A homily for Easter Sunday, the Resurrection of the Lord, April 4, 2021
Acts 10:34a, 37-43, Col 3:1-4, Jn 20:1-9
Did our jaws drop this morning? They should have.
Did we shout “Alleluia!” for its own sake, not just because it was in a prayer we had to say at church? We should have.
Did we greet each other with “Christos anesti! Alethos anesti!” or another culturally appropriate way of saying Christ is risen; truly, he is risen? We must.
A homily for Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion, March 28, 2021
Mk 11:1-10, Is 50:4-7, Phil 2:6-11, Mk 14:1—15:47
Regular church-goers know Palm Sunday’s Mass as the one with the extra Gospel and the extra-long Gospel. A lot of standing; a lot of thinking. With any luck, not a long homily or sermon, though the extra time to sit might be welcome if the preacher is not too boring.
And today’s Gospel about the humiliation, torture and horrifying death of Jesus, though familiar, always provokes strong emotions. What his persecutors did to Christ. What Christ did for us. What Christ still does for us every day of our lives, which themselves are a gift from our Triune God and for which we should — we must — be grateful every day of our lives.
This isn’t a homily about any of that.
A homily for the Fifth Sunday of Lent, March 21, 2021
Jer 31:31-34, Heb 5:7-9, Jn 12:20-33
We were reminded in last week’s Gospel of the great gift of God’s love — Emmanuel, God With Us, Jesus the Christ, God’s only-begotten Son — and this week our Gospel lays out in blunt, almost harsh, terms just how far Jesus is willing to go to save us from ourselves.
His divine perfection vs. our human imperfection.
His freedom from sin vs. our perpetual sliding into sin.
His laying down his life vs. our running from the slightest hint of danger.
A homily for the Fourth Sunday of Lent, March 14, 2021
2 Chr 36:14-16, 19-23, Eph 2:4-10, Jn 3:14-21
Whenever some people hear this Gospel proclaimed or read it for themselves, they quickly jump to the second paragraph, known popularly by its chapter and verse: John 3:16.
For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,
so that everyone who believes in him might not perish
but might have eternal life.
And that is a beautiful, powerful verse from John, perhaps the essence of John’s Gospel. That verse encompasses faith, hope and love, the bedrock virtues of our relationship with our Creator.
What it has to do with rainbow wigs and clown makeup at pro football games, I’ll never know.
But it’s the verse at the end of today’s selection from Scripture that’s worth exploring today.
[W]hoever lives the truth comes to the light,
so that his works may be clearly seen as done in God.
A homily for the Third Sunday of Lent, March 7, 2021
Ex 20:1-17, 1 Cor 1:22-25, Jn 2:13-25
“I want you to get up right now. Sit up. Go to your windows. Open them and stick your head out and yell – ‘I’m as mad as hell and I’m not gonna take this anymore!’ Things have got to change. But first, you’ve gotta get mad! … You’ve got to say, ‘I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not gonna take this anymore!’ Then we’ll figure out what to do about the depression and the inflation and the oil crisis. But first, get up out of your chairs, open the window, stick your head out, and yell, and say it: ‘I’m as mad as hell, and I’m not gonna take this anymore!’” — From “Network”
That was 45 years ago. It could be today. It should be today.
A homily for the Second Sunday of Lent, Feb. 28, 2021
Gn 22:1-2, 9a, 10-13, 15-18, Rom 8:31b-34, Mk 9:2-10
When was the last time you let yourself be wowed, be amazed, to have your socks knocked off?
We’ve all been in some degree of lockdown for about a year now, and there haven’t been a lot of opportunities or reasons for our jaws to drop. We do have Zoom, and we do have our small joys, but all in all, many of our lives these days are more humdrum than historic.
So:
When was the last time you let yourself be wowed, be amazed, to have your socks knocked off by Jesus?
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 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.
