A homily for the 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time, July 10, 2022
Dt 30:10-14, Col1:15-20, Lk 10:25-37
What’s in your pocket?
If this were a TV commercial, you’d answer one way.
If this were “Let’s Make A Deal,” you’d answer another.
If you were being frisked, your answer would be something else entirely.
But this is none of those situations.
What’s in your pocket?
A homily for the 13th Sunday in Ordinary Time, June 26, 2022
1 Kgs 19:16b, 19-21, Gal 5:1, 13-18, Lk 9:51-62
In 1966, Walt Disney produced a movie called “Follow Me, Boys!” about a man who settles down in a small town and becomes a scoutmaster. It starred Fred MacMurray, best known to the TV generation as the father in “My Three Sons” and to the Turner Classic Movies generation as the star of “Double Indemnity.”
In one scene in “Follow Me, Boys!” MacMurray stumbles into a restricted area and is questioned by the Army. After he explains he’s a scoutmaster, the soldiers challenge him to tie a sheepshank, a complicated knot he never got the hang of.
Had he tied it, the knot would have been incontrovertible proof that he was a troop leader.
Oops.
(His identity did eventually get clarified.)
A homily for The Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, June 19, 2022
Gn 14:18-20, 1 Cor 11:23-26, Lk 9:11b-17
Our news flashes and history books are filled with accounts of women and men — heroes, we call them — risking their lives or even making the ultimate sacrifice for the good of others.
Often, these heroes act for the benefit of absolute strangers. Sometimes those strangers are right there where the act of heroism takes place. Many times, the strangers are thousands of miles away, across oceans on another continent.
That’s the case, of course, in world wars.
And sometimes the strangers who will benefit the most have not yet been born, because the act of heroism has a history-making or civilization-changing impact.
Risking their lives. Making the ultimate sacrifice. Smothering a grenade with their body. Spilling their blood.
A homily for The Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity, June 12, 2022
Prv 8:22-31, Rom 5:1-5, Jn 16:12-15
Everything.
Everything for everyone, everywhere.
A homily for Pentecost, June 5, 2022
Acts 2:1-11, 1 Cor 12:3b-7, 12-13, Jn 20:19-23
Inhale.
Exhale.
Breathe in.
Breathe out.
Take a deep breath.
Let it out slowly.
The process is called respiration.
Respiration keeps us alive.
A homily for the Fifth Sunday of Easter, May 15, 2022
Acts 14:21-27, Rev 21:1-5a, Jn 13:31-33a, 34-35
Professional athletes have a lot of privileges and advantages that we regular people don’t, but maybe the biggest advantage they have over us is: They get to have a preseason.
Before they start their annual campaigns toward winning a league title or a world championship, athletes spend weeks or even months training to get better at their sport.
And then they get to scrimmage or play preseason games under real rules and typical conditions, with scores that are zeroed out when the real season starts.
Wouldn’t it be great if we all had preseasons anytime we started a new endeavor?
A (brief) homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter, May 8, 2022
Acts 13:14, 43-52, Rev 7:9, 14b-17, Jn 10:27-30
The Apostles headed out to spread the Good News, traveling mostly by foot from town to town, telling people they met about everything they had heard and seen during their days with Jesus of Nazareth.
Some people listened and followed. Some people heard but turned away. Some people ignored them completely.
Some people ran them out of town.
No problem.
The Apostles shook the dust off their feet and moved on.
(I love that image, knowing that the dust they were shaking off contained all sorts of mean, nasty, ugly stuff. Much more powerful than rude hand gestures.)
A homily for the Third Sunday of Easter, May 1, 2022
Acts 5:27-32, 40b-41, Rev 5:11-14, Jn 21:1-19
After Russia invaded Ukraine in February, the Kremlin ordered steep fines and lengthy prison terms for anyone caught protesting against the so-called “special military operation.”
Thousands took to the streets in cities all over Russia, in defiance of the order.
After it became clear that the U.S. military presence in Vietnam was ill-advised and that there was growing discontent among citizens, especially young people, cities ordered curfews and demanded that groups apply for permits before exercising their First Amendment rights.
Tens of thousands took to the streets in cities all over America, in defiance of the orders.
After it became painfully obvious that skin color was being used as a reason to deny Americans their God-given inalienable rights, and that disenfranchised people planned to demonstrate and defy Jim Crow laws, states ordered lockdowns and warned of massive legal and extra-legal punishments.
Millions took to the streets in cities all over America, in defiance of the orders and threats.
Just as a handful of believers did in the First Century.
A homily for the Second Sunday of Easter, April 24, 2022
Acts 5:12-16, Rev 1:9-11a, 12-13, 17-19, Jn 20:19-31
Why do we follow someone?
Why do we pay attention to politicians, movie stars, athletes, religious leaders or cult leaders?
Is it what they say? Is it what they do?
Is it because their words or actions — or both — make the world better? Better for humankind? Better for all of God’s Creation?
Is it because they have that je ne sais quoi quality about them?
That “It” quality…
That charisma…
A homily for the Fourth Sunday of Lent (Laetare), Cycle C, March 27, 2022
Jos 5:9a, 10-12, 2 Cor 5:17-21, Lk 15:1-3, 11-32
The well-known parable of the Prodigal Son is a story of gifts, but not necessarily the ones we’re fully conversant in.
There’s the fattened calf (I prefer the old-school “fatted calf,” but this is the current translation, sigh) and the welcome-home party for the repentant son, plus the ring on his finger and the hug from his father, who greets this ne’er-do-well as if he had risen from the grave.
And we recognize the gift of God’s eternal mercy toward everyone who repents, as echoed by the actions of the young man’s father. That, in fact, is the traditional and simplest Occam’s Razor interpretation of this sizable passage from Luke’s Gospel. And it’s a totally valid understanding of the passage: Jesus intended the forgiving father in the parable to represent The Forgiving Father of All Creation.
But wait, there’s more:
