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.
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.
19th sunday of ordinary time
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Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
August 7, 2022 “A man is worked upon by what he works on.” Forgiving its non-inclusivity, it’s a great quote of the African-American statesman, Frederick Douglas. In other words, the things that we choose to put our time and energy into in life (the things we work on) are the things that shape the person we become. The parable from which Jesus teaches today says the same thing in a timeless story. It is not so much a teaching about the end of time as it is a teaching about what we are doing with the time in which we are living, our time right now. It is about what we treasure and how that shapes us. We are not simply carved out and formed by the circumstances that life deals us, the hand we’ve been dealt. Those circumstances are only the beginning, they set the stage for the choices we then make, what we choose to work on. What becomes important to us, what we spend our money on, what we put into our already tightly-wound schedules – these are the decisions that shape the people we become. The relationships we choose to work on and those we choose to neglect, what we value in life and the value we place on life - all of that forms us and shapes us and turns us into the men and women we become. As Jesus says, where our treasure is, there our hearts lie. The same truth can be said about our treasure of faith. On some level faith comes to us through the circumstances into which we have been given by our family or in marriage or through friendships. That’s all true. But equally true is that we can only become truly faithful men and women if we choose to work at it. And it takes work. The deep faith of Abraham and Sarah was not given to them on some mystical silver platter. They came by it the same way we do: first as a gift from God, and then they worked at it. It must have been soul-searching, gut-wrenching, and sometimes-terrifying work to trust God in the unique journey he set before them. Hard choices had to be made and difficult paths were chosen. They, as the author of Hebrews preached, embarked upon a sojourn not only through the desert but through faith. But they worked on it, and it (faith) worked on them. They received much, but much was demanded of them. They become the Father and Mother of a nation that would forever place its faith in God. In a sense, faith was not given to them; it was entrusted to them, just as it is to us today. I don’t think we can dispute that we all have work to do. So, as a starting point, let me propose three questions that might send us in the right direction: 1. Are we truly committed to participate in the Sacramental life of the church in such a way that the Sacraments truly form us? (Liturgy, literally translated, is the “work of the church.”) 2. Are we committed to do the work that it takes to deepen our prayer life, to work on our personal relationship with Christ every day? 3. Will we make the effort to grow in our understanding of our faith traditions and teachings, taking advantage of the resources that are offered to us? We have been given so much, and because of that, much will be demanded of us. So, take comfort in the wisdom of Fredrick Douglas: if we are willing to work on it, it will work on us. |
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17th sunday of ordinary time
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Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
July 24, 2022 A million years ago, when I was in seminary, we were required to take a few courses in pastoral counselling. One of the most basic counselling skills we learned in that class is what is called “first level empathy.” Here’s what it sounds like: Someone tells you something, a story, a feeling, and you respond with, “What I hear you saying is…” and repeat back what they said. It’s good, basic communication. It lets the person know that you heard them, that what you heard was, indeed, what they wanted to communicate. It’s not only a good counselling skill, it’s a good skill to use in any communication: with friends, in marriage and, honestly, and, perhaps a whole lot of bad theology could be prevented if we practiced that with God, as well. Such as the parable Jesus taught today. It is often misinterpreted - that if we ask God enough, we will get what we want. That God is like a gameshow host who awards prizes to the best performers. Or that we need to convince God to be nice. Or that somehow if we are persistent enough, God might (if God is in a good mood) actually listen to us. Or if he gets tired of listening to us bombard him with prayers, he might just do what we wanted to be done all along. This was the illusion of the Israelites when they assumed that they could plead and try to change God’s mind, going back and forth in argument with God to try to cajole some mercy out of Him. What we hear you saying, God, is that if we try hard enough, plead long enough, be persistent enough, if we are a pain in your holy side enough, we can change your mind. At which time God says, “No, you missed what I was trying to say. So, let me try this again. “I’m not the crabby old guy in the house that won’t offer the bread. That’s YOU. I’m the friend of the friend who pleads and begs for you to have a change of heart, to be more generous. That’s how prayer is answered! That’s how my kingdom works.” Prayer is never about changing God or changing God’s mind or changing God’s will. How presumptuous of us to think we could make God, who is love, love us any more, or that we could squeeze some mercy out of God that God has not considered. Prayer is always about US! Our prayer for the coming of God’s kingdom is ultimately a prayer of self-offering, of saying to God: What can I do to make your kingdom come? How might I do your will? How can I make your name holy? Who must I forgive so that I might more fully know your forgiveness? When we really hear what Christ is saying to us, we stop asking God to do our bidding and join Christ in doing everything we can do for the coming of God’s kingdom. What God so freely and generously offers is himself. The Holy Spirit. And then he says, “You got this.” |
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16th sunday of ordinary time
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Sixteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
July 17, 2022 Did you see the images coming back from the James Webb Space Telescope this week? These amazing photographs, actual photographs of space. Shimmering stars, warped light trails and thousands upon thousands of gem-like galaxies twinkling against the darkness of space, the deepest images of the universe ever taken. As one professor said, "You start looking at this image and realize there's no blank sky. "There's something crazy happening everywhere." The focal point of Webb's deep field image is a large, bright cluster of galaxies which sits about 4.6 billion light-years from Earth — meaning the light we see was emitted before our planet was even formed. Try to wrap your head around that one! I’m not really a space-geek. I leave that science to far more brilliant minds. Because when they start to explain the minute scientific details of what we are seeing in the images, what can be lost is this unfathomable dimension of time and space, for me, a profound glimpse into the Creator, itself: God. I use this as a place to understand the scriptures this weekend because the same thing can happen when we get so focused on the details of life, the business, the crazy things that are happening every day. When we focus on the little imperfections, the constant activity, the never-ending demands of the day, you lose the bigger picture; you lose sight of God. Abraham had eyes that never lost that perspective. When the three men appeared at his tent, he knew it was the Lord. He offered over-the-top hospitality, yes, but didn’t lose sight that it was the Lord that was visiting. So, when they made the audacious prediction that he and Sarah, who were far too old to even think about children, would become parents and give birth to a new nation of people, he just heard God. When Jesus visited Martha and Mary, Martha offered wonderful hospitality to Jesus, certainly not a bad thing! But she was so concerned about the details of the visit that she forgot the other part, the part that Mary didn’t lose sight of: they were in the presence of the Divine, the presence of the Holy One. Through those same eyes we can see the bread and wine become the Body and Blood of Christ. We don’t need science if we have the eyes of faith. Through those same eyes we can see others, as different as they are from us, as also being children of God, our brothers and sisters. We may not have images of the Webb telescope coming our way every day, but we can pause every day, even if just for a moment, and look up into the heavens, or look deeply into our hearts and remember that we, too, are always in the holy presence of God. Just to do that every day can give us a whole new view of what is happening in our space and what is unfolding in our time. |
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Audio not available for this weekend.
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15th sunday of ordinary time
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Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
July 10, 2022 This “thing” we are talking about today, sometimes we confuse with what we call values. But values are defined through culture; they are taught and handed on from generation to generation. And values can change. What may have been very important to us may become not all that important in light of our experiences of life; things that once meant little to us can become treasured. And it’s not conscience. Conscience is formed over time, through the discernment of values that are learned, through our lived experiences. Conscience is something that, while it guides our life’s decisions, is affected when values change, when experience changes, or when the situation changes. It’s different from law. Laws may certainly reflect our values and a community’s collective conscience. But we know that laws are fluid. Courts and legislature, families and even our church sometimes change the laws we live by. What we are talking about is something that is greater than law, more formative than values, more effective than conscience. We are talking about a voice that lies within us, so deep and secure within us that nothing from the world can affect it or change it. Moses said that is not too mysterious and remote for us. It is not up in the sky or across the sea that we have to go searching for it. It is already in our hearts and in our mouths. It is the voice that led the Samaritan man in the parable to go beyond the laws of his time, touched him deeper than the values in which he had been formed and spoke louder than his conscience would take him. Called the “universal and inescapable” voice, the “mind of God, the “keen awareness of the divine” by scholars and saints. But no matter what we call it, some-ONE is talking to us. It is the voice through whom all was created, the voice of the ONE who is before all things, and holds all things together. Speaking to us in spite of what our laws might say is legal or not, beyond the echo of any value system of any time or culture, greater even than our sometimes gullible and susceptible conscience. The voice of God within us. What a world we could exist in, what a church we could be a part of, what a community we could form, what a family we could create…if we all just listened to that voice, abided by that voice, tended to that voice of God within! |
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14th sunday of ordinary time
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Fourteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
July 3, 2022 A beauty salon owner was surprised when one of his regular customers came in to have her hair styled one day; she wasn’t scheduled for a cut for another couple of weeks. He asked if she has some big plans for that evening. “No,” she said, “I don’t have anything special going on. I just want to look good tonight. So, the stylist went to work. He gave the woman a scalp massage, then shampooed and styled her hair. During their almost-hour together the two talked and joked and laughed. When he had finished, the woman smiled and hugged him goodbye. A few weeks later the salon owner received a note from the woman. She thanked him for the wonderful time she had that afternoon. His kindness and the fun they shared had given her hope enough to check herself into a hospital and seek help for her depression -- instead of taking her own life, as she had intended to do that evening. “Thank you for being there,” she wrote, “without knowing that you were.” Christ sent forth the nameless seventy-two disciples. He sent them out without any special provisions. They didn’t have a degree in theology or any certificates of ministry. He just sent them out to bring the gift of Peace to any home they entered. As salon owners and police officers, retirees, contractors and accountants, carpenters, grandparents and engineers, store clerks and teachers, parents and children, we, too, are sent forth by the same Christ to proclaim the same gift of God’s peace. We are the seventy-two sent today to proclaim peace that is centered in service and compassion, peace that enables us to wiggle the good out of even the most cynical heart, peace that comes when we stop long enough telling someone else how they should live their life and just listen to their story, peace that comes when we stop competing with each other and start helping each other. This is the Peace that comes back at us in blessings we never imagined. It’s so easy for any of us to develop a “the world owes me” attitude, that others exist to make our life easier and damn them if they don’t. But that’s not who we are, or at least not who we are called to be. We live our call to discipleship when we make others’ lives a bit more blessed, a tiny bit more joyful, a trifle less burdened. This call comes at the very root of what it means to follow Christ. It’s who we are. It’s what we do. Isaiah presents an image of Jerusalem as the nurturing mother to whom all may come to be fed and comforted. He goes on to say that when this kind of love is witnessed, hearts shall rejoice and bodies shall flourish. This is a great image of what we, as believers, have to give to the world, that place where others may come to be renewed and loved and comforted. This is the gift we have to offer and we have the Lord’s power to do what we are called to do because we believe (as St. Paul said) that the grace and peace of Christ is in our spirits. Disciples minister to the needs of others, however great those needs may be and with whatever little we have to offer: across our back yards and across borders, over a cup of coffee in a kitchen and over lunch in the break rooms of the factories. We bring others to Christ not in self-righteous posturing but in selfless giving. We have the privilege of being that “Jerusalem” of comfort when we take a walk with our kids and shop with our neighbors and after a long day, fall asleep next to our beloved. It’s what we do. It’s who we are. |
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13th sunday in ordinary time
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Thirteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
June 26, 2022 “Some. A little. For a while.” Those were the only three measurements my Mom used when she cooked, the only three measurements she passed on to me. “Start with some of ‘this’ and add a little of ‘that’ and cook it for a while.” Those directions have served me quite well in the kitchen and, honestly, in life in general. For much of life, “some, a little and for a while” works quite well; black and white absolutes tend to make things worse. We back ourselves or others into corners; we, make promises or ultimatums we later regret; we commit to things we cannot possibly fulfill or condemn things that come back to haunt us. But when it comes to the invitation, the command, really, to follow Christ – “some, a little and for a while” doesn’t cut it. Jesus demands absolute. A little mercy isn’t enough. Some forgiveness won’t work. Our following for a while, as long as it is convenient, is not what he is looking for. And honestly, this is nothing new in God’s expectations of followers. Once Elisha slaughtered the oxen, broke up the plow to make a fire and fed the meat to his people, there was no turning back. His days of farming were over. He was committed, now, to follow Elijah as a prophet for the Lord. St. Paul made it very clear to the Galatians: Live by the Spirit. (period) The flesh, that is, worldly things, can have no power, no influence, no demand over you. “For freedom Christ set us free,” he writes to us. “You were called for freedom, brothers and sisters! Use it as an opportunity to serve one another through love, he implores. There’s no watering down that message. Jesus, on his way to Jerusalem, knowing the cross awaited him and his disciples, broke through every excuse, every “out,” every justification that his followers were bringing, and said in effect, there is no some, no little, no for a while. You either follow me or you don’t. We spend our lifetime discerning what that means, what it calls us to, what it demands of us. And the truth is that most of us are so good at operating in a “some, little and for a while” way of life that any absolute commitment escapes us. We find ourselves in half-hearted commitment of living the gospel. We pick and choose which teaching of Jesus we want to follow and which we will pretend doesn't exist. We put words in his mouth that were never spoken so as to conform to our political persuasion, or to support our worldly decisions, or to justify what we have done, are doing or plan to do. I’ll give Jesus some, but not too much. I’ll offer him a little of me, but just enough. I’ll follow for a while, as long as it’s convenient. But clearly, that’s not what he’s asking. Fortunately, for me in the kitchen, I can always try again. Fortunately for us, God is a God of second and third chances. But let’s be honest from the start, when Jesus says to us, “follow me,” it’s not a suggestion. |
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THE MOST HOLY TRINITY
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Feast of the Most Holy Trinity (No Audio)
June 12, 2022 If you had a chance to meet your hero, some famous person, someone you have admired from afar, who would it be? And how do you think you could make that happen? Whose people would your people have to call? And how would the meeting take place? Over lunch? A long walk? A glass of wine? A fantasy, perhaps, but what if??? What is so amazing, so wonderful and downright remarkable, so astounding - that when it comes to getting to know God we don’t have to fantasize! God has already taken the initiative; all we have to do is show up! That’s what we celebrate on this Feast of the Trinity. The Trinity is not about explaining God through some complex theology or coming to understand God through an intricate spirituality or an attempt to comprehend God with a far-reaching mysticism. It is simply about coming to know God. And God takes the initiative so that can happen! Because God is the Speaker; God is the Word that is spoken; God is the Interpreter of that Word. God is the Speaker, the one who does the talking. God speaks through the power of creation: the sunrise that breaks forth at dawn, the full moon that reflects the same sun in the darkness of night; God speaks in the chill of a winter day and the bud of a tree that mystically comes out of the branch at the first warmth of Spring; we come to know God in the seed that comes to life in a field overnight, the roar of an ocean and the smell of a warm rain; God is the first cry of every newborn and the last bit of wisdom that is spoken from the mouth of the dying. Thus says the Wisdom of the Lord! God is the Word made flesh: the child born of Mary who grew in wisdom and grace; the One who healed the sick and loved the outcast and forgave the sinner and welcomed the lost; God is the One who fulfilled every imperfect law and rule of his time and ours with love; God is the one who laughed and cried and worried and got angry and frustrated, the One who told ageless stories and made every earthly and human thing holy. God is the one who died but could not be contained by death. He is the Word who continues to live in us and through us and by us, the One who never left; the One who gathers us at the Table and then becomes fully present to us. God is the Interpreter. There is so much we have yet to learn about Him, so much more to get to know and embrace and discover and discern. We can’t possibly say we know all there is to know about God! Ever! But when we need it and when we are ready for it and when we are hungry enough or curious enough, God will be there helping us to know Him from another angle, from another point of view, with another perspective. It will be like sitting at the table with an old friend or our beloved, someone who we thought we knew all that we could know, and he’ll speak again. And we’ll say, “I never knew that about you! Why didn’t you tell me that before?” And God will just smile and say, “Well, I’m telling you now.” And once again we will know the delight God has for us; the love of God will be poured out in us; God will be glorified at that moment. This whole journey, this thing we call the Holy Trinity, is not about understanding God; it is about knowing God. It’s about our friendship, our loveship with God. And it’s only just begun. |
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THE MOST HOLY TRINITY
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The Most Holy Trinity
THE 4:00 HOMILY WAS GIVEN BY BISHOP DONALD HYING. THERE IS NOT WRITTEN SCRIPT BUT YOU CAN LISTEN TO THE AUDIO RECORDING |
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pentecost sunday
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Feast of Pentecost
June 5, 2022 Most of us find it easy to imagine God the Father, even if it’s the white-haired, bearded guy on the big throne. We see God in the beauty of creation, in a new-born baby, in the vastness of the ocean or the endless sky or a beautiful sunrise or sunset. We “get” God, the Father who made the heavens and the earth. And the Son, Jesus - pretty easy, too. Right? Artists and movies and Scripture all offer us images of Jesus that we, as fellow human beings, we can relate to. We “get” Jesus, the Son. But the Holy Spirit – that’s a different story. The Holy Spirit as tongues of fire or as wind or even as a bird just don’t give us a lot to hang our hats on. She’s just a bit more challenging to imagine in concrete terms. But here’s what the Holy Spirit looks like to me: The Holy Spirit looks like unity, never division. If division exists it’s a pretty good indication that the Holy Spirit is not at work. The Holy Spirit always unites, uniting us to God and God to us and us to one another. The Holy Spirit is at work when people listen to one another and honor each other. Sometimes when we hear someone else’s story of life it sounds like foreign language, so different than our own. But Pentecost teaches us that the Holy Spirit brings us to a place to hear and understand those stories, those experiences of life, as if it were our own truth. The Holy Spirit mends. She is present when forgiveness mends that which is been wounded and reconciliation heals that which has been broken. Divisions cannot exist under Her breath, for She is Peace. Peace that found its way through locked doors and fearful hearts and closed minds, as She did for the Apostles huddled in the upper room. And the Holy Spirit sets us free. Someone once told me in regard to a decision that his back was against the wall so that must be the sign of the Holy Spirit. Not in my book. The Holy Spirit never places our backs against the wall, but when we find ourselves there (and we will at times) it is She who takes us by the hand and leads us to freedom. The Spirit brings us through times of challenge and struggle with confidence and strength. The Spirit teaches us to dance even when the burden of sadness continues to sit on our shoulders, and helps us to rejoice when darkness enfolds us. The Holy Spirit is at work when we hold on to hope even as tears fill our eyes. In those times, when we feel chained and imprisoned by the limitations of our earthly existence, it is the Holy Spirit who brings us freedom. The Holy Spirit: elusive and bold at the same time; hard to capture and yet gentle, daring but still sly, quiet and at the same time, strong. Like breath itself, the Holy Spirit exists in us and yet most of the time we are hardly aware of Her presence. I can’t tell you how it happens, I’m just grateful that it does. Because with the Holy Spirit, and only with the Holy Spirit, can we truly be who God calls us to be. |
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feast of the ascension
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Feast of the Ascension
May 29, 2022 Power. It’s a word and we use it a lot. In the business world we have power brokers. In the athletic world, power lifters and power walkers and power hitters who drink Powerade. If we need a rest we take a power nap. Kids have Power Rangers and adults have Power of Attorney. If you donate blood you can give a Power Red donation. We refer to nations as world powers and leaders as powerful people. We consider willpower a favorable attribute and people strive to become part of the power elite. Then, we are on a power trip. But when Jesus promised the apostles that they would be clothed with power from on high, and St. Paul prayed that the people would know the surpassing greatness of his power for us who believe, and when Luke told the disciples that they would receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon us, we’re talking whole different language of power. This world bases power upon strength over another or control over another. We think of power as conquering our weakest part or reaching beyond our potential. We deal with power as something we achieve, and that we have power over another person or nation by reason of authority or threat or wealth. But the problem with that kind of power is that for every measure of power we achieve, someone is always working to undo it, surpass it, or take it away. There will always be someone coming along that is stronger, richer, smarter, more powerful. Every power we have in this world is a power that we can lose. And ultimately will lose. But to have power in Christ is to have a power that no one can take away. Ever. When you find yourself looking for ways to serve instead of being served, you have power in Christ. When you go out of your way to offer forgiveness instead of seeking revenge, you have power in Christ. When you create truly just systems instead of building walls of intimidation, you have power in Christ. When you choose to love instead of nurturing hatred toward another, you have power in Christ. When you find yourself walking with courage instead of cowering in fear, you have power in Christ. We spend so much of our life trying to achieve some sort of worldly power. And to what end? When we take advantage of the power that Christ has already given us in the Holy Spirit, we are powerful beyond measure. If we lived our lives with that power, we could conquer the world. Do you all have a “Happy Place?” You know, that place you go to when you just can’t handle any more…bad news, family drama, stress at work or school. You might be fortunate enough to have an actual place -a cabin or the deer stand or the lake shore. Or maybe you find that place on the back porch with a cup of something in your hand, or in your rocking chair with the rosary in your hand. We all need those places at times, more often than not, to find peace. Jesus knew his disciples would one day need that place, and more than just a place. The days were coming when he would no longer be with them; their world, as they had come to know it, would unravel. The first disciples would need it when there “arose no little dissension and debate” when they broached some very sensitive topics with the newly-converted Gentiles. The early church would have craved it when they faced persecution and torture. They needed, as we do today, that “happy place” to go where hope is restored and promise is renewed and forgiveness is nurtured and unity is created. And while we may have those places in our lives that help us to get there, the peace we look for and speak of today cannot be found simply in any particular place. It can only come from God. It is what Christ offers when he says, “My peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you.” It’s a different kind of peace than we find in our “happy places.” There we might look for peace as the condition of a world where there is no conflict, but we will be waiting for a long time. If we understand peace as the condition of our soul in perfect harmony, we’ll have to wait for the mystical “age of Aquarius”. If we see peace as perfect unanimity, we’ll be on an endless search. If we understand peace as that condition of life where there is no stress, good luck. We can only get true peace from one source: The Holy Spirit. If true peace is what we long for, we must never close the door to the Holy Spirit. Don’t give up on Her. For us, the peace we can only find in Christ, the gift of the Holy Spirit always reveals itself as hope, something to long for, something to work for. We are surrounded by reports of war and conflicts, up to our ears in stressful relationships at work and at home, overwhelmed by burdens of inflation and dysfunctional systems of government. Our hearts are often challenged to find compassion and our souls challenged to keep loving and our lives challenged to forgive, again. John was inspired by the Holy Spirit and saw hope in a vision of a holy city gleaming with the splendor of God, with angels guarding the gates, bringing people from all corners of the kingdom. It had no need of the sun or moon because the glory of the Lord gave it light. The ancestors of the Christian Church listened to the Holy Spirit and found a way to make it work, despite the obstacles they faced. We listen to the promise of Jesus Christ and remember that we too have been given the Holy Spirit. So, yes, once in a while we have to go to our happy place. But remember, where we go is far less important than what we pray for and listen to when we get there. “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you.” And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and every manner of thing shall be well. (Julian of Norwich) |
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6th sunday of easter
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Do you all have a “Happy Place?” You know, that place you go to when you just can’t handle any more…bad news, family drama, stress at work or school. You might be fortunate enough to have an actual place -a cabin or the deer stand or the lake shore. Or maybe you find that place on the back porch with a cup of something in your hand, or in your rocking chair with the rosary in your hand. We all need those places at times, more often than not, to find peace.
Jesus knew his disciples would one day need that place, and more than just a place. The days were coming when he would no longer be with them; their world, as they had come to know it, would unravel. The first disciples would need it when there “arose no little dissension and debate” when they broached some very sensitive topics with the newly-converted Gentiles. The early church would have craved it when they faced persecution and torture. They needed, as we do today, that “happy place” to go where hope is restored and promise is renewed and forgiveness is nurtured and unity is created. And while we may have those places in our lives that help us to get there, the peace we look for and speak of today cannot be found simply in any particular place. It can only come from God. It is what Christ offers when he says, “My peace I leave with you, my peace I give to you.” It’s a different kind of peace than we find in our “happy places.” There we might look for peace as the condition of a world where there is no conflict, but we will be waiting for a long time. If we understand peace as the condition of our soul in perfect harmony, we’ll have to wait for the mystical “age of Aquarius”. If we see peace as perfect unanimity, we’ll be on an endless search. If we understand peace as that condition of life where there is no stress, good luck. We can only get true peace from one source: The Holy Spirit. If true peace is what we long for, we must never close the door to the Holy Spirit. Don’t give up on Her. For us, the peace we can only find in Christ, the gift of the Holy Spirit always reveals itself as hope, something to long for, something to work for. We are surrounded by reports of war and conflicts, up to our ears in stressful relationships at work and at home, overwhelmed by burdens of inflation and dysfunctional systems of government. Our hearts are often challenged to find compassion and our souls challenged to keep loving and our lives challenged to forgive, again. John was inspired by the Holy Spirit and saw hope in a vision of a holy city gleaming with the splendor of God, with angels guarding the gates, bringing people from all corners of the kingdom. It had no need of the sun or moon because the glory of the Lord gave it light. The ancestors of the Christian Church listened to the Holy Spirit and found a way to make it work, despite the obstacles they faced. We listen to the promise of Jesus Christ and remember that we too have been given the Holy Spirit. So, yes, once in a while we have to go to our happy place. But remember, where we go is far less important than what we pray for and listen to when we get there. “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you.” And all shall be well, and all shall be well, and every manner of thing shall be well. (Julian of Norwich) |
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5th sunday of easter
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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. 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
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4th sunday of easter
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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”? 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. |
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3rd sunday of easter
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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? |
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2nd sunday of easter
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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!” |
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EASTER sunday
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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. 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. |
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EASTER VIGIL (NO AUDIO AVAILABLE)
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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. 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!!” |
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holy thursday (NO AUDIO AVAILABLE)
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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. 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.” |
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palm sunday
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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. 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. |
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5th Sunday of lent
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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. 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. |
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4th Sunday of lent
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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. |
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3rd Sunday of lent
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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? Or just put away the camera and appreciate the moment? |
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2nd Sunday of lent
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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. 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. |
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1st SUNDAY of lent
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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. |
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