A homily (sort of) for the Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time, August 16, 2026
Isaiah 56:1, 6-7, Romans 11:13-15, 29-32, Matthew 15:21-28
I have a confession to make. Two, actually.
First, this may qualify more as a sermon or as a ponderance or as a freestanding prayer than as a homily for this weekend. I’m sharing what I remember of what I hope was a meaningful contribution to an ecumenical Day of Prayer, and these words may not be directly reflective of the Scripture passages cited in the links above.
Second confession: I failed Show and Tell.
Kindergarten, first grade, second … either I had an interesting item to show the class but no great story to tell, or I tried to hype a dull item with a fantastic story. I never found the balance way back then, which is why I never use props when I preach or lead prayers.
Except for today. Today, at the Tinton Falls Community Day of Prayer, I used a prop.
As a Catholic deacon, I’m authorized — I have “faculties” — to perform certain liturgical acts, including baptisms. Baptizing people, especially babies and toddlers, is a joy and a thrill every time. Bringing about a new birth in Christ through water and the Holy Spirit, growing God’s family on Earth … wow. Just. Wow.
The whole sacramental experience and the many layers of a baptism bind families and God’s church emotionally and physically as well as spiritually.
It’s a chance to evangelize, to answer any and all questions anybody might have about anything: Catholic, Christian, humanist, NFL or NBA. Anything.
And if this celebration has attracted many generations to church, even if it’s been a while for some folks, praise God for that.
Here’s where I used my prop.
In the Roman Catholic tradition, the clergyman performing the baptism keeps the vestments simple. He wears a long, white, flowing robe called an alb, and a celebratory sash called a stole. Deacons such as myself wear our stoles diagonally, from left shoulder to right hip, kind of like the crossing guard uniform I wore in eighth grade, only a lot more reverently.
My favorite stole for baptisms, which I bought on sale, of all things, looks like a tapestry of every child in the world. Girls and boys, a rainbow of faces and a kaleidoscope of ethnic clothing.
If the child being baptized has an older brother or sister hanging around — and you know they’re just being good so they can get a big slice of pizza and a huge scoop of ice cream — if those older siblings aren’t terrified of the guy in the ghost outfit, I’ll ask them if they recognize any of their cousins among the faces on my stole.
And then I’ll Carl Sagan them, telling them about their billions and billions of cousins everywhere on Earth.
The human family.
The crazy, diverse, beautiful, smelly, created in the image of God, huge human family.
The children of Adam and Eve. Of Abraham and Moses and David and Siddhartha and Mahatma and Martin and John and Jane Doe.
That’s a lot of birthday presents to buy.
That’s a whole lot of uniqueness to deal with.
But, again, wow: What a tapestry. What a jigsaw puzzle. And any way we want to consider humankind, we all must concede that the world is incomplete when any of us is missing.
Or missing out.
Which billions of us are.
All too many of our cousins worldwide, our sisters and brothers in the family of God’s children, lack something. All too many of them lack big somethings and, worse yet, a whole lotta big somethings.
What they lack may be as unique as they are. What we lack probably is as unique as each of us is.
And regardless of whether what’s lacking is food, clothing, shelter, health, safety or dignity, or what’s lacking is comfort in times of stress, what’s really lacking is love.
Love.
Empathy.
A heart, mind and soul inspired to act.
A heart, mind and soul filled with the knowledge that we all are family. A heart, mind and soul eager to make eye contact with everyone we meet and never turn away.
A heart, mind and soul driven to uplift everyone everywhere.
A heart, mind and soul that reflect our unique God-given gifts and talents and intellect and which seek out the opportunities to do uniquely what we can for whomever we can.
A food bank is love. Foreign aid is love. Standing up to bullies is love. Immunizations are love. Merely being present at the right time is love. (Traffic on the Parkway definitely is not love.)
Our family, our human family, whose billions and billions of members deserve and need our love. Deeply.
We can share it. We must share it. Whatever it takes.
And by the way, the universe’s reservoir of love and inspiration is full to overflowing. Always was, always is, always will be, because that reservoir is God.
