A homily for the First Sunday of Lent, February 26, 2023
Gn 2:7-9; 3:1-7, Rom 5:12-19 , Mt 4:1-11
Out in the backyard of my boyhood home in Lincroft, my brothers and I built a treehouse. Not just any treehouse. This was a classic, enough to make the Swiss Family Robinson jealous.
A homily, sort of, for the Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time, February 19, 2023
Lv 19:1-2, 17-18, 1 Cor 3:16-23, Mt 5:38-48
To gild refined gold, to paint the lily /
To throw a perfume on the violet …/
Is wasteful and ridiculous excess.
If you haven’t heard this week’s selections from Scripture proclaimed in a house of worship, or if you haven’t used the links above to read them, please do.
There’s absolutely nothing I can add to make them more understandable or clearer. There’s no call to action I can write or shout from the rooftops that these passages don’t deliver.
A homily for the Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, February 5, 2023
Is 58:7-10, 1 Cor 2:1-5, Mt 5:13-16
There are three little bins on a shelf in our basement with batteries in them: double-A, triple-A, and some random C, D and 9-volt types. We go through the double-As fairly often, and I reload the bin whenever it gets low, whenever a couple of them leak, or whenever Costco puts the 40-pack on sale.
There’s another, smaller bin on a shelf built into my desk at home, and it has a bunch of rechargeable double-As and a four-battery charger. They’re collecting dust.
They shouldn’t be.
They are, however, symbolic.
A homily for the Fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, January 29, 2023
Zep 2:3; 3:12-13, 1 Cor 1:26-31, Mt 5:1-12a
After 9/11, the phrase was everywhere. On bumper stickers and license plates. On flags and posters. On lapel pins and T-shirts. Spray-painted as graffiti.
United We Stand.
United.
We.
Stand.
Only we didn’t. We don’t.
A homily for the Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, January 22, 2023
Is 8:23—9:3, 1 Cor 1:10-13, 17, Mt 4:12-23
There are a couple of ways to go fishing, and each is vastly different from the other, but in the end, both catch fish.
One method, which the Apostles used in their day jobs, and which modern commercial fishermen still use, drags a net through the water, catching fish by the boatloads. The crew then usually dumps the entire catch onto the deck of the boat and culls out any unsuitable fish or trash. If it’s a responsible crew, they toss the undersized fish or unwanted species back into the water, and head for home with what they kept.
A mass catch.
Another method, pretty much the other main method, involves a rod and reel, bait or lures, and a skillful solo angler. The fisherman casts into what he hopes is a school of fish and reels them in one at a time. If he knows what he is doing, he’ll reel in only the type of fish he wants, at the right size. After a good day fishing, the angler takes home a freezer’s worth of bass.
A selective catch.
A homily for the Second Sunday in Ordinary Time, January 15, 2023
Is 49:3, 5-6, 1 Cor 1:1-3, Jn 1:29-34
I’ve written and spoken before about my “unchurched” years in college and thereafter, about how I was not being nourished spiritually at the parish of my youth when all I could take away from my weekly 50 minutes in the pew was the knowledge that Group No. 2 was working bingo that Wednesday.
Incessant reminders about seat collections, collections for the parish administration and overdue grammar school tuition drove me away from organized religion after high school at Christian Brothers Academy.
What kept me away was the very thing some people were convinced attracted people to Christianity.
Proselytizing.
A homily for the Fourth Sunday of Advent, December 18, 2022
Is 7:10-14, Rom 1:1-7, Mt 1:18-24
Let’s imagine for a minute that it’s 3:15 in the morning and we’re driving home after work. We pulled a double shift at the hospital and “exhausted” doesn’t even begin to scratch the surface of how we feel.
It’s a quiet night on the highway, compared with the absolute chaos in the emergency department, and we’re forcing our dog-tired selves not to nod off as we ease the car onto the ramp off the highway that leads to our street.
And then: You’ve got to be kidding! Red light. Not tonight … uh … this morning! This light takes forever, especially when there’s no line of cars for its radar to detect. This light takes forever, and our warm, cozy bed is calling our name.
We look right, then left, then right again, and try to decide: Do we run the light?
A homily for the Third Sunday of Advent, December 11, 2022
Is 35:1-6a, 10, Jas 5:7-10, Mt 11:2-11
Back in the 1970s, my brother Steve and I scored tickets to a dress rehearsal for “Saturday Night Live” in an attempt to impress two lady friends of his from college. They were visiting New York from Tennessee, and after the show, it became painfully clear they were impressed with everything except us.
But that’s a sad story for another day.
Meanwhile, I was unimpressed with that week’s show, except for the warmup. As I recall, I laughed until my ribs hurt. I was all ready to laugh my way until the closing theme, even though it turned out I didn’t.
Most TV shows with a live audience get a warmup before the taping or the live airing begins. If it’s a scripted sitcom or sketch comedy show, the warmup performer usually is a standup comedian. If the show is more serious, the warmup might be a member of the writing or production staff, or possibly the game show host or lead actor(s), answering questions about the show overall and perhaps hinting at what the audience will see in the episode about to unfold.
Even the opening act at a concert is a kind of warmup. A good opening band or some other performer sets the mood for the headliner coming next.
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.
