First Communion homily for 5th Sunday of Easter

 Notice what’s going on in the readings…

Saint Peter told us that God is building a very special house: 

you and I are “living stones.”

Then, notice Jesus also mentions a house: 

the Father’s House, and it has lots of rooms.

And Jesus also told us that the way to get there is he, himself. 

He’s the heavenly GPS.

But then notice, with all that hopeful talk, there is a problem.

We heard it in the first reading.

Prejudice and division among the first Christians: 

“We! They! They’re different; we don’t like them! It’s unfair!”

Then and now, this “us-versus-them” behavior creates real wounds.

But the Holy Spirit wasn’t daunted and worked through the Apostles.

He works through you and me, too, in looking past differences.

Still: if the business of turning people into saints, 

and making this world the Paradise God wants it to be, were easy, 

then the job would have been finished a long, long time ago!

So, for example, maybe Jesus wouldn’t have created the sacraments; 

he could have just sent us a membership card.

But he didn’t do that. 

And notice, while we only get baptized once, 

we don’t only go to confession once;

we don’t take part in Mass only once, and receive the Eucharist once;

at least, that’s not how it is meant to work.

He knew we’d need a lot more than that.

Today some of our children will have their First Holy Communion.

But I want to explain something you may not realize.

In reality, you have already had a kind of communion.

“Communion” is actually a simple word that means “union with.”

The perfect, fullest communion is God himself: 

Father, Son and Holy Spirit. They are totally, completely one.

The communion God wants us to enjoy with him began in baptism. 

The Eucharist is God’s plan for sustaining and deepening that union.  

“Communion” isn’t just a special event on a calendar.

If that union with God were a simple thing, it would be like, 

“I’m taking a shower, presto-chango, yay, now I’m a saint!”

But instead, it’s a journey. The seed of faith is planted and grows.

Baptism, confirmation, frequent confession, Sunday Mass,

Our family, our friends, we pray together, we help each other…

And little by little, God changes us from chunky blocks 

with sharp edges that can’t fit together – “ouch!”

To well-shaped stones that fit; that cooperate.

And the mortar that holds it all together is love.

I don’t just mean the feeling.

Love is a choice, a series of choices that don’t always feel good.

Boys and girls, your parents get up every day, 

usually earlier than they want to.

They work hard to make a home and provide what you need.

There are a lot of things our parents would love to have 

but what the family needs comes first.

When my mom did the laundry, or my dad paid the bills,

They didn’t feel exactly “good.” 

But those – and a million other choices my parents, 

and your parents make – equals love.

It’s hard to become truly loving and truly generous.

And notice, Peter didn’t call us marshmallows, which are soft!

He called us “stones.” They’re hard!

It takes a lot of hammer blows and patience to reshape that stone.

That’s why it’s essential to be living stones, 

letting the Holy Spirit soften us up and help us want to change.

So maybe now we can understand better why Jesus did what he did.

He didn’t just send you and me a card; 

he didn’t just say, “here are the instructions.” 

No. God himself came to us, as one of us.

He said, I’m going to lay down my life for you – and he died!

That’s not love-talk, that’s love-action. The fullest possible.

And now, in the Mass, and the Eucharist, 

he continues to lay down his life for you and me.

When we receive the Holy Eucharist, we draw life from his life.

Just as the Holy Spirit reshaped the early Christians,

He wants to transform you and me. 

Day by day, Communion by Communion.

The Shepherd & the Eucharist (4th Sunday of Easter homily)

 This Sunday is called ‘Shepherd Sunday’ 

because the readings show us Jesus, the Perfect Shepherd, 

and Saint Peter, an imperfect shepherd. Imperfect: that’s what I am!

The next three weeks at several of our Masses,

our second graders will come to Holy Communion for the first time. 

Although we aren’t celebrating First Communions at this Mass, 

many of us have family members or friends receiving the Eucharist 

for the first time in the coming weeks. 

It’s an awesome moment in their lives, and in ours.

Notice in the Gospel, Jesus mentioned 

a “thief,” a “robber,” and a “stranger.”

And Jesus’ point is, he is not any of those things.

Sometimes people think God wants to take things from us.

To take our freedom or things we like to do.

The truth is, Jesus only takes away what hurts us.

Above all, he takes our sins away, otherwise, they will kill us – 

not just in terms of this life, but kill eternal life in us.

Jesus doesn’t steal. He gives.

And right here, this is why it is absolutely necessary 

to know that the Holy Eucharist is not a mere symbol, 

and it absolutely is not merely bread or wine. 

When the priest stands at the altar, 

and Jesus speaks through the priest, 

the bread and wine are wholly changed,

and in their place are Jesus’ own Body and Blood, 

with the mere appearance of bread and wine.

Isn’t it obvious that there’s a world of difference 

between saying Jesus gives us bread and wine, versus,

Jesus gives us his own Body and Blood?

Anyone can give you a snack; or a symbol, like a picture.

But that’s not what the Eucharist is.

Jesus gives each of us his whole, entire self.

So when you and I share Holy Communion – 

in faith, suitably spiritually prepared, 

including going to confession if necessary – 

Jesus gives himself, all of himself. 

There is nothing we shall want.

On Christmas, we all love to get lots of presents, right?

It’s wonderful to find yet another one under the tree.

But imagine getting a gift that was so amazing, so awesome, 

you didn’t even want any other gift after that!

That’s what the Holy Eucharist is! Because the Eucharist is Jesus.

Some people can be skeptical about the distinction 

between the “reality” of the Eucharist versus the “appearance,”

and respond, “you’re still admitting, it’s really only bread and wine.”

No. What we are saying is, this is a miracle.

And here’s at least one reason Jesus chose to do it this way: 

When He instituted the Eucharist, 

would anyone have preferred that it also look and taste 

like real flesh and blood? 

Of course not! That would be repulsive.

So, in His goodness, Jesus gives us Himself entirely, 

yet in a way that is approachable and gracious: 

truly Him, but accessible as ordinary food.

Some of those second graders 

who will make their First Communion, not this weekend, 

but perhaps in the next two, are here now.

Boys and girls, I want to thank you.

You don’t realize how much the rest of us need this moment too, 

so we can be reminded of how wonderful this Gift is 

and be strengthened by your reverence.

And our Shepherd, Jesus, has a role for every one of us.

Our First Communicants always inspire us by their simple awe.

You and I can imitate that awe and reflect it back to them. 

As much as we priests and deacons strive to shepherd our children,

you parents remain their first and most persuasive witnesses. 

In the first two readings, Peter summoned people to faith 

and reminded us that we, too, will share in the trials of Christ.

In the Gospel, Jesus mentions the “voice” that his sheep will recognize. 

That voice is meant to sound through each of us. 

How does this look in daily life?

Each of us can invite others to faith and 

gently encourage one another to go deeper in prayer and holiness.

Our daily lives show others the perseverance in hope 

that Peter speaks of. 

These tasks and more are why our parish family exists.

Today, invite Jesus, our Shepherd, to work through you!

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.”