Weekend Homilies

Did you hear something that resonated with you? Are you looking to reflect on the weekend homily?

No need to worry! The homily will be made available here in both written and audio form some time during the following week. Click on the links below to take you to a specific homily.

5th sunday of easter

There are some movies, most in fact, that are once and done. You watch it, you enjoy it (or not) but you never have to see it again. And then there are others, like the “Wizard of Oz.” Every human being holds an obligation to its own generation to see that movie. Several times.

But I’m telling you, even steeled by an adult beverage and wrapped in my blanket, those flying monkeys are scary; they freak me out every time I watch it. Flying monkeys aside, though, what the movie offers is the timeless truth that is known so well: “There’s no place like home.”

“Home,” wherever and however we created it, that place where we find peace and feel safe, where things are brought back into perspective, where burdens are shared and joys are celebrated. We create that “home” in our lives, where we ready ourselves to face the challenges, and where spirits are renewed.

Perhaps that bit of human nature, known by God who placed it within us from the beginning of time, is why God also chose to make home with us. For generations, the people of Israel sought to find God and somehow make God’s dwelling among them. They travelled across the desert for forty years with the Ark of the Covenant in their possession; they fought wars; they created laws and rituals; they built temples and rebuilt them when they were destroyed. Led by prophets and sages they did everything they could to assure themselves that God would dwell with them.

But in the end, it was not by their efforts, but God who made the choice to dwell with us. “God’s dwelling is with the human race,” John tells us. “He will dwell with them and they will be his people and God himself will always be with them as their God.” Period. End of story. Or not.

Like the generations that need to hear the Wizard of Oz proclaim what already seems so obvious and should be known, every generation needs to hear the message of the Gospel of Jesus Christ and the promise for people of all ages. We cannot and should not assume that everyone has seen the “movie.”

Like the early disciples who took upon themselves the task to bring that message to towns and cities and countries well beyond their comfort zone and with names foreign to their tongue - Lystra and Iconium and Antioch, Pamphylia and Perga and Attalia, Ashwaubenon and Oconomowoc. So must we. It is our story to remember; our obligation to tell – God dwells among us.

Being disciples of Jesus Christ might seem daunting, scarier even than flying monkeys. But Jesus made it so simple, so doable, so within our grasp, and he offered it with the simple command: love one another.
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It may have taken a tornado and a whole cast of characters for Dorothy to realize there was no place like home. For us, we need love. Before any word is preached or any sacred story told, before traditions of faith are lived or creeds of faith are proclaimed, before any church is built or any lesson is taught, there must be love. Period. End of story. Or just the beginning. 

Audio Recording

4th sunday of easter

Fourth Sunday of Easter
May 8, 2022
 
It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to recognize that we are a divided world. It’s amazing that we can even exist on the same planet. Some things divide us by absolute chance: The families into which we are born, our country of origin and language of birth, our physical or mental abilities or disabilities. It’s all by chance. We are also divided by age and sex and sexual orientation, by race and often by religion. But then it seems we go out of our way to create further divisions, even in our own Catholic religion, between Catholics who want to move the Church forward into the modern world, as prescribed by Vatican II, and those who want to return to pre-Vatican II church.

We choose seemingly insurmountable political sides that run deep as the Grand Canyon. We are divided by rivers and oceans, of course, but then we further divide by which side of the tracks we live on, by city-dwellers and rural folk. We have differing allegiances to sports teams and differing loyalties to our alma mater.

How does the God that has created all of us in His image and likeness, how does our God speak to this world that is so divided? How can the Good Shepherd possibly call his sheep when we are of such different flock?

We know how God does not speak: Whenever we hear a voice that sounds coercive, that is somehow in-our-face and bullying, you can be sure that no matter how holy and righteous it might claim to be, no matter what authority it assumes or what threat it shouts, it is not the voice of God.  It is not the voice of the Shepherd. 

That doesn’t mean that the voice of God is not a voice to be reckoned with; on the contrary. Certainly, the voice of God spoken through Paul and Barnabas was a powerful voice; there was nothing meek about it.  Think of the courage it took to bridge the Jewish-Gentile gap and unite the brothers and sisters with this new faith in Christ.

It doesn’t mean that the voice of God does not judge but it does so, not with words of condemnation but with a silent voice, like shaking the dust from the feet of the disciples. It doesn’t mean that the voice of God is timid. It is, in fact, very bold. But its authority is not in its volume or power, but in its commitment to love and protect, like that of a shepherd who calls his sheep into the fold. They know his voice; they follow him.

So how, in the midst of our diversity, can we hear the voice of God?  Let me ask you this: Do you know what it’s like to walk into a group of strangers and immediately feel welcomed? There is just a spirit of hospitality that is present. Or, how the presence of one person can melt a glacier of coldness that has settled in a room? Have you ever had someone offer a gentle touch, and somehow the pain of your wounded soul took a step toward healing?
 Or do you know how the innocence of a tiny child can expose our pettiness and just bring us back? Or how someone else’s generosity can expose our selfishness? Or how one person with a big heart can inspire a whole team? Or the kindness of a stranger can stop a crowd in their tracks?

Do you know how, when you are in the midst of an argument, by just taking a breath, pausing long enough for a moment of silence, you can stop it from turning into an all-out brawl? Or how a song can come on the radio, bring a tear to your eye and take you from planning revenge to planning reconciliation? Do you ever remember a moment when you were sure you were the only one who felt this or did this or saw the world as you did, and someone said, “Ya, me too”?
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That’s the voice of God. This is the voice of the Shepherd. This is the voice that, while it won’t take away what divides us, can bring everything together. This is the voice that calls us to be one with him and with each other. Listen to that voice.

Audio Recording

3rd sunday of easter

Third Sunday of Easter - First Communion Sunday
May 1, 2022
 
One of the rites of initiation you go through when you grow up on a dairy farm is learning to drive a tractor, and then next, to rake hay. Now, for you non-farmers, let me tell you a little bit about raking hay. After the hay was mowed down and had dried a couple of days, you would drive through the field pulling a hay rake that would roll the dried-hay into windrows. Later the baler would pick up the windrowed hay and make it into bales. Raking hay is the first real tractor-machinery job you are given for two reasons:  First of all, it is as safe as you can get. Second of all, it is easy. You just drive around and around the field. You can’t really mess it up.  Well, most people can’t. I did. 

I don’t know how it happened but one day I started going around the field the wrong way. Do you know what happens when you do that? You just keep making one really, really big windrow of hay.  And, do you know what else happens? Dad gets really, really mad.

I was sure that day that I had lost my place in the hierarchy of sons, that I’d never be allowed on a tractor again. I left the field in tears as I watched my older brother trying to fix the mess I had made. 

The next day there was more hay to rake, and to my surprise, Dad sent me right back out to the field with the same tractor and the same rake. I learned two things that day. I learned what clockwise meant. I also learned something about forgiveness.

You are making cookies and you drop the bowl, but Mom just mixes another batch of dough. We dent the car, but we are handed the keys again. Angry words are exchanged with your spouse, but you are invited back into their embrace. You defy your parent’s authority but they still give you a place to call home. You offend your friend, but they still pour you a glass of wine. We ignore Jesus for years but we are invited back to his Table again. 

It’s what Jesus did that morning for Peter and the disciples – he forgave them and he sent them out into the field. The disciples had abandoned Jesus in his crucifixion; Peter denied that he even knew him. Still, Jesus filled their empty nets with fish. He invited them to breakfast. He welcomed Peter back into a love relationship. He helped them know they were not defined by their mistakes and failures; neither are we. We are defined by God’s love for us.

Over and over again our empty nets are filled. Over and over again we are invited back to the table. Over and over again we are welcomed to proclaim our love of Christ. Over and over again we are forgiven. Over and over again we take up our responsibilities to witness the gospel.

The only question that remains is the question that the disciples faced: Will you follow him? 

Audio Recording

2nd sunday of easter

Second Sunday of Easter
April 24, 2022

“Wow! What up with her? What’s gotten into him?” 
Oh, wait. Wait, I read that wrong. “Wow! What’s up with her? What’s gotten into him?” 
That  is what everyone was saying about the disciples! What’s up with these guys? What happened? We know them; they are just the ordinary guys, women we’ve known forever. Just days ago, they were cowering in fear behind locked doors, worried that what Jesus endured, they would be next. They were afraid and trembling, amazed but still in the dark, still confused.  

What happened to them between those days, from when they were huddled in fear behind locked doors, and what we hear today: Peter preaching and healing boldly and courageously right in the midst of the crowds at the temple? This is the one who just days before denied that he even knew Jesus, yet now was eloquently proclaiming the power of Christ, so much so that people were hoping that even his shadow would fall upon them.

What happened was that they came to believe. They came to the realization, the conviction, the faith that Jesus was the Christ -Lord and God- AND the breath of God came upon them, the power of Christ was now in them.

That’s what got into them. That’s what was up with them. When that happens, when that deep moment of faith takes root in our lives, when that message of salvation, God’s love on full display in the death and resurrection is truly known, not a thinly veiled hope but a deep and enduring faith - then the only viable, logic, feasible thing to do is to tell others. Proclaim it. Live it. Share it.

Because once that faith explodes, nothing will be the same. Nothing can remain as it was. Everything becomes new and changing and powerful…and dangerous and risky and a bit “out there.”

Isn’t that exactly what Easter should do for all of us? Isn’t that exactly what the world needs from us who believe? Not to cower in our small, safe circle of fellow believers here in church, but to get the message out there! This is not a time to be shy; this is the time to take what we have been given and do something with it.

John, in his narrative that he wrote on the island of Patmos (in what we now know as the Book of Revelation) is almost always misinterpreted as something about the end of times, a scary and intimidating story of what is about to happen. But that’s not at all what John was trying to say. If that’s all it was about, the world would have ended long ago. What John was offering was a symbolic prediction of what was coming, and, in fact, what was already here in the resurrection of Jesus Christ.

Everything old was passing away; what was being revealed was everything new. The other disciples found their way to proclaim it; John found a way to say it with rich symbolic and colorful imagery and language. This is the start of something new. The resurrection changes everything. Everything has to be reinterpreted, reprioritized, reordered. Everything must now be seen through different eyes, even death itself.

My friends, if Easter did not do that for us, or is not in the process of doing for us, then we need to hear it again. And again. And again, until we are so converted by what Christ has done for us that people will begin to ask about us: “Wow! What’s up with her? She’s like a different person. What’s gotten into him? I’ve never seen him like that before!”  

Audio Recording

EASTER sunday

Easter Sunday
April 17, 2022
 
We’ve all heard it before, right? Even Peter began his great preaching with “You know what has happened…” So why do we take all this time to listen to all these stories again? They don’t change. They stay the same year after year after year. 

We do it because this is the story of our salvation. Every Easter morning, we listen to these same scripture readings because it is who we are and who we are destined to become.
It’s the same reason why we tell stories when we gather with our families, passing on legends to yet another generation. It is why middle-age athletes talk of the glory days and why veterans recall the war stories and why fishermen tell the stories of the one that got away. It is why lovers recall the day they met, and friends remember the good ol’ days. They remind us where we’ve come from and they tell us who we are.  And they also tell us what we must do.

The resurrection of Jesus may, indeed, be old news; we didn’t have to check our news feeds this morning to find out if He had really risen!  But our resurrection is not old news; it is being written even as we gather this morning. The scripture stories may have been written and recorded long ago; our story is still being written. The question is not whether Jesus is going to come out of the tomb. What we have to decide is whether WE are willing to come out of OUR tombs! 

Will we become the people God has called us to be? When we find it difficult to articulate our faith, when it all seems so confusing and complex  -like the disciples who did not yet understand-  will we search for new words, new examples, new images? Will we find new yeast to add to the dough, as St. Paul encouraged the people of Corinth? 

When others are stuck in their tombs of darkness and loneliness, will we listen and have the insight to help them to find the presence of the living Christ? Will we have the courage to run back and tell the others in our world today that Christ who died is now alive?

The resurrection to which Easter calls us to is not a moment of history, it is a moment to create our own history! The Resurrection we proclaim with ritual and song and word requires that we search for God by listening with new ears and seeing with new eyes. It requires us to listen not only to the stories that never change, but also to the stories that are being written in each other’s lives today. We need to live every day expecting God to surprise us, in ways we never thought we’d see and through the words we never thought we’d hear. 
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 Easter is all about stories, those told and those yet to be written. In those stories we find out who we are and who we might become. And we remember that Christ is indeed risen. He is alive. He is with us. And that, my friends, makes all the difference in the world. 

Audio Recording

EASTER VIGIL (NO AUDIO AVAILABLE)

Easter Vigil 2022
April 16, 2001
 
We’ve all heard it before, right? This creation stuff, and God asking Abraham to sacrifice his son, the parting of the sea. We’ve heard the promises and admonitions of the prophets and St. Paul telling us that we have been “...buried with Jesus in the baptism of death.” And of course, the stories of the empty tomb and the amazement of the disciples. So why take all this time to listen to all these stories again? They don’t change. They stay the same year after year after year.

We do for one simple reason: This story of our salvation history. We take the time every year at this Easter Vigil to proclaim and listen because it is where we have come from; it is who we are. It’s as simple as that.

It’s the same reason why we tell stories when we gather with our families, passing on legends to yet another generation. It is why middle-age athletes talk about the glory days and why veterans recall the war stories and why fishermen tell about the one that got away. It is why lovers recall the day they met, and friends remember the good-ol’ days. Because these stories tell of our life history; they remind us where we’ve come from and tell who we are. It’s as simple as that.

Our faith stories need to be told again for the sake of Sarah who will be baptized tonight along with her daughters. We tell them for the sake of Jacob and Kim and Hannah and Ryan, for Jill and Josh, for Zach and Heidi and Gabe and Chole, all of whom will be fully initiated into the Church tonight. We tell the stories of faith for those of us who are struggling to understand who God is and how He might be working -or not working- in their lives.
We tell the stories for the guests and the visitors who may not have heard them before, and for those who have heard them so many times they could recite them verbatim. I listen to these stories of faith, so that as a priest I may never lose touch with the people I am a part of, and whom I am called to serve.

These stories of faith tell us who we are.  And they also tell us what we must do.
The resurrection of Jesus may, indeed, be old news; our resurrection is not. The stories may have been written and recorded long ago; our story is still being written. The question is not whether Jesus is going to come out of the tomb (We know that!); what we have to decide is whether WE are willing to come out of our tombs! 

Will we continue the creation story and become the people God has called us to be so that the Creator looks at us and cries out: “This is good!”?   Will we, pass the test of faith as Abraham did, and reward the world with faithfulness for the generations to come? The Israelites began a whole new life of freedom when the Egyptians were washed away in the sea. How will our lives change tonight when we renounce evil in our lives and renew our baptismal promises? What prophets inspire us and what voices admonish us so that we may be what the Church calls us to be as a holy people?  And when we find it difficult to articulate our faith, when it seems confusing and complex, will we persevere to find the words to inspire others like Paul did for the people of Rome? 

When others have are stuck in their tombs of darkness and loneliness with terror and amazement, will we listen to their stories with wonder and awe? Will we have the insight to help them to find the presence of the living Christ and come out of the tomb? Will we have the courage to run back and tell the others in our world today that despite the culture of death, Christ who died is now very much alive?

The resurrection to which Easter calls us to is not a moment of history, it is to create our own history! The Resurrection we proclaim with ritual and song and word requires that we prepare to find God by listening with new ears and seeing with new eyes.
It requires us to listen not only to the stories that never change, but also to the stories that are being written in each other’s lives today. We must be prepared to be surprised by God in strange places, in ways we never thought we’d see, and through the words of those we never thought we’d hear. 
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 Easter is all about stories, those told and those yet to be written. In those stories we find out who we are and who we might become. And in that, we find that Christ is indeed risen.  He is alive. He is with us. “ALLELUIA!!”

Audio Recording

holy thursday (NO AUDIO AVAILABLE)

Holy Thursday
April 14, 2022
 
I was with my dad earlier in the week. He had been in the hospital for a few days already and knew he wasn’t going home anytime soon. So, I went back to the apartment and picked up Mom so they could spend some time together at the hospital.

She was barely in the room when he caught sight of her and immediately his tears started. She inched her way with her walker across the room while he brought himself as close to the edge of his chair as he could without falling out. I stood behind Mom to offer some balance as she awkwardly leaned into his waiting arms. They kissed and cried, mumbling “I love you-s” and “I miss you-s” as they kissed some more and held each other as tightly as their almost 90-year old bodies would let them, between oxygen tubing and walkers. 

It was a 69-year love story unfolding before my eyes. It was beautiful and humbling to watch. All they wanted, all they needed was to be in each other’s presence, just to be with each other.

Tonight, my friends, it’s not a 69-year old loves story, but a 2000-year old love story that unfolds before us once again. It is Christ who desires to be near us; we who need to be in His presence. Not with kisses and hugs but with bread and wine. Not with bodies awkwardly holding each other in reverence, but by reverently receiving the very Body of Christ into our hands. Like my mom and dad, we are at our best love when we are in each other’s presence.
It’s why the Israelites commemorated in the Passover meal, the ancient memorial feast celebrated as a perpetual institution, a making-present of God’s love. It is why Jesus gathered his followers in the Upper Room, in anticipation of his death - that he might perpetually remain present with his followers. It is what the early church recognized this as the new covenant with God, a promise of endless presence.

It is what we do tonight. We remember with ritual and with reality the truth about our relationship with Christ: we need to be in each other’s presence; we need to be together.
But Mom and Dad’s relationship of love was not all hugs and kisses; that I also witnessed. There was 69 years of commitment, and the hard work of mercy and forgiveness, choices and decisions and compromises and sacrifices. The “I love you-s” flow today because of decades of care and concern and worry and prayers.

We are reminded tonight, as Jesus reminded his disciples in that Upper Room, that love always flows most fully from the hard work of commitment and mercy and forgiveness, choices and decisions and compromises and sacrifices. Christian love is always spoken from centuries of care and concern and worry and prayers.

I will never forget the display of love my parents revealed last Monday. But equally, I will never forget the love I so often see it in all of you. I have had the privilege of being your pastor for the past nine years. Time and time again, I have witnessed the love that you show for one another, for your family and your friends, for neighbors and strangers, for your parish family. Generations of faithful have walked this path before you and generations yet to be born will do the same – if we continue to live in kindness and generosity and commitment, in forgiveness and mercy and love. Time and time again, I have seen you make sacrificial choices that proclaim what we remember and celebrate tonight in these simple and timeless rituals of the Church.
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Two thousand years, in an awkward act of humility and profound teaching, Jesus washed his disciples’ feet, wordlessly saying, “I love you.” But then he added, “As I have done for you so you should also do.” 

Audio Recording

palm sunday

Passion Sunday
April 10, 2022
 
[The following is a reflection given as an introduction to the proclamation of the Passion. No homily to follow.]

Storytelling is a part of almost every gathering of families. Sometimes the same stories are told over and over again but each time they are told they fall upon ears that hear them in a new way, or hearts that understand them with new openness, or minds that pick up a truth that we’ve never heard before. We hear them filtered through our own new experiences, and our own wisdom that we have acquired. Every generation hears them in our time, through our own loves and sufferings, deaths and resurrections, relationships of love and loss.  Some of these stories are told countless times, year after year, gathering after gathering.
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Today is one of those days to tell a part of our faith story. It is a long story, one we’ve heard countless times before. So your mind may wander a bit. (Let’s be honest; your mind WILL wander.) But pay attention to where it wanders and what brings it back; to a detail you hear that you’ve never heard before; to where it takes your heart in a different way. Even though it may be told in more dramatic ways in movies and song, the Church, in Her wisdom, calls us to simply tell that story yet again. Because another year has passed, so even this old Story becomes new.   
This is the Passion of our Lord, Jesus Christ, according to Luke.

Audio Recording

5th Sunday of lent

Fifth Sunday of Lent
April 3, 2022
 
Have you ever had one of those moments when you turn your head around quickly, and (AHHHH!)  you get a sharp pain in the neck and all you can do is hope your chiropractor has an opening.

Our heads are aimed in the direction they are aimed for a reason. It may be a product of evolution, but like all evolution, the hand of God is a part of that mystery. Glancing back might be a good thing to do once in a while but we’re meant to look ahead.

Our faith tradition honors our great story of salvation history but the vision God calls us to is not in the past, but in that which is yet to come. The past, our collective past and our personal past, might give us an indication of where we have come from. It might even sometimes explain why we do what we do. But our past never declares who we are called yet to be. Christ does that.

As great as the Lord’s hand in opening the sea to free his people and swallowing up the chariots and horsemen and powerful army in pursuit, Isaiah tells the Israelites: “Remember not the events of the past, the things of long ago consider not; see I am doing something new!” Something new, something greater, something even more powerful awaits those who are willing to continue the journey. 

The Psalmist sings out, not denying the exile and the sins that landed them there, but singing of the joy of returning to the Lord. “Those that sow in tears shall reap rejoicing.”
Paul reminds the people of Philippi that there is much water under the bridge, so much has been done in the name of God -both good and bad- but he tells them they must forget what lies behind and strain forward to what lies ahead. He writes, “I continue my pursuit toward the goal, the prize of God’s upward calling in Christ Jesus.”

In the iconic story of the woman caught in adultery, a story only found in John’s recording of the gospel, Jesus doesn’t deny that the woman sinned, but doesn’t get stuck there. He doesn’t dismiss her indiscretion but he also doesn’t end her story. “Has no one else condemned you? “And neither do I condemn you [he says]. Go, and from now on do not sin any more.”
 
It is the relentless and consistent message of God; it is the recurring message of Lent. It’s time to move in, folks. Time to get over it, get past it, get beyond it, get away from it - whatever IT may be that keeps us from moving forward in Christ Jesus.

If there actually were any “good old days” they now lie behind us, captured in the trophies that collect dust. To those days, Isaiah speaks: Forget about the events of the past, the things of long ago consider not; God is doing something new!

If what keeps you from living fully in the love of Christ are those times when we did that we thought were right but it turned out not so right, the times we “knew it all” only to find out we knew nothing, St. Paul reminds us:  forget what lies behind and strain forward to what lies ahead, the upward calling in Christ Jesus.

If it is shame that haunts you and guilt that keeps you in darkness, get beyond the sin and past the indiscretion. Listen to the gospel of Jesus Christ: I do not condemn you. Just go. Live. Don’t do it again.
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Can you hear it, folks? What more does God have to do and say so that we can live freely, love completely, believe fully and praise him joyfully?
There’s a reason a windshield is bigger than the rearview mirror.

Audio Recording

4th Sunday of lent

Fourth Sunday of Lent
March 27, 2022
 
Sing it with me: “Amazing Grace.” John Newton wrote that in the later years of his life. In his younger days, he was a slaver trader, in fact, the Captain of a slave ship at one point. That is, until he converted to Christianity and became an abolitionist and an Anglican priest and a songwriter.
 
It was, in many ways, autobiographical. But the same lyrics could have been written by the Israelites at Gilgal on the plains of Jericho when, after 40 not-so-faithful years in the desert, they ate from the yield of the land that God had long ago promised.  Or by the “prodigal son” the morning after the celebration of his return home. Or by any one of us when we felt that same forgiveness. That moment we crossed from that place where we were sure that no could ever love us again for being so stupid, when we messed up beyond even our most vivid imagination – and then came to know that we were forgiven, we were still loved.  
 
It’s those moments that take us from being loathsome to blessed, from sinner to redeemed, from exile into a loving embrace, from turmoil to peace. When that amazing grace, unconfined to the parameters of time and culture and family, is once again revealed. Whether it comes from our beloved or a stranger, from your child or from a parent, from a friend or from an enemy. Or from God. It is an amazing grace at work when instead of rejection we are restored, instead of an ending we receive a new beginning. 
 
Sometimes that grace flows unexpectedly from another person; often it flows from the very breath of God that somehow reaches into our soul and assures us that we can come home, the exile is ended, we are still loved, it will all be OK, nothing has changed.
 
Most of us have been there; that’s why we are here. What better response to that wonderful gift! Or maybe once again we find ourselves in that dark place of exile and long for that mercy. But somehow or somewhere or through someone we have come to know something about that loop of God’s grace to which we are invited to enter. We can relate to the prodigal son who found that grace in the loving embrace of his father. 
 
But there are others who haven’t known that prodigal love of God. Among us and out there, where we work and play and live, so many others stay enslaved in their sin, not because they want to be, but because they don’t have the trust or faith to come home. So, they remain hungry and homeless, not in a physical sense, but in a spiritual sense.
 
They can’t believe that anyone, let alone God, could be that radical in forgiveness. They can’t believe that anyone, let alone God, would rejoice at their return. They can’t believe that God doesn’t operate in the ways that the rest of the world operates, carefully calculating sin and punishment, wrongdoing and repercussion. They can’t believe that God could be so extreme as to not only welcome the sinner, but to do so with joy. They just can’t believe there could be that much love. 
 
To them, we must be, as St. Paul says, ambassadors for Christ. We are entrusted with this story to help them to believe that with Christ, the old things pass away and new creation is promised through forgiveness. Always. 
 
We must be the voice of forgiveness and acceptance and compassion and reconciliation. We must tell the story of the Prodigal Son with our lips and with our lives so that our sisters and brothers will come to know the forgiving, compassionate, reconciling voice of God and they, too, will come home. 

Audio Recording

3rd Sunday of lent

​Third Sunday of Lent
March 20, 2022
 
With smartphones, everyone (including myself) now thinks we are a photographer. But the truth is, we’re not. We can take photos, for sure. And these smart phones have amazing lenses and technology to enhance any photo we take. And the fact that we don’t have to use film makes it all the easier. We can store them and keep them and share them and send them like never before. But, we’re not all photographers. We just take photos.

A true photographer is able to see something that we might pass by, and capture an image that we might not pay any attention to. A photographer sees the world not just through a lens of a camera but with different eyes, ready to capture on film a moment, an emotion, a truth that cannot be described in words.  

I am struck by the fact that Moses’ life and vocation – not to mention salvation history – was changed forever because he saw something in a bush that was on fire. He was aware; he took the time to investigate; he was curious; he was willing to engage and listen for God’s voice.
A burning bush is not utterly unique, and if he had been wrapped up in his own problems or thoughts, or in a hurry, he could have easily passed by, assuming the bush would soon burn up or that someone else would be along to tend to it. But he didn’t.

He saw something in that moment that changed the story of salvation history.

How often do we pass by someone or something that could transform us, if we were open to them or it? Would God necessarily give us a message as important as the message God gave Moses? Maybe not, but maybe. God does have desires and plans for each of us, just as God had desires and plans for Moses.

How many sunrises or sunsets have we seen – but not really appreciated? How many tears have gone unnoticed because we were too busy? How many stories were never shared because we didn’t take the time to listen? How many times have we given our solution before we understood the problem? How many moments of grace went unheeded because our minds were in a different place?

How often have we quit on someone – someone who disappointed us, someone who failed us or broken our trust? What if we could have forgiven them? Given them another chance? Would the story be different? How often have we walked away instead of walking toward? Listened to instead of assuming?  

How often have we passed by a burning bush and not taken notice, and therefore missed God’s reaching out to us? How many times have we grumbled about someone else instead of considering how we might have to change? How many trees have we cut down when all they needed was a little tender care?
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Or just put away the camera and appreciate the moment?

Audio Recording

2nd Sunday of lent

Second Sunday of Lent
March 13, 2022

Sometimes I wonder if I have any faith.
I sat down and thought about it.
And when I had enough of that
I got up and went on my way.
And that…getting up and going…was faith.
 
On most days, I read these words to end my morning prayer; they are framed in the room where I pray in my home. Just getting up and going…is faith. That’s enough to get the day started.  
 
Like many of you, I assume, some days are easier than others. Some days we’re not all that eager, not all that excited to get going, not all that hopeful, but we do. Hope and faith: they are different gifts. Hope happens under the illumination of light; faith happens under the shadow of darkness.  Let me explain that one.
 
Hope happens when after a long, cold winter, we listen to a weather forecast that actually sounds spring-like. Hope happens when the sun shines and things begin to turn green. Hope is a new-born baby, or when teacher sees that look in a child when they “get it.” Hope explodes when love flows out of your heart and is returned from another’s heart. Hope is what happens when the things come together and you are confident that this is going to work out after all. Hope jumps out when a new insight unveils a solution to an age-old problem or when you just see goodness happen. Hope happens in the illumination moments of our lives. 

Faith – faith is different. Faith finds its birth under the shadow of darkness. Faith happens when you are afraid but you do it, anyway. Faith happens when you have every reason to quit but somewhere in your gut, you find something that gives you the strength keep going. Faith is born when the odds are against you but it doesn’t matter, when what appears to be impossible becomes possible. Faith doesn’t manifest itself when everything is perfect, but when the imperfect reveals a path to move forward.

That is why the scriptures almost always uses mystical language when it comes to faith.  As we heard today:
“As the sun was about to set, a trance fell upon Abram, and a deep, terrifying darkness enveloped him.”  It was a moment of faith for Abram. From that moment, he trusted God, completely, without any doubt. He would need more than hope if he was to give birth to God’s chosen people; he would need faith.

“While (Jesus) he was still speaking, a cloud came and cast a shadow over them, and they become frightened when they entered the cloud.”  Within the shadow of the cloud, faith in Jesus as the Christ was conceived in the hearts of Peter and James and John. They needed more than hope if they were to see beyond the cross of Jesus; if they were ever to come to know him as the Messiah.

It’s all symbolic language, words that attempt to capture a moment of faith. In those moments, under the shadow of darkness, that’s where we most find our faith, too. Real faith, seared on our souls with a trust that goes beyond the possibility of betrayal, a surrender to life that casts out fear, to love that leaves no room for doubt, to an intimacy with God that is beyond the imperfections of human intimacy. Faith, real faith is the sinew that holds everything together even when it is threatening to fall apart, a communion that we can’t describe in words but we know when we receive that Bread of Life and voice the ageless: “Amen.”

That doesn’t make hope a bad thing. The world, our lives, would be a very desperate place without it. Hope is an earthly reflection of the promises of God. But hope is not faith. There is a difference.
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So, if you, like me, find some days are harder than others to hold on to hope, and you begin to doubt, just sit down and think about it. And when you have enough of that, get up and go on your way. And that…getting up and going…is faith.

Audio Recording

1st  SUNDAY of lent

First Sunday of Lent
March 6, 2022
 
The desert is a timeless image in our collective faith story. It’s also a timeless experience of life. The desert: 
 
There are times we choose to enter that desert, as Moses and his followers did. We go there because, well, God invites us there and we trust enough to follow. Jesus did at the prompting of the Holy Spirit. Sometimes we have the courage to do the same. It could be as simple as our disciplines of these 40-days of Lent. Other times we are just seeking quiet, calmness, even for a few minutes after the kids are in bed or before everything starts happening in the morning. Or we make a choice to “unplug” and disconnect ourselves from the cyber world or shut off the 100-channel TV and just…be quiet.    
 
At other times circumstances far beyond our control gets us there: a love is betrayed, we lose our job, something we had hoped for passes forever from our grasp, a wound we once thought healed is opened yet again-- and we find ourselves in a desert that is empty and scary and lonely. There was no map that got us there and there is no map to get us out.
 
Still at other times we find ourselves in the midst of that desert and have no idea how we got there. We wake up one morning and we realize we are old. Or sadness, grief, depression, grab hold. We didn’t plan to go there, we don’t want to be there, but we are there. 
 
One way or another, by choice or not, we find ourselves in that mystical desert. It is there that we will encounter temptation but it also might intrigue us; it could be a place of fear and a place of peace at the same time; it will be a place of transition as a well as a place where you find the very core that holds us together. It can be a place where darkness surrounds us and scares us to the edge, but at other times that darkness is strangely comforting, wrapping around us like a blanket. 
 
The desert, in faith language, is not something to avoid; it is a blessed time. The temptations that Jesus faced and the temptation that we will face is to leave it too soon. The time in the desert is necessary. In fact, many mystics of our faith tradition tell us this is the only path to deepen our relationship with God.
 
It is here where we come to know the voice of God apart from all other voices that are constantly bombarding us. Here where we deepen our dependence on God apart from all other promises the world offers. Here where there is no competition for truth because no other truth can endure the desert other than what flows from God’s mouth. There is no competition for power because there is no power greater than what is offered by the presence of God.
 
Here we can connect with a deeper part of ourselves that can’t happen when we are surrounded by contentment and happiness and activity; business and busyness are not fertile grounds for finding God. It is here where we can find our footing again, where we can connect with that part of ourselves that got lost or that we’ve never before found. Here in our desert we will come to realize that the truest of ourselves and the truest of God are one and the same thing.  
 
Maybe you are there already because of Lenten choices you made; by giving something up or a commitment to almsgiving or a commitment to spend some real time in quiet prayer. If so, good for you. If you are not there already, consider this your invitation. Or, maybe the circumstances of life dropped you there unwillingly. 
 
Either way, trust these simple truths that I have found in my experience of the mystical desert: 1) God is with you. Always. 2) No one comes out of the desert the same as they went in. 3) The land of milk and honey…Easter…awaits.       

Audio Recording