that word consume. When we eat healthy, we feel healthy. When we look at sacred art or listen to sacred music, we feel good. Likewise, consume things that are less, we feel less — they become a part of us. Jesus, however, is an inexhaustible source of grace, and we the broken, lost, holy, and pure are one in Him.

The Sancti

The holy persons within this communion.

Here’s the rub: both men hanging next to Jesus are found within the Church… and the Eucharist — Jesus, the Sacrament of the Brother — asks us to love them all.

Only one man cooperated, was the first to recognize Jesus as Lord and the Cross as His throne, and God in His mercy still allowed the freedom of choice for Gestas, the other criminal. Do you think it pained Jesus to let him die without knowing His love?

It is then on us, the Sancti — those who recognize they are sinners and are in need of a Savior, who cooperate with grace — to love those who are most difficult to love. Not “once saved, always saved,” but like the tides: some days we are closer than others, but constantly pulled by the moon and held by the Spirit.

Some days I fail to submit my will; some days I place myself before others; and more often than not fail to do as I should. Does this make me less holy? Less worthy of the Church and the gifts God wants to give me? What about your own lives? You have all noticed a shift. Things you used to do or say now seem rude or crass. Videos or music you used to like now sound harsh and unkind.

This is the mark of conversion. A calling to mind and response to true beauty, true witness, true grace, and a turning away from the noise of this world. If you ever wonder how far you come, look back to where you have been. You will find you no longer have the same taste for what used to make you happy. And if you do slip backwards, always know that God will pick you up where you are, and call you back into the light of His grace, but only if you let Him. 

The Threefold Communion

The Sancti — the Communion of Saints — the holy ones are made of three parts:

1. The Church Militant

The Church we see at Mass, around the world, the visible sign of Christ’s Mystical Body.

2. The Church Suffering

Those in purgatory, the voiceless — having seen the love of God, submitting to His will, needing purification for heavenly communion.
This is why we pray for them, especially in November. A work of mercy.

3. The Church Triumphant

First and foremost, our Mother Mary. With her Fiat, she fully cooperated with grace, and it is through her constant prayers and love for us sinners that we dare to call her Mother. Given to us from the Cross, Mary is uniquely tied to this Holy Communion as the Mother of Mercy and the New Eve.

But how do we know she and the others from the cloud of witnesses are in heaven? Jesus Himself in Mark’s Gospel — and the Catechism in paragraph 999 — echoes that God is not the God of the dead, but of the living.

The Catechism goes on to tell us that the Eucharist becomes the foretaste of the resurrected body, and that the saints are already raised with Him and die with Him because they have the Holy Spirit within them.

Every tide is different; every day we are different.

Where We Stand: Our Daily Role in the Passion

The Sancti — the Communion of Saints — is made of three parts:

1. The Church Militant
   The Church we see at Mass, around the world — the visible sign of Christ’s Mystical Body.
   
   
2. The Church Suffering
   Those in purgatory — the “voiceless,” having seen the love of God and submitting to His will, needing purification for heavenly communion.
   This is why praying for them is a spiritual work of mercy.
   
   
3. The Church Triumphant
   First and foremost, Mary.
   With her Fiat, she fully cooperated with grace.
   It is through her constant prayers and love for us sinners that we dare to call her Mother.
   Mary is uniquely tied to this communion as Mother of Mercy and the New Eve.

But how do we know she and the others from the cloud of witnesses are in Heaven?
Jesus Himself in Mark 12:27 and CCC 999 says that God is “not God of the dead, but of the living.” Jesus was speaking to the Sadducees — those who had lost faith in the resurrection and the Second Coming.

Do we stop needing God when we die?
Is death what is required by God, or is it the consequence of sin?

The Catechism goes on to tell us that the Eucharist becomes the foretaste of the resurrected body, and that the saints are already raised with Him because they have the Holy Spirit within them.

Again — in that daily rising and dying — we are conformed to Christ.

Is every tide at the beach the same? Of course not. Sand is moved, treasures buried or revealed.
Every day, my friends, is different because we are different.

Let me say this again:
There are days we play different characters in the Passion narrative — and the men and women of the Sancti were no different.

There are days I desire to be like the good thief, proclaiming Christ as my Lord…
but in reality, I’m the one who hung the sign over His crown of thorns.
Other times, in my pride, I’m the one who mocks Him:
“If you really loved me, I wouldn’t suffer so.”

And here’s the big secret Catholics hate to admit:
there are many days I play all the roles at once.

The underlying thread is the grace of God, our openness to conversion, and our ability to trust that with every death comes new life.

That is what makes us holy — not our will, not our brain — but our heart and mind ordering ourselves to a God who forgives and asks us to extend that mercy to others so that they too might see Him as Lord from the Cross.

A Personal Witness

There was a time not all that long ago when I was seeking Jesus. I was out of my element, unable to control the situation, and knew at any moment my life would be forever changed. I am speaking, of course, about the birth of my youngest daughter, Emilia. There is nothing like waiting for a new child to call to mind the steadfastness of St. Joseph — a man who just had to go along with the plan and, trusting in the promise of God, know that all things can be brought about for good. I was pacing the room, trying to get more ice chips, and every ticking hour felt like 500 years in purgatory. Or at least from a male perspective. When I ask my wife what was going through her mind, I usually get a “look” followed by a period of silence.

After one such look, she kindly suggested I take a walk. It is no surprise, being the good Catholic that I am, that after the cafeteria, I found myself in the “prayer room” of Maine General. It was October, and the walls were pinned with notes of families who had lost a child, of babies who were in ICU, and mothers and fathers who were heartbroken. My heart ached, and my mind raced, and I wanted to let them all know of the hope of Jesus, the promise of heaven, and that even in suffering comes about a glorious life! I ached to be near to Jesus, to be in a church, to be before a tabernacle. To pray for my own family, to pray for my wife, to pray for these families who seemed so broken.

As I turned to leave, I noticed in a corner a small red light, and through the cracks of the wooden cabinet doors, a glint of gold. Jesus was there — and in my own pride, my own “holiness,” I had been too blind to see that He held all these prayers because He LOVES us… all of us.

I returned to my wife, and the waiting continued, but after a time something felt wrong. She wasn’t progressing the way she should have, the way the other three children had. Something was wrong, and the doctors, the nurses, the whole system didn’t seem to think I had a say.

As my wife — my world, my anchor — was trying to push through, I began to pray: “All you holy men and women of God, pray for us… we need you to pray and storm the gates of heaven for this baby.”

I kid you not — thirty seconds later, it was time to push. The nurse was yelling for the doctor, who dropped to a “catch” position shortly after confirming we went from 0–60 MPH in three seconds flat, and within two minutes, the sound of silence filled the room.

Emilia had managed to wrap the cord around her neck not once but twice, and there was not enough space to slide a pinky finger in between. She was born the deepest shade of purple I had ever seen, and her silence was deafening. There was no happy cord cutting, no snuggles, no moment where my wife — the triumphant warrior — glows in victory holding her prize. Instead, there was a rush, a code call, and a room filled with commotion.

Emilia breathed her first cry two minutes after birth, and the color returned, and a healthy baby girl was delivered to my wife’s anxious arms.

Was it the prayers of the saints who delivered this wonderful little girl? Or was it the mercy of God that, in His divine will, allowed me a glimpse into the suffering of those families whose prayers lined the chapel? Was it His will that, in cooperating with the saints, I came to understand the majesty of the Church Triumphant and the pain of those in purgation?

I often wonder… how would my faith have stood if I never heard her cry? And I pray to God I will never know until I meet Him face to face.

— Tyler Nadeau  
Director of Evangelization & Catechesis, Prince of Peace Parish 

Sources

• Sacred Scripture: Luke 23:35–43; Mark 12:27
• Catechism of the Catholic Church: 1008, 999, 946–962
• St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, III, q. 75–80
• Lumen Gentium, §§48–51 (Communion of Saints)
• Tradition on St. Dismas (early patristic sources)

What Is a Saint?

A saint is someone willing to be consumed by the Lord — someone who dies to oneself daily and rises each new day.
A saint is someone who recognizes the need for a Savior, and even when pride, wounds, laziness, or exhaustion make us stumble, they return to Jesus on their knees and ask one more time for grace.
Simply put, the saints are both here and now, and also eternal — and we can see them if we ask for the eyes to see.

How the Church Forms Us

How, then, does the Church help form us into these Christ-like lights in the world and in history?
One simple and practical way is to follow her calendar.

This coming weekend marks the end of the liturgical year with the Solemnity of Christ the King.
Can you guess what comes next?

What do you know of Advent?
What do you think the Church is asking of us over the next four weeks leading up to Christmas Eve?

What Advent Is

Advent is a period of preparation.
Some link it to four themes — Hope, Peace, Joy, and Love — naming the candles, lighting the wreath, and entering into an almost penitential season.
It is often described as a mini-Lent.

You will see the decorations subdued, the flowers absent, and the readings and prayers during the liturgy calling us to be prepared, to make way, to sit in wonder, and to listen for the voice of God.
Each week draws us deeper into the mystery of Emmanuel — God with us.

How to Enter Advent

The parish offers many resources, including a full guide to celebrating Advent — from blessing our Christmas trees to simple prayers as we light the candles on our wreath.
There are special feast days and services.

We encourage you to embrace all that you can, and above all: PRAY.

Advent is a time to be intentional.
The days grow cold, and the nights long.
We can become easily distracted, discouraged, or even bored — reaching for screens and quick comforts.

The “Meta Moment”

I was once at a conference where Bishop Burns preached on a concept called the “meta moment.”
It refers to an algorithm companies use to hook your attention with a post or video.
If they can keep you for 30 seconds, they can hook you, sell you products, and feed your brain more of what it begins to crave.

The Call to Metanoia

Advent calls for what the Greeks call metanoia — a return to grace.

Like St. John the Baptist in the desert, crying out to make straight the paths and prepare the way of the Lord, this metanoia is the moment we realize we are lost in the dark, that we do not know the way, and that it is only by the light of Christ that we can truly live as people of hope.

A Final Invitation

This Advent, we invite you to open your hearts to God.
Let the light in.

Surrender — not in defeat, but in the triumph of the Cross — so that as we proclaim Christ as King from our lowest moments, we may stand tall in His glory when He comes again.

The “Power” of Jesus Christ

But in what does this “power” of Jesus Christ the King consist? It is not the power of the kings or the great people of this world; it is the divine power to give eternal life, to liberate from evil, to defeat the dominion of death. It is the power of Love that can draw good from evil, that can melt a hardened heart, bring peace amid the harshest conflict and kindle hope in the thickest darkness. This Kingdom of Grace is never imposed and always respects our freedom. Christ came “to bear witness to the truth” (Jn 18: 37), as he declared to Pilate: whoever accepts his witness serves beneath his “banner.” . . . Every conscience, therefore, must make a choice. Who do I want to follow? God or the Evil One? The truth or falsehood? Choosing Christ does not guarantee success according to the world’s criteria but assures the peace and joy that he alone can give us. This is demonstrated, in every epoch, by the experience of numerous men and women who, in Christ’s name, in the name of truth and justice, were able to oppose the enticements of earthly powers with their different masks, to the point that they sealed their fidelity with martyrdom.

— Pope Benedict XVI, on the feast of Christ the King, Nov. 22, 2009