A homily for the First Sunday of Advent, November 27, 2022
Is 2:1-5, Rom 13:11-14, Mt 24:37-44
Long before 9/11, long before we all were told that if we see something we must say something, people in the armed forces had a profound call-and-response:
Stay alert!
Stay alive!
Because, of course, sleepwalking through the day can lead to disastrous consequences.
A homily for the Solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, November 20, 2022
2 Sm 5:1-3, Col 1:12-20, Lk 23:35-43
I learned a long time ago that a boss says “I” and “you” but a leader says “we” and “us.”
A boss tells you what to do and precisely how he wants you to do it, and then tells you to get going and do it while he (almost always a he) sits back and watches … uh … supervises.
A leader shows the team what needs to be done and relies on the skills of all participants to join in the effort. A leader works alongside everyone, clearly articulating the goal and guiding everyone to the destination.
A boss preys on people’s fears and lack of information. A leader reassures and educates.
A boss exploits people. A leader empowers them.
A boss gets fat. A leader sweats.
And yet, so, so many people choose to follow bosses and not leaders.
A homily for the 33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time, November 13, 2022
Mal 3:19-20a, 2 Thes 3:7-12, Lk 21:5-19
“When you come to a fork in the road, take it.”
That sterling bit of advice is attributed to the great American philosopher Yogi Berra, whose wisdom spanned every aspect of everyday life.
And our everyday lives are filled with forks in the road, with yes-or-no, right-or-left choices, sometimes dozens or even hundreds a day.
Yes or no.
Right or left.
Right or wrong.
Oh my: Once again, we’ve come to a fork in the road. Where do we go? And how do we know?
A homily for the 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time, November 6, 2022
2 Mc 7:1-2, 9-14, 2 Thes 2:16-3:5, Lk 20:27-38
I am a tech nerd, a gadget head, enthralled with gizmos, a personality quirk that goes back to before my high school days when I was an AV geek playing with 1-inch videotape and gritty black-and-white images from a somewhat massive camera.
So it’s probably no surprise that I usually say goodnight to Alexa — not because it’s a real person but because I have it programmed to rattle off my calendar and the weather for the next day. And then I do something silly: I tell Samuel L. Jackson to sleep tight. His voice randomly replies, occasionally with wishes for sweet dreams but a warning nonetheless to check under the bed.
Because monsters, right?
