A homily for the Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, June 14, 2026
Exodus 19:2-6a, Romans 5:6-11, Matthew 9:36—10:8
The other day, a motorcyclist was doing laps around a traffic circle on an older highway that crosses New Jersey’s waist like a belt. He — of course it was a he — zipped around the roundabout at least three times as I approached, and then he zoomed east through a small business district.
I caught up with him about a mile farther as he was lapping another circle. After these jumbo doughnuts, he headed west, as young men are advised to go.
The list of possible reasons for this biker’s Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride is long and indeed wild. A real head-scratcher. What I take away, though, is that his journey was at least as important as his destination. If not more so.
No matter how hard we try to pay attention to where we are whenever we go somewhere, the odds are good that we’re focused on our starting point or our destination, and not on the current mile marker.
We may stop to gawk at the World’s Largest Ball of Twine in Minnesota or Kansas (yes, there are two claiming the title) or the Moravian Putz in Bethlehem, Pennsylvania (it’s a Christmas display). We may linger at a Buc-ees, knowing there will never be one in the Garden State. We may say hi to Pedro and drive off with a South of the Border bumper sticker and bellyache.
How about Hot Dog Johnny’s in Buttzville!
And even though there’s wisdom in knowing that no matter where you go, there you are, we often don’t believe we’re there yet.
That’s half right.
Without a doubt, our lives are journeys from womb to tomb. Some of us travel for a long time and a long distance. Some of us don’t. Some of us experience much change in our lives. Some of us have comfortable routines.
We believe God road-mapped our lives for us.
We believe in a joyous destination.
But do we make the most of our in-between waypoints?
As we go and grow, according to God’s plan or in defiance of it, God gives us the same opportunities and duties that Jesus gave the Apostles. To cure the sick, raise the dead, cleanse lepers, drive out demons, all according to our individual skills, talents and intellects.
(Nowadays, we recognize lepers and demonically possessed people symbolically and in light of modern medicine. We understand what Matthew was driving at.)
Jesus challenged his Apostles to serve freely and without hesitation. We are the heirs to those Apostles.
When we stop along our journey, literally or figuratively, and leave the place and the people better than they were when we arrived, we’re putting God’s love into action. And we’re deepening our individual spiritual relationships with the Divine, with the Almighty.
When we hear about someone who pulled over to the side of the road to scoop up an errant turtle or herd meandering meowing cats, we smile and gush. Those everyday heroes can be us.
They should be us.
We may need to break a sweat and grow calluses. We may need to sit quietly and share the gift of presence. We’ll know what the situation requires.
In our lives’ journeys, we’ll have plenty of pit stops. Some are planned; many are not. Sometimes, we’ll see the need or feel the urge to double back after making a few laps of a traffic circle. Ah, life’s little (or massive!) surprises.
But even if we didn’t plan to pause our own forward progress at this time or this place, we should always be ready to stop for however long and to do however much it takes to improve what we’ve found.
To show God’s love to all of Creation, especially to our billions of sisters and brothers all over this fragile Earth.
By the way, we should always keep our eyes peeled for turtles and kittens in the road, or even lepers. Our world has many, many, many of them. And they need us.
Our lives’ journeys will continue, pauses and all. Those pauses are destinations in themselves. We’re wise to remember that. We’re wise to embrace that.
What we do on those pauses, and why we do what we do, will make our ultimate destination all the more beautiful.
