No Resurrection, no mercy (Divine Mercy Sunday)

 Today is Divine Mercy Sunday,

a title applied by Pope Saint John Paul II in the year 2000, 

based on the messages Saint Faustina Kowalska received from Jesus; 

so you would expect me to talk about that. 

But it is also the second Sunday of Easter, 

which means it’s about the Resurrection. 

So let’s start there, and connect that to Divine Mercy.

They aren’t separate things; 

because the mercy that we look for from Jesus Christ is only possible, 

it is only real, if the Resurrection is real. 

One reason why the Resurrection matters 

is because it gives us ground for believing Jesus is who he said he is, 

and will do what he said he will do. 

The Resurrection is a reminder 

that we Christians propose a faith not only of ideas, but of facts. 

God became man at a certain time, in a certain place; 

that God-Man walked the earth in the Holy Land, 

he said things people later wrote down.

At a certain point, he was arrested, beaten, tried, executed…

and on the third day, his body came back to life. 

These are bold claims of fact, 

which if they are not true, then Christianity is false, 

and you and I should find something else to do on Sundays.

And, if it didn’t happen, and the Apostles knew they were lying about it,

Surely they wouldn’t stand by their own lie all the way to martyrdom?

So, Thomas’ response in the Gospel makes perfect sense.

You may recall when Jesus told the Apostles that Lazarus had died,

Thomas said, “let’s go die with him.”

But Thomas is not going to die for a rumor.

He wants to be able to say: “I put my hands in his side!”

One more point. 

What Jesus shows us in his risen, glorified body isn’t only about him; it’s about us. 

He shows what you and I can look forward to with confidence.

Jesus not only promised to rise from the dead himself; 

he promised to call us back to life as well. 

You and I will experience the very same – the exact same – resurrection as Jesus. 

Our bodies will, one day, come back to life, 

and our souls and bodies will be reunited. We will live forever. 

A lot of people – including many Christians – 

have gotten the idea that the body doesn’t matter.

Whether it’s what happens to the body after death, 

or the current “transgender” phenomenon that claims identity 

is determined by subjective beliefs, regardless of bodily facts.

This is an interesting intersection of science and faith.

Biology is science; it’s not a set of beliefs.

For us as Christians, we not only accept science,

it is an article of our Faith that our bodies 

are as much who we are as our souls.

God could have created us like angels, without bodies. But he did not. 

Instead, the God who created us as bodies 

gave himself flesh in the womb of Mary.

The same body that was offered on the Cross came out of the tomb. 

Jesus is serious when he tells us, 

you and I will have our bodies back one day. 

That’s why we always treat them as sacred, even in death.

This is why the Church insists we bury the deceased in the ground, even after cremation.

But take heart: when you and I get our bodies back,

We will no longer be subject to the frailties we experience now.

No more eyeglasses, pills or braces.

Now let’s talk about Divine Mercy.

God gives us every reason for hope.

Jesus not only promised us eternal life, he showed it to us.

This is why we love the words Saint Faustina 

includes on her image of Divine Mercy, 

and we make them our own:

“Jesus, I trust in thee!”

The Fact that changes everything (Easter homily)

 Last night, in Our Lady of Good Hope and around the world, 

we kept the great Vigil of the Resurrection. 

The Mass was long, ancient in its shape, 

and rich with the story of God’s saving work—

from creation through the Exodus to the empty tomb. 

Many could not join us; the hour was late and life is full. 

If you missed it, I hope you’ll consider coming next year. 

The Vigil illuminates our faith like few other liturgies can.

At its heart came the baptism, confirmation, and first Holy Communion 

of those whom God drew here by grace. 

It is a bracing and humbling sight: 

men, women, and children choosing, late on a Saturday night, 

to die with Christ in the waters and rise with Him to new life. 

They could have stayed home. Instead, they said yes.

This morning, on the bright day of the Resurrection, 

you and I gather again. 

In a few moments you and I will renew 

the promises of our own baptism. 

Those of us baptized as infants did not choose it then. Today we do.

This is our moment to say again, with eyes open: “I believe.”

Let us be plain-spoken. 

The Resurrection we celebrate is not a metaphor, 

not a symbol of springtime renewal or personal growth. 

It is not a “lovely story” meant only to comfort us. 

This time of year we hear much about new beginnings and fresh starts. 

The eggs and rabbits can point toward hope, 

but they do not replace the astonishing Fact at the center: 

Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified and truly died, 

on the third day rose again in His own flesh.

The Apostles did not greet this news with easy sentiment. 

When the risen Lord stood before them—wounds still visible—

they first doubted, then trembled in fear. 

Only then did they fall to their knees: “My Lord and my God!”

There could be nothing half-hearted about their response. 

Meeting the One you saw die, now alive, 

leaves no room for halfway measures. 

You and I are called to be all-in.

Being a Catholic today often puts us at sharp angles 

to the surrounding culture, just as it did in the beginning. 

The early Christians faced lions; 

you and I face quieter but real pressures. 

We bear witness to the dignity of every human life 

and to the beauty of God’s design for life. 

In a world that is unsure about what human identity really is, 

we profess that true identity is found in our Creator.

This “angularity”—the discomfort of fidelity—is not accidental. 

It mirrors the shock of how Christ saved us: 

not with soft sentiment, 

but through a brutal Cross and a real Resurrection. 

Those first witnesses looked for His wounds. They knew the cost. 

One by one, most of them faced death 

rather than deny what they had seen and touched.

Death and resurrection are not exactly "comforting."

But then, is something “comforting” really enough? 

What we need is change… and power to live… 

and a solid ground for hope.

A Savior who bore our wounds with us and for us 

and comes back from the dead? 

That is change. That is power. That is hope!

So now you and I renew our baptismal promises, 

and by doing so we invite the Holy Spirit 

to give us the power of the Resurrection once again. 

This is not a story we admire from a distance. 

It is the Fact that changes everything.

Your most solemn moment (Easter Vigil homily)

 As you surely notice, the Vigil of Easter is unlike any other Mass.

Back in the day, the vigil started much later, and it went until dawn.

The readings trace God’s saving grace in relation to human wandering, 

from the beginning, to Abraham, the Jewish People, 

till Jesus comes at last.

After all that, in the deep darkness, 

those becoming Christians would be baptized and confirmed, 

and only after that would they participate in the Eucharist.

Now: think about the timing here.

Reception of the Holy Eucharist comes nearly at the end of Mass.

That means the moment 

the priest shows the Lord to the faithful, saying, 

“Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world; 

blessed are those called to the Supper of the Lamb,”

would fall just as the first light breaks. 

The words and the dawn proclaim the same reality: He is risen."

So for those being baptized tonight, this vigil is all for you.

For the rest of us—

including those who were baptized in other Christian communities, 

and tonight enter into the fullness of the Catholic Faith—

this is a re-experiencing, a rediscovery of these mysteries.

We call them mysteries, by the way, 

because the Apostle Paul and the first Christians called them that. 

The word “mystery” suggests something hidden and inaccessible; 

and that’s the point: Jesus gives us access!

The veil is torn in two; heaven is open; you and I are born again!

The other thing about a divine mystery 

is that pulling aside one veil doesn’t “solve” it. 

With God’s creation and redemption, there is always more. 

So the long vigil is meant to reinforce that sense of going deeper, 

expecting a marathon, not a sprint.

And that’s why we don’t do all this only once; 

we revisit these wonders at every Mass, 

and take a deep dive once a year.

In a few minutes, the deacon and I will lead you to the font.

The Easter Candle, the pillar of fire, goes before you.

Unlike Pharaoh who perished in the sea, 

because he hardened his heart, you are led safely through!

In baptism, you die with Christ. 

We all die; but this is the death you and I choose: 

with Jesus, accepting his cross and making it our own.

Every time you make the sign of the cross, 

Every time you bless yourself with holy water, you remind yourself:

I died with Christ, and through him, I will rise again!

So I want to be very clear and serious here:

this moment is a fork in the road, an ending and a beginning.

I will ask you to renounce sin and the vanities of this world.

I will ask you if you believe in the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit, 

and in the faith given to us through the Apostles.

Before you answer those questions, I must warn you:

to be a Christian has always been costly.

There has always been a tug-of-war 

between the kingdoms of this world, the kingdom of our own will, 

and the kingdom of Jesus.

And if no one ever told you this, I tell you now:

your choice of allegiance to Jesus Christ and his Kingdom,

which is in this world, imperfectly, in his Church:

that choice will cost you, sooner or later.

It may seem over-dramatic to speak of martyrdom; 

we’re in Ohio after all, not ancient Rome!

But martyrdom comes in a thousand small, daily, tedious choices 

long before it becomes some great climactic witness.

Probably none of us will ever stand before a guillotine; 

but every one of us faces the refrigerator, the computer, 

and the emperor that is our own will.

Not a firing squad, but criticism from coworkers, friends and family, 

is what chills our blood and shakes our resolve.

So, why should anyone profess this faith? Why should you?

On behalf of the faithful, 

some of whom are gathered around you, 

and on my own behalf as a Christian, I testify:

God has acted in time and history.

Jesus, the Son of God, having our same flesh,

revealed to us a Trinity of Father, Son and Holy Spirit.

For our salvation, he embraced the Cross. 

He truly died and rose, in his mortal body, from the dead.

He is the judge of all mankind, to whom he offers not only mercy, 

but new life, fullness of life, and union with God, 

in the resurrection and the new world to come.

Jesus, risen from the dead, is the true and faithful witness!

He drew you here and he invites you to life.

Silence before the Cross (Good Friday homily)

 One of the great graces of Good Friday is the simplest: 

the time we take to face the Cross in silence.

Notice the absence of bells today. 

The liturgy itself teaches us to be quiet before this mystery, 

because the Cross confronts us with truths 

we would rather not face.

Why did Jesus go to the Cross? No one forced Him. 

As He said when arrested, 

“Do you think that I cannot call upon my Father, 

and he will send me twelve legions of angels? 

But then how would the Scriptures be fulfilled?”

From all eternity — before the world began — 

the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit chose this path.

And yet we still ask: Why this? Why the Cross?

Saint Thomas Aquinas teaches that because of the infinite dignity 

of the Son of God, even the slightest suffering of His — 

a mere scratch — 

would have been sufficient to redeem the entire human race. 

So why the brutality? 

Why the full weight of rejection, torture, and death?

Because it reveals the extravagance of God’s mercy. 

When the minimum would have been enough, God gave the maximum. 

How can we ever doubt that He will continue 

to give, and give, and give still more to those He loves?

The Cross is also a mirror. 

We prefer to glamorize sin or minimize it — 

to tell ourselves it doesn’t really hurt anyone. 

But on the Cross we see sin for what it is: ugly, violent, and deadly. 

The evil we see in our world — wars, cruelty, indifference, 

the ruthless grasp for power — does not fall from the sky. 

It springs from the human heart. 

And each of us shares in that brokenness. 

None of us can simply point the finger at “them.”

How often have we cried, “Someone must pay!”?

Someone did. And how.

Do you long for justice? There is your justice.

Do you hunger for revenge? There is your revenge — 

not in more blood, but in the Blood that was poured out for you.

Are you angry at God? Look at the Cross: 

this is His answer.

“By his stripes we are healed.”

'You are there' (Holy Thursday homily)

 About 12 years ago, I made a pilgrimage to the Holy Land.

I walked the original Way of the Cross 

through the streets of Jerusalem 

and stood in the place of the Last Supper, 

the Garden of Gethsemane, Golgotha, and the empty tomb.

I was with other priests, and we had Mass – at Calvary! Right there!

We had Mass at the empty tomb: 

the very stone on which Jesus had lain was our altar.

Because the Mass is God’s work, not merely a human one, 

it is always and everywhere the one eternal Sacrifice. 

Every Mass brings us to Calvary.

Yet when we gather this evening with awareness of what we are doing, 

there is something truly electric about it.

All of Lent has led us here. 

We have prayed, fasted and shared our blessings with others, 

so that we, like the Apostles, 

can prepare to celebrate the Passover with the Lord.

The Passover, remember, was first celebrated in Egypt.

God’s People were slaves, and on that night, 

God executed judgment on Egypt, and Israel fled in haste.

Tonight, I want to illuminate some familiar parts of Mass.

To grasp the deeper meaning of the Sacrifice of the Mass, 

Let’s start by recalling what happened 

when God brought his People to Mt. Sinai.

There, in addition to giving Moses the Ten Commandments, 

God detailed how they were to worship: 

how the sanctuary and altar were to be arranged, 

and the sacrifices offered.

After this, Moses led the elders of Israel 

up Sinai to ratify the covenant. Scripture tells us, 

“They saw God, and they ate and drank” the sacrifice.

Think about that in relation to the Last Supper, and the Mass:

“They saw God and they ate and drank.”

Now you know why the altar is traditionally elevated.

As at Sinai, we ascend to meet God.

In a few minutes, we will go up to this altar, and on your behalf,

address the God of Sinai, our Father.

When we all sing, “Holy, Holy, Holy,” 

You and I are joining the heavenly hosts adoring Almighty God!

The same angels who beheld Calvary with amazement.

Some of us remember the old TV show “You Are There,” 

which transported viewers back to historic moments. 

But this is infinitely greater than any television program. 

Brothers and sisters, right now, we are there—

at Calvary, at the tomb, and in heaven, all at once.

The priest then says, ‘Graciously accept this oblation.’ 

An oblation is simply an offering—

your prayers, works, joys and sufferings—

placed on the altar in the form of bread and wine. 

It stands for you.”

The priest extends his hands over the gifts like this, 

evoking the image of a dove—the Holy Spirit.

In the Old Testament, God’s Fire descended upon the sacrifice. 

On Pentecost, that same fire came down upon the Church.

In the Mass, it is the Holy Spirit who makes our offerings

“become for us the Body and Blood of your beloved Son, Jesus Christ.”

At the Last Supper, the disciples would not have been surprised 

If the Lord had pointed to the roasted lamb on the table 

while speaking of covenant and sacrifice.

But that’s not what Jesus does.

Instead, he took bread and wine and said, 

“This is my Body, given for you. 

This is my Blood of the new and eternal covenant. Eat and drink.” 

This was something entirely new. No one had ever done that before.

It is the following day, on the Cross, when he completes the Passover. 

He took a final sip of sour wine from a sponge, and declared, 

“It is finished.”

After the Resurrection, when he showed himself alive, 

the Apostles finally understood. 

Our Holy Mass flows from that command on Holy Thursday: 

“Do this in memory of me.”

Notice how the priest lifts up the Body, then the Blood.

This is a Sacrifice: Christ offers himself to the Father.

The priest is there to be Christ to us, 

and to be us, in Christ, to the Father. 

The separation of body and blood recalls his death.

When the priest later puts a part of the Sacred Host into the chalice,

It signifies the reunion of Christ’s Body and Blood, 

pointing to his Resurrection.

At a certain moment, the priest sings, “The mystery of faith.” 

It is as if a flashing sign lights up over the altar: 

“This—right here—is the moment! 

This is the pulsing heart of the whole mystery!

Afterward, the priest begs the Father 

to accept this “pure victim, this holy victim.” 

Of course the Father accepts the sacrifice. 

Yet these words sum up the entire drama of salvation.

Without Jesus, none of us can be saved. 

Everything in the Old Testament led to this. 

Tonight, in this Mass, the moment when Jesus offered himself 

once for all is made present for us. 

This is the pivot point of all history.

Tonight, we are there: in Jerusalem, at the Cross. 

The Blood of the Lamb protects us. 

The flesh of the Lamb is our salvation.

Make the most of Holy Week (Palm Sunday homily)

 Listening to the Gospel we heard--the heart of our Faith --

Makes me fall silent. Maybe you, too.

That’s why we do this every single year.

If you’ve come this far in Lent, 

it may be that you feel you missed the boat.

You can still make Holy Week your Lent.

If you ever said, I wish I knew my Faith better, 

may I suggest that taking time during Holy Week,

to come on Holy Thursday, Good Friday and the Easter Vigil?

These days will help you go deeper into our Faith,

because this week is the heart of our Faith.

If you wish you’d gone to confession—it’s not too late. 

There are confessions Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Friday.

If you are worried about crowds on Easter Sunday, 

The earliest Easter Masses shouldn’t be too crowded.

It’d be wonderful if you can be present at Our Lady of Good Hope 

for the Vigil, when a group of men, women and children 

will be baptized and confirmed 

and receive Jesus in the Eucharist the first time.

This is his week; it’s our week.

It’s about what we did to the Lord; 

even more, what he did for us.

The hard truths about suffering (Sunday homily)

Hearing today’s Gospel can raise an uncomfortable question: 

If Jesus was willing to raise Lazarus and others in the Gospels,

why doesn’t he do the same for us?

Someone we love gets sick, and not only does our loved one 

go through so many trials, so does everyone around them. 

I could paint a picture, but most of us already know how awful this is.

And for those who haven’t yet stood where Martha and Mary stood,

your turn is coming. That moment arrives for every one of us.

So, you and I can easily say with Martha: “Lord, if you had been here…”

The hard truth is, you and I are not promised 

to be saved FROM suffering. 

If only, if only! But that’s not the deal. 

As Holy Week and Good Friday draw near, 

instead of avoiding this topic, let’s face it squarely. 

The Cross puts suffering right in the center.

Indeed, let me say that differently. 

Suffering was already at the center of human experience. 

What Christ does is put God and his salvation right there, 

in the middle of human pain. 

Jesus puts himself there, on the Cross!

This calls to mind one of the great temptations today,

that it is “compassionate” to hasten death

where suffering is too great.

We see it in Europe, in Canada, and in our country, too,

with expanding efforts to make it legal

to give people a drug to end their lives.

What began as supposedly only 

for people facing terminal illness is now, in many places, 

moving well beyond that — being advocated

for people who have disabilities, and even in some cases, for minors.

You and I are in no way dismissive of any suffering. 

But are we really prepared to say that human life 

is made worthless by trials and pain? 

To state clearly what we believe as Catholics:

It is right to relieve suffering through medication and comfort.

It is entirely appropriate to accept death when it comes; 

but it is gravely sinful to hurry it along.

Consider another example: what happened during Covid.

Our leaders and experts tried to remove all risk and worry.

We isolated ourselves from one another. 

Many of our elderly were cut off from all personal contact 

with friends and loved ones. And what happened? 

We were trying to keep them “safe.” Yet it was damaging! 

People – not just the elderly, but at all ages – 

were depressed, disoriented, overcome with sadness. 

Here again, we learn: 

life isn’t better when all danger and suffering are kept at bay. 

It seems to be inescapable that the trials you and I experience—

as with Martha, Mary and Lazarus—aren’t something to be saved from;

because—through Christ—they end up saving us!

We are not promised to be saved from suffering. 

We are right to try to soften its blows.

Yet we also know our path to fullness of life is bound up with it.

The Cross shows that God is not an observer of our pain.

He makes it his own and redeems it.

And maybe that’s one reason Jesus didn’t come and rescue Lazarus, 

and why he doesn’t simply spare us from the same path.

He isn’t just saving you and me for more of this life – 

but for eternal life.

At this Mass, friends and family members are joining us

who will, in two weeks, be baptized, confirmed 

and receive their first Holy Communion at the Easter Vigil.

Right after this homily, we’ll pray in a special way to strengthen them.

Today’s Gospel makes clear: they are answering Jesus’ summons to life.

And, they are choosing his Cross as the path to Resurrection.

As we all approach Holy Week, now is a great time to ask ourselves: 

do I really want to cling to this life, 

which will slip away no matter what, or:

Will I walk with Jesus the road of dying to self, 

dying to this world, that I may share in his Resurrection? 

Who is blind? Who sees? (Sunday homily)

 Of all the people in the Gospel who couldn’t see…

The one man who was healed:

did you notice, he was only one who,

without question or delay,

simply went and did as the Lord said?

Everyone else tried to analyze, argue or deny.

That’s not to say we can’t ask questions.

If you or I saw someone who was blind, now able to see,

we’d have questions as well.

Yet, there comes a point when we know:

no more delays—just go!

When I was 19, I left the Catholic Church

and joined another church. I came back 10 years later.

Over that time, I had questions,

I debated and wrestled—and that was right.

But there came a moment, and I remember it vividly.

It was during Lent: as I drove home from work one day,

past a Catholic church, I heard the question in my head:

“What holds you back?” And I knew: “Nothing, Lord.”

A day or two later,

I went to confession for the first time in 10 years.

So, how about you? Are you holding back

on something you know the Lord wants you to do?

For a lot of us, that’s what happens

with the sacrament of penance.

It’s no great mystery why that happens.

Not many of us want to admit our sins,

especially to another human being.

Maybe we get discouraged,

Or we rationalize, “I’m doing pretty good.”

You know what? I go through the same thing.

Again, the blind man could have had all the same feelings.

Did you notice, he didn’t ask to be healed?

Maybe he’d gotten used to being blind or had given up hope.

He could have asked, “why this business with the clay?

Can’t you heal me without that?”

Instead, he simply went and did what the Lord asked.

He, and he alone, was healed.

At this Mass, we are joined by friends and family members

who are preparing to receive the sacraments of baptism, confirmation 

and the Most Holy Eucharist in three weeks at the Easter Vigil.

Of course, for you, the sacrament of reconciliation will follow those 

during the course of your life, about to begin, as Catholics.

Even so, you are called, like everyone in the Gospel,

and everyone here, to wake up to the question: 

Can I see? Can I really see?

And if we are truly honest, we know the answer is,

No, not unless Jesus touches our eyes and our hearts.

Your presence here reminds us of how Jesus awakens so many of us 

to urgent action, as you hurry to the font of baptism.

So, for the rest of us, as far as the sacrament of penance, just go!

There are a lot of opportunities for confession this week, 

and every week through to the Easter Vigil.

Just look in the bulletin – it’s all there!

The other priests and I are eager to provide you 

the spiritual healing that comes in the sacrament of penance.

The blind man in the Gospel,

after the Lord put clay over his eyes,

and sent him to the pool:

what might he have been thinking?

I don’t know, but: if he felt certain he would be healed,

then we can be sure his heart swelled with hope.

He didn’t walk, he ran to that pool!

Well then, the same for us:

Even as we pray, and confront our sins,

and ask God to help us change,

You and I really can be completely sure

God will forgive and heal us.

As our brothers and sisters hasten to baptism, 

Why shouldn’t the rest of us rush to renew that grace in confession?

Give me this water! (Sunday homily on justification)

 The second reading mentions “justification” – 

we don’t talk about this often, 

so you might wonder just what that is.

From the Council of Trent and the Catechism we learn that 

"Justification is not only the remission of sins, 

but also the sanctification and renewal of the interior man.” 

In other words, justification not only forgives us, but changes us.

And if we don’t change, what good is forgiveness?

The life of God is poured into our hearts and our lives.

In a word, we become saints. This happens in baptism.

Baptism! Ah, now you know why we heard the first reading 

and the Gospel, all about water. 

Of course, Jesus wasn’t just talking about ordinary water, 

but the water of the Holy Spirit.

And you and I receive this water first in baptism.

Remember, there are friends and family members in our parish family

who have been drawn here by that same grace of God.

They are preparing to be born again in baptism in a few weeks.

What drew them was the grace of your baptism, your witness.

So this is even more a good time to talk about baptism.

In baptism you and I are justified; we become saints.

This coincides with something else baptism does: 

it creates a new reality both in ourselves 

and in our relationship with God.

A moment ago, I said that in baptism,

the life of God enters us; you can also turn that around:

In baptism, you and I enter the inner life of God!

When we sign ourselves, notice: “Father, Son and Holy Spirit”

That signifies that you or I are “surrounded” by the Blessed Trinity!

Baptism is the moment we fully and truly become children of God.

Now, the mystery to all this is the working out of grace in our lives.

A true revolution happens in us at the moment of baptism:

total forgiveness, total adoption, total sanctification.

And yet, this explosion of grace in each of us 

doesn’t usually bring an instant change.

More often, each of us still has a zig-zaggy path to heaven.

The thing is, justification makes us truly free – free to say yes to God; 

how it plays out is that our lives are a long chain 

of daily, even hourly, yeses, mixed with nos. 

Thank God, when you or I betray our baptism in mortal sin,

our baptism is renewed in the sacrament of confession.

St. Therese, the Little Flower, got frustrated 

that she confessed the same sins over and over; 

until she realized that if she won that battle too quickly, 

she would fall prey to spiritual pride!

St. Therese’s example is a reminder to us: 

Holiness isn’t one-and-done, but lifelong; 

and not one, but all the sacraments sustain the life of God in us.

Notice something else striking: Jesus himself thirsted!

This is the amazing thing that is absolutely certain:

God thirsts infinitely for souls, 

and whatever path to sanctity each of us treads, long or short, 

straight or twisty, easy or rough – 

God’s unwavering purpose is that each of us will be glorious saints!

Saint Augustine said that the justification of sinners 

“is a greater work than the creation of heaven and earth," 

because "heaven and earth will pass away 

but the salvation and justification of the elect . . . will not pass away."

Some of us look ahead to baptism; others of us are invited 

to wake up again to that glorious gift we may have taken for granted.

This time of Lent is when, despite all our busyness,

you and I sit at the well again and say, 

Lord, give me this water always!

Jesus is the only way (Sunday homily)

 In the first reading, God says to Abram, get up and go. 

Go where? That’s a little vague. But the key word is “go.” 

In the Gospel, it is almost the opposite. 

God is saying, “Here”—this is my Son. 

In other words, Jesus is the destination, 

the “where” Abram was ultimately sent.

This season of Lent originated as the last weeks of prayer and fasting 

for people who are seeking to become Catholics at the Easter Vigil. 

They realized the day of their baptism, 

confirmation and first Communion 

would be the most important day of their lives.

The beginning of eternal life!

They also knew that being baptized 

was putting their neck on the chopping block. 

This is happening right now in Nigeria, among many other places.

Therefore, if you and I are going to risk our lives, 

we have to know: is Jesus the real deal? 

Is faith in Jesus truly necessary? 

This was the Apostles’ quandary as well.

That raises a thorny question: Is Jesus the only way to salvation? 

It’s a huge question and a brief answer isn’t enough. 

So, please realize I can’t address every nuance here.

That said—yes, Jesus is absolutely necessary for salvation. 

That’s why he is the Savior. That’s why he went to the Cross. 

None of it would make any sense if there was no real need,

if any god or path would do.

Why would God tell Abram to abandon everything familiar to him, 

if praying to the gods of Baal and Aphrodite would work as well? 

Well, then, that makes us wonder,

what about people who don’t believe in God? Don’t believe in Jesus? 

Don’t belong to the Catholic Church? Are they lost?

Again, here’s a short answer where a much fuller one is needed. 

Everyone – I mean, everyone – who ultimately is saved, 

will be in the Kingdom of Jesus, and because of Jesus. 

Jesus died for them, and his grace is what will bring them safely home.  

That doesn’t mean it is automatic, but it means:

Yes, Jesus is the one and only Savior of humanity.

Now: many of those folks may be surprised when they get there, 

to learn that it was Jesus all along. But they will make it.

We might think of this as God providing an ordinary path,

which is faith in Jesus, and the fullness of that is the Catholic Faith.

And, without trying to hit this too hard, 

that necessarily means that when we don’t have 

the fullness of the sacraments, that’s a real disadvantage.

That’s not about being arrogant but acknowledging God’s Plan.

Still, Jesus has ways of working in people’s lives 

that go beyond what we might call the “ordinary,” the primary, path. 

You and I, like Jesus, point out this primary path, 

but we don’t forget that God’s ways go beyond what you and I can see.

For example, suppose you oversleep and you don’t show up 

for a big test; if you don’t pass that test, you flunk.  

You might gain mercy, and your teacher might give you a make-up.

Or, she might not. You can’t assume that, 

but such “Plan Bs” do happen in life. 

And they happen in the spiritual life. 

The mystery of how God works in each human heart 

cannot be reduced to a formula. 

It is wrong to say that if you aren’t baptized, you have no hope.

Likewise, it is wrong to say none of this really matters—

that everyone makes it to heaven.

So, that’s my too-brief explanation.

There remains the invitation of God: do we say yes or no? 

We have many people around the world and in our parishes,

who are preparing now for baptism at Easter. 

Encourage them, pray for them, 

as they weigh the greatest question of all, a question for each of us: 

Who is Jesus? Will I seek him, and give him my all? 

Lighting candles (Homily for 1st Sunday of Lent)

 If there’s a theme to this homily,

it is the quotation associated with a group called “The Christophers”: 

It is better to light one candle than to curse the darkness.

First, let me make sure you know that 

this weekend we are hosting Fr. Anaclet Mukendi Mpunga, 

pastor of St. Peter and Paul Parish in Haiti. 

He was here with us last evening at 5 pm,

and is getting to as many of the Masses as possible. 

But it’s practically impossible 

to go from the 9 am, 10 am, 10:30 am, and 11 am Masses. 

I know: I tried it, just once.

But we are having an information night tomorrow, 

Monday, at 6 pm in the school cafeteria at St. Henry. 

I hope you will go and meet him.

So, for this Mass, pretend I’m Father Anaclet! 

He is reporting back to us the work he’s doing,

with the help of many of our parishioners,

with the St. Jude Clinic that he oversees in Haiti.

This started as a project at St. Henry in 1988.

About a year ago, we started including an envelope for this project 

in the giving envelopes mailed out to everyone, 

with the promise of hosting an evening for parishioners to know more – 

and as mentioned, that’s tomorrow night.

In the meantime, here are a few details.

Haiti is a small country in the Caribbean.

It is desperately poor. The government is consistently corrupt. 

Disease and poverty are everywhere. Very limited schooling. 

In recent years, criminal gangs have had the run of the country. 

Someone shot at Father Anaclet; 

the bishop shut down the parish and clinic for two years. 

Things have gotten slightly less bad in the past two years: 

the parish and clinic reopened in 2024. 

At Father Anaclet’s recommendation, we stopped sending money

from the Haiti fund at St. Henry for a while, 

but we resumed it when Father Anaclet gave us a green light,

and we boosted for a short time what we sent to catch up. 

We’re not talking about the hospitals and urgent-care facilities 

we all take for granted here. 

The building that folks here helped build is simple,

but provides basic care with two doctors, 

a pharmacy and a clean place for medical tests and treatment, 

including for mothers to give birth.

Now, we might recall the point today’s readings make bluntly: 

the foundational, most structural problem the world faces 

isn’t medical or political, it is spiritual. 

That problem is evil, which is a result of sin.

Why is Haiti such a mess? It isn’t lack of money or stuff. 

It’s the problem of violence and greed and I think,

the power of spiritual darkness associated with Voodoo. 

And so, what you and I do in Haiti is lighting candles amidst darkness.

The same fundamental problem – spiritual darkness – afflicts us, too.

Our country has no lack of resources. 

Consider what two of our biggest health problems are?

Too much food, and too little exercise. Those are spiritual problems!

Our society can be measured by statistics; 

and it can also be measured by how well or badly we do 

with the seven deadly sins: 

greed, wrath, gluttony, lust, pride, sloth and envy.

Lent is a time of amplified focus on battling these sins, 

and lighting the candle of faith and conversion.

So, there’s one more thing happening this morning:

you and I welcome a group of spiritual pilgrims:

Men and women who, by divine providence, have found their way 

to our St. John Paul Parish Family.

It bears some reflection: what led them here, to us?

One way or the other, they saw the light of Christ in our midst.

And, in seven weeks, they’ll be back in this church, 

at the Easter Vigil: some to receive the sacrament of baptism, 

all to receive confirmation and Holy Communion.

They are on a pilgrimage this Lent; so are all of us.

Some to be enlightened by Christ; some to have that light renewed.

Whoever you are, of any age or condition, as we begin Lent,

I challenge you: be a light-bearer. 

That’s the whole point.

Jesus on the Journey with us (Baptism of the Lord homily)

 This Sunday’s feast is a liturgical pivot: 

it is the last Sunday of Christmas, 

and tomorrow begins what is called “Ordinary Time.”

That name, “Ordinary Time,” is a little misleading.

We hear “ordinary,” and we think, “routine,” or “same old, same old.”

If ever anyone in Rome calls me for advice – haha!

I would suggest they rename this as “Counted Time.”

That’s what it really means: we count the weeks; 

there are 34 weeks of “counted time” 

until we come back to Advent at the end of the year.

We count the years too, right? 

This is Anno Domini – the year of our Lord – 2026. 

We’ve been counting the years since Jesus was born.

This act of counting time is, 

when you think about it, an expression of our faith.

How so? Well, because it reflects our confidence 

that we are making progress on a journey. 

We’re not going in circles; and we’re not staying put.

Some world religions believe that you and I go through 

many life-cycles – this is sometimes called “reincarnation.” 

But everything in our Christian faith teaches us

that each person is unique and has an eternal destiny.

That destiny, that promise, is astonishing:

It is no less than to be lifted up into God’s own life.

This is what many of the prayers of Christmas call the “holy exchange.” 

God became human so that human beings can become divine.

When we festoon our buildings and trees and bushes with lights, 

it is not only cheerful, it serves to represent this reality:

that everything of this world is destined for transformation.

Well, as I said, this is the last Sunday of Christmas;

So I guess I’ll have to stop wishing you Merry Christmas today!

Still, if what you and I celebrate is real,

Then Christmas never ended! Jesus didn’t stop being one of us!

Our destiny still is ahead of us, and we count the weeks and years!

Now, there is a special focus in today’s Gospel, 

and it is on Jesus choosing to have his cousin John baptize him.

Remember, John was calling people to be baptized as repentance.

The equivalent for us is the sacrament of confession.

When the other priests and I invite you – or we invite each other – 

to come to confession, we’re doing what John the Baptist did:

Challenging people to repent and convert.

Starting in February, we’ll all do this collectively and intensely, in Lent.

So, to appreciate more fully what Jesus did – in being baptized – 

imagine he came into church and got in line for confession!

Let me tell you: if I’m hearing confessions, and the Lord comes in, 

I’m falling to my knees and confessing to him!

Surely that’s how John the Baptist felt, don’t you think?

When Jesus does this, he is demonstrating his solidarity with us. 

Every single one of us. 

There might have been some unsavory or disreputable people 

waiting on the riverbank, that Jesus came and stood with that day.

So, don’t worry about whether he will stand with you.

This again emphasizes the hope drawing us forward.

It is not merely an individual journey: we go forward together.

Since Jesus chose to be in solidarity with us – even the “worst” of us – 

then none of us, here, can dare to say, “but not those people.”

There is absolutely no one that Jesus does not invite to heaven!

You and I, therefore, are sent by him to relay that invitation!

Remember, this is the key point of the “Beacons of Light” project.

Reorganizing ourselves to be inviting, welcoming, evangelizing.

We had a good “problem” on Christmas, which we’ll try to address:

Some of our Masses were overly full!

No, we’d rather not have the stress involved, and yet:

Don’t we really want to face this “problem” on more and more Sundays?

If you and I are living our faith and sharing it, that’s what we hope for!

As you and I go forward in this year of our Lord,

We are looking for Jesus to meet us at journey’s end;

And at the same time, we know he keeps his promise:

He is with us, along the journey, all the way.

Don't miss your sign (Epiphany homily)

 Today we celebrate the Epiphany. 

What is an “epiphany”?

If you or I have a sudden moment of clarity, 

we’ll call it an “epiphany,” or an “‘aha!’ moment.”

So, it works like this:

Christmas is when God is born a human being. 

But only a few learn of it.

January 1 is the eighth day; that’s when a newborn boy is circumcised,

and when his name is given publicly for the first time.

Today, Epiphany: now the child is revealed to the nations.

He’s not just a Messiah for the Jewish people, 

but as Isaiah said in the first reading, light for the nations.

And that’s where the Magi come in: they are a symbol of the nations.

Their arrival is the beginning of the world having it’s “aha” moment.

So, who are these “Magi”? 

Magi were sort of like priest-philosophers

of the religion of Zoroastrianism.

And one of the things they did was to study the stars, 

expecting them to give signs and meaning. 

Now, as we know, sometimes the stars and planets 

do line up in curious ways, 

and you can have several seem to “meet” in the sky, 

making for an unusual light, which because it might happen so rarely,

no one alive had ever seen before. 

Nowadays, we have so much artificial light in the sky that we miss a lot.

But in those days, everyone saw a night sky full of light; 

and if you watched the sky, you saw lots of interesting things.

So, while the sign they saw might have been a miracle, 

it also might have been one of the delightful surprises 

that happen in the long course of the ages, planned by God.

Whatever the sign was, it stirred up the magi to make a journey;

and it alarmed Herod and the whole city.

Now, here’s where I give you something to ponder.

They only saw that star because they were paying attention;

What signs might you have missed, because you weren’t looking?

Or maybe you only “sort of saw,” but,

because you didn’t want to deal with it, you pretended not to see?

Sometimes we find the message troubling; but it doesn’t have to be. 

Herod could have welcomed Jesus – 

imagine how well that could have gone!

So many people find the sacrament of confession troubling.

They come in afraid and anxious,

but they leave so very, VERY happy:

because they didn’t ignore the prompting of their conscience.

I meet couples frequently who are preparing for marriage.

They are always glad they didn’t ignore 

the signs and promptings that led them to each other.

And I tell you right now, I am not sorry 

I followed the star that led me to be a priest.

But what if at the end of my life on earth, 

I had discovered that I missed it?

Then I would have been sorry.

Finally, we are sometimes tempted to think 

that our particular role isn’t important. 

But great things almost always start with tiny beginnings.

A baby is born. Far away visitors come to see.

But little by little, the message spread; 

until the year of our Lord 2026 

when a third of the world are Christians.

There are still Herods, striking out in violence.

Even so, the light keeps spreading. 

The word of Isaiah is being fulfilled.

Today you are the Magi who came to visit.

What have you seen? What will you lay at his feet?

And what will you tell others that you saw?

The Mirror (Mother of God homily)

 In considering how to summarize this holy day of obligation,

I decided the concept I want to give you is “mirror.”

Think of a mirror. Now let’s apply it to this day.

First, we have the title: Mary, Mother of God.

We are happy to honor Mary—and Jesus is happy that we honor her—

but this title is not primarily focused on her.

Rather, it makes a powerful statement about who Jesus is:

He is God; therefore, Mary is the Mother of… whom?

See how that works?

And now it does indeed become about Mary.

Mary is the mirror: everything for her is about reflecting her Son.

Recall what we celebrated on December 8:

how, from the first moment of her conception,

she was preserved from sin.

Why? Because the Savior deserved an immaculate mirror.

Now consider another aspect in today’s observance:

Jesus is circumcised on the eighth day, which falls today.

This small detail reminds us of so much.

Mary’s Son, who is God, is also completely human.

He entered not only the human family but the Jewish family.

Let’s recall the calling of the Jewish people.

It began with Abraham, who was told that in his descendant—singular—

all nations would be blessed.

It continued with the children of Israel,

whom God delivered from slavery in Egypt

and with whom he formed a covenant at Mount Sinai.

Most of our Bible is about God’s work among this people.

They were chosen to be a mirror; to reflect God’s glory to the world.

That his people so often proved poor mirrors

actually makes the story more powerful,

because it shows that God’s purpose always prevails 

despite human failure.

The plan was that this Chosen People would give the world a Messiah.

I emphasize, a choice God made.

Let me pause here to notice something disturbing in our time.

There is a revival of an ancient darkness called anti-Semitism.

Some of it takes the form of violence and harassment,

including that terrible attack in Australia recently;

and we have seen violence in our own country as well.

There is also a slicker form online:

popular personalities who deny the Holocaust

and peddle crackpot race theories,

all with a smile, promising the “inside story.”

I do not want this to be my main point, but I must say it clearly:

this hostility toward the Jews is crackpot and Satanic.

Remember: God chose a Jewish mother for himself,

and chose to become a Jew himself.

As Saint Paul says in Romans,

“The gifts and the call of God are irrevocable.”

Now, returning to the meaning of this day,

something else happens: the Messiah is given his name.

This connects beautifully to the first reading,

where Aaron blesses the people with the Name of God.

Allow me a short detour into history.

God revealed his Name to Moses in the burning bush: “I AM WHO AM.”

So great was the reverence for this Name that, over time,

it was almost never pronounced aloud.

Yet on the annual Day of Atonement,

the high priest would speak the Divine Name,

And the people fell on their faces.

Picture that scene.

Now return to the Gospel:

the baby Jesus is circumcised and named.

This involves shedding a small amount of blood.

Even as we celebrate Christmas, 

the shadow of the Cross falls across the crib.

Still, the point remains that, on this occasion,

the Divine Name is spoken, a new Divine Name:

Jesus, which means “God saves.”

So, we come to the first, the last, and the best mirror: Jesus himself.

Scripture often speaks of the “face of God,”

emphasizing that to see His Face was impossible, even deadly.

But with Jesus’ birth, God now truly has a human face.

Mary gives us this Gift;

God, through the Jewish people, gives us this Gift. 

Will you be a mirror?

Saint Paul reminds us 

that you and I have been adopted into this family.

Isn’t this our calling—to be his mirror?