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“Zeal for your house consumes me” Today, the Church celebrates the Feast of the Dedication of St. John Lateran in Rome (the Basilica di San Giovanni in Laterano). This the “mother church” of Christendom, the cathedral church for the Pope in his role as the bishop of Rome as well as the church from which sprang all that we understand today as the Roman Catholic Church. First, a bit of history since most of us likely don’t know anything about the Basilica or why in the world the Church would be celebrating this building as a feast. In ancient Rome, the land on which the Basilica of St. John Lateran in Rome today stands was occupied by the palace of the Laterani family. One family member, Sextius Lateranus, was the first plebian—a commoner—in Roman history to attain the rank of consul. When Nero was Emperor, another member of the Laterani family at the time was the consul-designate. Unfortunately, palace intrigue got Plautius Lateranus into a bit of trouble when he was accused of conspiring against Nero. Plautius’ property and possessions were confiscated and became the Emperor’s property. The Basilica was constructed on the order of the Emperor Constantine in the early-fourth century on the spot where he was baptized which, it just so happened, was the Laterani property. Historians believe Constantine donated the land to Pope Melchiades, perhaps as early as 313, and the Basilica was dedicated on November 9, 324, hence the reason explaining why the Church celebrates this feast each year on November 9. From the day of its dedication, the Basilica of St. John Lateran was the center of Christian life in Rome, the Cathedral of Rome, and the residence of the Bishop of Rome. The Basilica is still the Cathedral of the Diocese of Rome, although the Basilica is no longer the center of Christian life in Rome. The Vatican is. The Basilica was originally dedicated to the Jesus the Savior, “Basilica Salvatoris,” and was later re-dedicated to Sts. John the Baptist and John the Evangelist, after the Benedictine monastery of Sts. John the Baptist and John the Evangelist which adjoined the Basilica. At the time, the Benedictines were charged with the duty of staffing the Basilica, in much the same way religious orders and congregations of priests staff parishes today in the United States. The Basilica’s original splendor was such that it became known as the “Basilica Aurea” (“Golden Church”). However, early in the fifth century the Vandals attacked the Basilica, stripping it of all its treasures. Pope St. Leo the Great restored the Basilica around 460, and Pope Hadrian I later restored it again. In 896, the Basilica was almost totally destroyed by an earthquake. This Basilica lasted for approximately four centuries but eventually was burnt down. Rebuilt by Popes Clement V and John XXII, the Basilica was burned to ground again in 1360, but was rebuilt by Pope Urban V. The present Basilica, completed in 1885, was re-dedicated by Pope Leo XIII. Although still officially named the “Church of the Most Holy Savior,” the Basilica is more popularly called the “Church of St. John Lateran,” or simply, the “Lateran Basilica.” Popes resided at the Lateran palace (the Cathedral’s rectory) until Pope Clement V moved to Avignon in 1310. New Popes were always crowned at St. John Lateran until 1870, when the custom holding the Pope’s coronation at St. Peter’s Basilica was first introduced. The Lateran Basilica is a truly magnificent church. At the center of the facade stands a statue of the risen Christ (“Christo Salvatori”), demonstrating to people as they enter this church, they are entering the Body of Christ. On either side of the statue are twelve bishops, symbolizing the role of the bishop as the Church’s principle teaching authority. Inscribed on the front of the building is the statement “Mother and head of all churches in the city and the world” (in Latin, “Mater et caput omnium ecclesiarum urbis et orbis”), demonstrating the Church’s unity around the successor of St. Peter. Inside the church, enormous statues of the apostles are a reminder that the Church is built on the foundation of the apostles. Behind the altar and above the Pope’s chair—the cathedra—a mosaic depicts Christ poised over his cross symbolizing that, when the Pope teaches, he speaks from beneath the Cross of Christ. It is Christ who is the head of the Body of Christ on earth, and the Pope is the “Servant of the Servants of Christ.” Since the twelfth century, the Church has celebrated the dedication of St. John Lateran in Rome as a feast—a religious and civic holiday—as a sign of devotion to and unity with the Chair of St. Peter which, as the first century apostolic father St. Ignatius of Antioch wrote, “presides over the whole assembly of charity” (Epistle to the Romans, Preface). The Introit for this feast in the Extraordinary Form of the Liturgy is taken from Genesis 28, “This place is an ineffable mystery” (in Latin, “Terribilis es iste locus”), that is, the place where Christ saves God’s people. In contrast to the present Basilica, historians and archaeologists believe the first building was a modest and simple structure. But, what a structure it was! For almost 300 years and fearing for their lives, “zeal for God’s house consumed” Christians in Rome, so much so that they gathered for liturgy underground in the darkness of catacombs which were nothing more than underground graveyards. With the building of St. John Lateran, Christians now worshipped in the light of day. Imagine what this church meant to people whose ancestors had been persecuted for their faith for more than three hundred years. But, think too, about what this meant when worship of God became something that was more comfortable and not something that potentially came at the cost one’s life. As the history of the Basilica suggests, and as with most things human, rebuilding and refurbishing led to the large, beautiful, and ornate edifice for worship used today that is very different from the experience of God that gave birth to the building. So there it is. Today, Roman Catholics throughout the world celebrate a church building as a visible sign of devotion to and unity with the Chair of St. Peter and the Bishop of Rome as his successor. However, I suspect rather strongly that concept hasn’t generated a whole lot of “zeal for God’s house” and doesn’t “consume” all that many people today. So, let’s think about it this way: imagine making the founding of our parish church a religious and civic holiday—a holy day of obligation—because we so very much appreciate and value what it means to us. Now, that would be zeal for God’s house that consumes us! Or, failing that, imagine taking off from work—giving yourself an unpaid holiday—to celebrate the founding of our parish church. You know, sort of like Christmas. Getting up early. Putting on your Sunday best. Bringing the whole family to church to celebrate mass. Relaxing at home following mass and enjoying a huge feast surrounded by family members, relatives, and friends. All of this motivated by solely by love for what our parish church means. Now, that also would be zeal for God’s house that consumes us. I have a hard time imagining that, too. After all, it’s difficult enough for some people to get to church on time Sunday after Sunday, even like last weekend when we turn back the clocks and get an extra hour to get to church on time! The same people still come late. “Zeal for God’s house” doesn’t seem to “consume” a whole lot of people today or, at least, the way it did for those early Christians in Rome who worshipped God in the catacombs rather than in magnificent churches. Well, then, what might our parish church mean to us that might stir up some zeal for God’s house in us? The prophet Ezekiel provided a glimpse in today’s first reading, likening what would be a parish church to a great temple—God’s dwelling place on earth—from which water flows east, south, north, and west. Wherever this water flows, everything becomes fresh (even salt water), every living creature multiples, and fruit trees not only bear fresh fruit each month (fruit that never falls to the ground) but also abundant leaves (which never fade). In short, the trees provide food and medicine so that everyone is healthy. In short, we would envision our parish church as that sacred space from which flows everything we need, and not just for life, but for life in abundance. We would find in this building the answers to all of life’s problems, strength to confront all of life’s trials, and hope to go out and face the day. We would also find in this building the meaning and purpose of our lives, so much so that from this building would flow everything to feed, nourish, clothe, and bring healing to people. Lastly, we would find in this building the source of life itself that transcended generations of births, marriages, and funerals. Finding all of this inside of and flowing from our parish church, zeal for this house―God’s―house would consume us, would it not? While that may be a beautiful image about what our parish church could be, the simple fact is that we live in a culture where everything that is viewed as necessary not just for life but for life in abundance comes from everywhere but our parish church. So, we traipse off to work and we work very hard each day to earn the money required to provide not only for our needs but also for everything else we want. We view these as the first fruits of our labors and take great pride in them, as well as in our ability to provide for them. And, should our possessions wither and fade (unlike those trees Ezekiel spoke about), well, we steel ourselves to work harder and longer, if necessary, to acquire all of the newest, most up-to-date, and technologically advanced possessions. Of course, one problem this attitude presents is that it is an entirely consumerist attitude. Zeal for God’s house doesn’t consume us. No, consumerism is what consumes us. Our lives aren’t all about God. No, it's “all about me” and everything I am willing to do to acquire and possess everything I both need and more so want. Success in this regard not only makes me feel good about myself, but also increases my sense of self-importance. I am the author of my life and my success. Notice how entirely absent from this consumerist attitude is any referent to the Source from which all of us have been given life and which continues to nourish and sustain us, namely, God. This decidedly secularist attitude also permeates our lives. Zeal for material things we can consume is what counts. After all, who needs God—who needs a sacred place—when I can provide so well for myself? A second problem this attitude presents is that it transforms our parish church into the equivalent of a Walmart, a Target, or a Home Depot, a Giant’s, Genuardi’s, or an Acme, or a MacDonald’s, Wendy’s, or Burger King. That is, we expect our parish church to provide us what we want, when we want it, in the way we want it, and at the price we are willing to put into the basket each week to pay for it. In other words, our parish church is not only “all about me” and “what I want” but also about “receiving”—measuring its value in terms of what I get out of it—rather than “giving”—what I put into it. If I don’t like the schedule or a certain priest, if the homilies don’t tell me what I want to hear, if I don’t like the music, the way the altar servers behave, or the cantor’s voice, or whatever else I don’t like about our parish church, I can always go somewhere else to get exactly what I want. Once again, notice what is entirely absent from this attitude: any reference to what our parish church exists for. As the Psalmist described it: “There is a stream whose runlets gladden the city of God, the holy dwelling of the Most High. God is in its midst….” Our parish church provides a sacred space for us—individually and collectively—to give worship to God in this, God’s dwelling place on earth. Then, too, how different our culture is from that which sprung what today we regard as the great cathedrals of Europe, including the Basilica of St. John Lateran. Intended to be “God’s dwelling place on earth,” no small amount of time, talent, or treasury was spent on creating what for people in each of those locales would be the best and most fitting place for God to dwell on earth. And, through the centuries, those great cathedrals have attested to what all of those people gave―their “sweat equity”―to provide a suitable dwelling place for God that has continued to uplift the minds and souls of people across those centuries to the Source of life who provides for all their needs. Those are not buildings. No, they are sacred spaces, uniting heaven and earth. Earlier, I said, “Today, we celebrate a church building.” Yes, the Church throughout the world celebrates that singular building which symbolizes the Church’s unity in the Chair of St. Peter. But, in light of today’s scripture, are we really celebrating a building? St. Paul suggests the answer is both “Yes” and “No.” As he reminded the Corinthians: “You are God’s building….Are you not aware that you are the temple of God, and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?....The temple of God is holy, and you are that temple.” Interestingly, the word “you” St. Paul used is second person plural, meaning that when we gather in our parish church and are joined in worship of God in this sacred space, this is how we become God’s temple and from this visible Body of Christ flows the four rivers that nourish people to the farthest ends, the four corners, of the world. All of those good works performed “out there” may be admirable but, unless we root our good works in what our parish church exists for “in here,” that’s all they are, good works. We might just as well be social workers, teachers, and first responders. But, we’re not. We are Roman Catholics. Today’s celebration is not just about a building; it is also about us and our role in our parish church. While God makes his dwelling place in our parish church, God also makes his dwelling place in each of us. But, unless each of us individually and collectively comes to our parish church full of “zeal for God’s house” to the point that it “consumes” us, we are not God’s temple, his dwelling place on earth. It is in this sense that any impoverished idea about what our parish church is may be attributed to the culture in which we live. But, that’s a cop out. Any impoverished idea about what our parish church is should be attributed to our failure to appreciate that we cannot have one without the other. God dwells in our parish church and God dwells in our bodies here when―full of zeal for God’s house―we gather in this sacred space to become the Body of Christ. That is how this place—our parish church and us as the Body of Christ—is an “ineffable mystery” (in Latin, “Terribilis es iste locus”), that is, the place where God is present and saves His people. In today’s gospel, Jesus said to the money changers: “Zeal for your house will consume me.” Our parish church is not a place intended for secular activities. It is intended to be a visible symbol of the Body of Christ, a living sign of our unity as a parish and as part of the Catholic Church, a sacred space where God dwells. From our parish church flows the water that gives life to earth’s farthest reaches. Today’s feast asks and challenges us: Does this zeal identify our reason for gathering here today? If not, Pope Benedict XVI reminds us, we are only worshipping “that golden calf that is ourselves.”
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HOMILY
