A homily for the Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Feb. 14, 2021
Lv 13:1-2, 44-46, 1 Cor 10:31—11:1, Mk 1:40-45
AMDG.
No, it’s not one of those cable news mesothelioma law firms.
AMDG — Ad Maiorem Dei Gloriam — is Latin, meaning “for the greater glory of God.”
And while Saint Ignatius of Loyola’s reminder about the true purpose of our work and prayer and interaction as people sounds highfalutin’ — I mean, Latin and all that — it’s simple and meaningful.
A homily for the Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Feb. 7, 2021
Jb 7:1-4, 6-7, 1 Cor 9:16-19, 22-23, Mk 1:29-39
The cliché tells of the patience of Job, but today’s first reading sounds more like the whining of Eeyore, the tail-less donkey friend of Winnie-the-Pooh.
Is not man’s life on earth a drudgery? …
So I have been assigned months of misery,
and troubled nights have been allotted to me.
There’s heavy, and there’s soul-crushing. Then there’s this passage.
A homily for the Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Jan. 31, 2021
Dt 18:15-20, 1 Cor 7:32-35, Mk 1:21-28
How many demons have you seen lately? Have you gone to the neighborhood exorcist for your unclean spirit problem recently?
Among our many challenges as 21st Century Christians is finding the deeper truths in First Century Scripture or, especially, in The Law and the Prophets that were compiled millennia before that.
We are challenged to see through the eyes of the Apostles and other early disciples when we usually see things through our more scientifically educated eyes, our eyes that have seen and experienced far more than simple fisherman and shepherds who rarely traveled far from their home villages. Who were educated by oral tradition, by word of mouth, and who passed along that knowledge to the next generation orally as well. Who were not exposed to the men who counted the stars or examined anatomy.
To understand, we are challenged to walk in their sandals.
A homily for the Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, Jan. 24, 2021
Jon 3:1-5, 10, 1 Cor 7:29-31, Mk 1:14-20
In the gently beautiful movie “Field of Dreams,” Ray Kinsella, the Iowa farmer who felt compelled to plow under some of his corn to build a baseball diamond, drags a skeptical and unwilling Terence Mann, a writer who deeply inspired him, to a Boston Red Sox game.
As they are walking to their seats, they share this pivotal conversation:
Ray Kinsella: So what do you want now?
Terence Mann: I want them to stop looking to me for answers, begging me to speak again, write again, be a leader. I want them to start thinking for themselves. I want my privacy.
Ray Kinsella: No, I mean, what do you WANT? (gestures to the concession stand they’re in front of)
Terence Mann: Oh. Dog and a beer.
Misunderstandings can be like that.
Especially when people misunderstand God.
A homily for the Second Sunday in Ordinary Time, Jan. 17, 2021
1 Sm 3:3b-10, 19, 1 Cor 6:13c-15a, 17-20, Jn 1:35-42
In Matthew 22:14 — not among today’s selections from Scripture but relevant — Jesus ends a parable with
Many are invited, but few are chosen.
A more familiar translation is “Many are called, but few are chosen,” but “invited” does make it clearer that an outstretched hand is welcoming the many to a Big Event.
Today, our first reading and our Gospel interweave Choice and Call: of the prophet and of the first Apostles. And of us.
A homily for the Baptism of the Lord, Jan. 10, 2021
Is 42:1-4, 6-7, Acts 10:34-38, Mk 1:7-11
What would you do if, on any given day, the clouds parted, a blinding sunbeam spotlighted you, and a thundering shout — or a barely perceptible whisper — said, “I love you. You rock!”?
You’re not crazy. It’s not a practical joke. It’s not “Candid Camera” or “Punk’d.” It can — and should — be an everyday occurrence for each of us. We just need to understand that we have a role to play in the scenario.
Our role is a lot like Jesus’s role as he was baptized by John in the River Jordan: to serve and not be served, to lead our brothers and sisters to God by example from within the flock. To do the right thing at the right time, even if other people don’t think it’s necessary.
A homily for The Epiphany of the Lord, Jan. 3, 2021
Is 60:1-6, Eph 3:2-3a, 5-6, Mt 2:1-12
Think back to the first time you met Jesus. Do you remember? Was the experience what you expected?
Now, recall the first time you really met Jesus. Was the experience a lot different?
After I read Sarah Miller’s compelling New Yorker column “Cancel New Year’s Eve Forever,” not only did I agree, but I got to thinking about why people make such a big deal about the so-called new beginning the replacement calendar brings.
First of all, how many beginnings do each of us get? If the beginning involves a new craft, a new skill, a new project, a new way to improve our lives and the lives of others, then the answer is “an infinite number.” Because each of us should be ticking off items from a bottomless bucket list every day of our short and precious lives. The world is too big — the universe is too vastly big — for any of us to box ourselves in and limit our literal and figurative diets to corn flakes and fast-food cheeseburgers. Do you want fries with that?
A homily for the Feast of the Holy Family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Dec. 27, 2020
Sir 3:2-6, 12-14, Col 3:12-21, Lk 2:22-40
Before we attempt to discern what makes a family holy, we should try to determine what makes a family.
Are blood relatives a family? Are people joined in a sacramental or governmental bond a family? Is a commune a family?
Are people who agree with each other a family? Can families disagree and not be disagreeable?
Do people have to like each other to be considered a family? Do people have to love each other to be considered a family?
A homily for The Nativity of the Lord (Christmas), Dec. 25, 2020
Is 9:1-6, Ti 2:11-14, Lk 2:1-14
This time of year, a couple of cable channels run a holiday favorite film nonstop for 24 hours. You know the one.
And even though “A Christmas Story” pales in significance when compared with The Christmas Story, the movie ends with a remembrance that could be scriptural:
The greatest Christmas gift I had ever received, or would ever receive.
That’s the core of The Christmas Story, the story we retell today and every December 25 and, we hope, every day of the year in words and actions as faithful followers of Jesus Christ, Our Newborn King.
