August 3. 2025 18th Sunday in Ordinary Time Luke 12:13-21
Recent studies suggest that millennials will be the first generation in America to be worse off than their parents in terms of financial earnings and job status. Many lament this. I propose that this week’s Gospel provides a hopeful way to see the trend as good news.
The Lord Jesus says, “Take care to guard against greed, for though one may be rich, one’s life does not consist in possessions”(Luke 12:15). Greed damages us with the deception that we are what we possess. But to Jesus, this is simply not true. What makes us happy is who we are, who we become.
Does not the expectation that every generation should do better than their parents subtly mask the poison of greed? A similar attitude is mirrored in the man who demands that Jesus justly arrange his share of the family inheritance. Despite the injustice, Jesus will not play that game. In fact, he seems to prefer that the man have less than his parents. What good would having more be to this man if he becomes enslaved and miserable by greed? What good would it be for us to have more if it means we become much less?
In allowing the man to have less, Jesus opens a space for him to become more: a man free to love. In that much more meaningful sense, perhaps he was better off than his parents. Maybe the millennials will be, too.
July 27. 2025 17th Sunday in Ordinary Time Luke 11:1-13
Once I went to a hospice facility to celebrate Last Rites for a elderly dying man. His family had told me that he had been uncommunicative for days. At the conclusion of the ritual, we began to recite the Our Father prayer. To everyone’s surprise, his lips moved, clearly mouthing the words to the Lord’s prayer. Stripped of most of his faculties, the man could still pray those precious God-given petitions. A lifetime of prayer had planted the words even deeper than his failing consciousness.
Do we want the Lord’s prayer to be as deeply embedded in us? If we want to be people of hope, we should. Recall that our Lord immediately follows the prayer by saying: “Ask, and it will be given to you; search, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened to you”(Luke 11:9). We only ask, search and knock because we hope that the request is not in vain. Everything we could possibly hope for is contained in the prayer. Praying the Our Father deepens our hope.
We should consciously pour all our hopes into the Lord’s prayer; we should allow it to be an expression of hope, not simply rote words. Then, over time, it builds up our hope in God. It sinks deep into our souls and bodies. How blessed we are when these words of hope are on our lips, even when everything else seems to fail.
July 20. 2025 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time Luke 10:38-42
One of my close friends is a hermit priest who lives on a desert mountain. Recently I found myself in a group conversation about him. One vehemently objected, “What does he do up there all day? Nothing! Priests are down here working, running parishes, making a difference, and he…he is doing nothing! What a waste.” The words dripped with indignation and resentment. Most of the group quietly nodded in silent agreement. Were they correct?
No! To see why, consider a similar scenario in this week’s gospel. Jesus visits his friends Martha and Mary. A hardworking and exasperated Martha complains to Jesus that her sister is attending to him rather than to urgent household tasks. Our Lord, rather than praising hospitality, explicitly celebrates the less productive sister for doing the “one necessary thing.” He praises her for she “has chosen the better part”(Luke 10:42). Mary is busy doing what matters.
Before we freak out like Martha, consider that all work–domestic, manual, professional, ministerial, contemplative–is done to help us (sooner or later) to experience the love that makes us happy. We should be thankful for those who focus on the “better part” of radical, ceaseless prayer. They invite us to remember the purpose of all work is the enjoyment of love. Contemplatives, hermits, any- one fervently committed to prayer–they invite us to cast aside our forgetful, resentful, and self-aggrandizing attitudes in exchange for hearts ready to do what is finally necessary.
July 13. 2025 15th Sunday in Ordinary Time Time Luke 10:25-37
I used to be a bad neighbor. I’d get wrapped up in my life and ignore those around me. Then I found sage advice from Benjamin Franklin to this effect: to be a better neighbor, ask someone to do a favor for you. It’s counterintuitive, isn’t it? Tell strangers that I need their help? Yuck. I’ll risk looking needy. Worse, I’ll be indebted to them. But I tried it, and it works like a charm. Recently I asked my neighbor Alan for a hacksaw, and Inga for an egg. They kindly obliged, and our friendship is growing.
This week we hear a scribe of the law cynically ask Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?”(Luke 10:29). Like him, we prefer to keep the list of our “neighbors” as short as possible. It requires less interruption and inconvenience. But when Jesus tells the parable of the Good Samaritan, he exposes the lonely, cold-heartedness tendency of the scribe’s (and our) heart. My “neighbor” is anyone I encounter who manifests a concrete need. There isn’t time to require any other credential because human need opens us to the happy reciprocity which is love.
Jesus’ words challenge us this week to ask a neighbor for help in some small way. How marvelous that God himself shows us how. He moves into our world and asks us to love Him with small deeds of love. Maybe that’s where Ben Franklin got the idea.
July 6. 2025 14th Sunday in Ordinary Time Luke 10:1-12, 17-20
In the days after the awful 2020 killing of George Floyd, a Catholic friend remarked, “Racism is today’s great evil. We should put all our energy into fighting it.”I admired her intuition that the church must stand firmly against evil. Amen, I thought. At the same time, something felt wrong. As months went by, I saw her steadily slide into bitterness and anger. Soon, despondency. She spoke of giving up the fight. Don’t we too wonder how to fight evil without losing our joy or energy?
Jesus’ words this week help. He says, “Rejoice not that you have power over demons, but that your names are written in heaven” (Luke 10:20). Notice the asymmetry in where he wants our focus: on the latter, not the former. Should we confidently embrace our God-given power to overcome evil? Absolutely. But even more so, we should emphasize the positive element of our relationship to God. It is tempting but dangerous to define ourselves by what we oppose. It is better to define ourselves by–to rejoice in–what we celebrate: in Jesus, God has written our names in heaven. This sustains our battles
This week, our marching orders are: fight evil. But more deeply, rejoice that God knows and loves us personally, individually. We allow this joyful knowledge to undergird our fight against the darkness of our day. Then we enjoy long-term stability to be cheerful warriors, who never forget the reason for the contests we are called to fight and win: love.
June 29, 2025 St. Peter and Paul, Apostles Matthew 16:13-19
What do you call brothers who are born on the same day? Twins, of course. That is what we celebrate today in the inestimable saints, Peter and Paul. Wait: twins? Yes. The early Church believed that Peter and Paul were martyred in Rome on the same day. Since the day of martyrdom is celebrated as a saints’ birth into eternal life, the result is striking Peter and Paul are twins in God’s family, the Church.
Who should care about this? Well, anyone who longs to live in a world marked by love and peace. Remember, the Romans believed that twins, Romulus and Remus, founded their city through an act of fratricide, the former murdering the latter. Sadly, the structures of this fallen world emerge through violence between those who should love each other. But in the Church, a new city has been founded upon this new set of twins, embodying the non-violent power of Jesus’ cross and resurrection.
That’s why traditional icons represent Peter and Paul in a fraternal and warm embrace. Contrasted with the violence of Rome’s founders, it challenges us with a bold claim: do we believe that structures of merciful love are more powerful and lasting than those based on power, violence, and domination? Am I willing to see others in my life as my “twin,” with whom I am called to give my life for Christ, or as my rival? Am I committed to living what is embodied in Romulus and Remus, or in Peter and Paul?
June 22, 2025 The Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ Trinity Luke 9:11-17
A Catholic friend of mine occasionally says, “The Eucharist is not a noun. It’s a verb.” In so saying, he is making the point that the Eucharist isn’t simply Jesus’ bodily presence given to us in holy Communion. It also manifests the dynamic pattern by which Christ actively loves and saves us. He teaches us to cooperate with that pattern. This Eucharist actually embodies four verbs: Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and gives. Let’s consider each one.
He takes: Do we acknowledge that we are totally in God’s hands? Do we receive everything in our lives as a gift, and act responsibly with it?
He blesses: Do we actively reflect that Jesus makes us holy in our baptism? Do we embrace our bodies and souls as temples of God, worthy of love, peace, and joy?
He breaks: Do we run from failure and disappointment, from getting old or being ignored? Are we too worried about getting hurt or sick? Do we embrace our sufferings with confidence?
He gives: Are we willing to make our lives a gift for others? Are we confident that we will always have enough love to give to others, that God will always provide enough for us? Do we rejoice in giving away what we have to others, expecting nothing in return? This is the dynamic life the Eucharist empowers us to live.
Deacon Ken’s Homily for The Most Holy Trinity, Father’s Day
My favorite Contemporary Christian singer is Rich Mullins. Rich is the guy who wrote the song “Awesome God”. If you’ve heard any Contemporary Christian music at all you’ve heard his songs. One of my favorite songs is called “Ready for the Storm”. Rich sets up the song with a story about folks from Ireland. In Ireland, the country is pretty small, and the ground is not sufficient to support all of the people with food, so some men and women too I suspect have to go to the fishing grounds so that all might be able to eat. The sea around Ireland is extremely restless, and the coasts are riddled with large boulders that can bash a ship into little pieces. Quite a few deaths occur every year because of the tumultuous seas. Since most people in Ireland wear big bulky sweaters to stay warm, the families of the sailors sew trinkets, good luck charms and intricate patterns into their sailor’s sweater so in case their bodies wash up on the shore, they will be recognized, because… fish don’t eat wool. Then the song begins.
In the first verse the sailor asks for mercy when he is out to sea, and he tells of the comfort of seeing the lighthouse though the waves are crashing and the lightning strikes are fierce and the wind cuts cold to the sailor’s bone and to his very soul.
The second verse tells of the sailor missing his family and says that the distance his work puts between them is no friend. When the sky clears, he cries a tear that he has to put his family through the worrisome time when he is out to sea. It is truly out of his love for his family that he goes to sea.
In the last verse the sailor says the Lord takes him by the hand and he loves the sailor, and the sailor comes to realize he had no reasons to be frightened, because he is ready for the storm. It is a song about the love a sailor has for his family and his God.
I think the song exemplifies what the Holy Trinity is all about. God is our lighthouse. If we look for him, we can find him. He can’t be hidden behind tumultuous waves or angry storm clouds. Fierce winds can’t blow us from His side or separate us from Him. God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit.
With Jesus, we are family. Jesus doesn’t like the distance that we sometimes put between us and Him. He willingly went to the cross, sacrificing himself that you and I might live in the kingdom God has planned for us. Jesus draws us nearer and nearer to Him each and every time we participate in the Eucharist.
God sent us the Holy Spirit to guide us to all truth. The Holy Spirit takes our hand and leads us through the storms of life. Through the working of the Holy Spirit, we come to find hope, wisdom, peace, endurance and the strengthening of our faith. Though the storms of life seem to want to shatter our faith, the Holy Spirit prepares us and then strengthens us to endure whatever difficulties life wants to throw at us. The Trinity is an example of God’s love for His people. Rich continues his story: One day, you and I will wash up on the shores of the Jordan river. Jesus and the angels will be there. The angel will say: “What is that?!”. Jesus will say: “That one is mine”. The angel will say: “How do you know that one is yours? It doesn’t even look human! Jesus will point to us and say: “Well, do you see that sweater they’ve got on”.Isn’t it comforting to know that God constantly seeks us out, that Jesus paid the price for our salvation, and that the Holy Spirit will guide us through the storms we face. A most happy Father’s Day to all of you Fathers, and spiritual Fathers too.
Sailor story paraphrased from “Rich Mullins: Live from Lufkin Texas”
Deacon Ken Stewart
June 15, 2025 The Most Holy Trinity John 16:12-15
I am amazed at how my four siblings teach their many kids in age-appropriate ways. For example, now that my nephew Brandon is 24 years of age, they give him insights and freedoms that would have been positively confounding or even dangerous when he was a toddler. Imagine if they had taught him at age four how to drive a car, use a credit card online, or handle power tools. But eventually, they did, and he is a high functioning young man, I’m proud to say. They are good teachers.
This week we learn that Jesus teaches us in a similar way. He says to his Apostles, “I have much more to tell you, but you cannot bear it now” (John 16:12). How disappointing for them. But imagine at that moment, before his resurrection and ascension, if the Lord had started telling them about synods and sacraments, popes and parishes, martyrs and monasteries, rosaries and relics, catechisms and crucifixes? They would have been absolutely overwhelmed, confused, and discouraged. He tells them what they need to know, when it is time for them to know it.
So, he does for us. Jesus has unceasingly taught the Church as she matures through the centuries, just as he teaches you and me through our lives in ways we can understand. Our task should be to learn what he is teaching us now, knowing that (although revelation per se is complete in him and his Apostles), he never ceases to teach us as we spiritually mature. Be confident: he knows what you are ready to learn now.
When I was a seminarian almost 20 years ago, a bank vice president taught us etiquette classes. She said, “Gentlemen, please make sure your breath isn’t bad. Take some breath mints before you hear confessions, okay?” We nervously laughed because the proximity that makes breath noticeable (whether pleasant or not) can be a bit awkward.
When Jesus breathes on his Apostles (John 20:22), he must have been within inches of at least some of them. This closeness of his breath has a purpose: the purpose of forgiveness of sins. “Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them”(John 20:23). Why in the world would the almost uncomfortable closeness of his breath forgive sins?
In the Bible, breath is spirit or wind. It comes from above and makes that which is below to have identity. To not have a single identity is to be multiple, divided. The word “sin”comes from an ancient word that means “to split” or “render asunder.” Sin divides us sinners and the world around us; our spiritual “breath” leaves us and our identity splinters. Only breath from above restores. For example, a shattered vase is rendered whole because the craftsman breathes the spirit of the vase back into it when he repairs it. A human being shattered by sin is made whole by the breath of God, breathed by Jesus through his priests. His breath alone forgives sins. It’s always done with his gentle, loving closeness.
The famous 20th century St. Padre Pio said once that he would wait outside the gates of heaven until the people in his life had entered. I’m not sure that I, or frankly many people I know, would say that and mean it. Yet that is precisely the kind of attitude we see in Jesus as he prays for us in the Gospel today. Having celebrated the Ascension of the Lord just a few days ago, we now hear the Son of God at the Last Supper pray to his Father “that they may be brought to perfection as one” (John 17:23). What does this mean for us?
I’d wager that we are not surprised that Jesus wants to make us perfect — that is, happy, whole, and healed. The shocker is that he desires this for us collectively and not just individually. Perfection is a team sport. We need each other to be perfect. Jesus is like a mother longing for her adult children to learn how to be in loving support of one another. He wants the perfection of his disciples to be not some individualistic plan of moral uprightness, but a loving communion of brothers and sisters.
Let’s apply this practically. Do I see my participation at Mass as something I do merely for my own peace and edification, or as something I do with and for the people around me? Do I see my ongoing need for forgiveness as something that simply makes me feel better, or as a task that heals those around me, too? Is my dearest hope to individually get to heaven when I die, or is it to be part of the great procession of souls, together marching towards the heavenly Jerusalem? Do I want to be in heaven with people I currently find difficult? How would my life change if I did?
Jonathan Haidt’s 2024 book entitled “The Anxious Generation” argues that today’s kids are marked by significant increases in anxiety, as the title suggests. Smartphones, social media, economic uncertainty, the chaos of a global pandemic, fear regarding climate change, and the so-called “meaning crisis” all contribute to strikingly high levels of anxiety in young people today. I’m a bit older than this generation, but I feel it, too. The world can be too much to handle.
The Gospel this week offers a stunning solution for troubled souls. To his overwhelmed and anxious disciples, the risen Jesus says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you”(John 14:27). His peace is that of the one who was overwhelmed on the cross and then conquered death by the power of his divinity, his bond of love with the Father. He offers us this unshakeable peace.
Of course, mental illness does not magically disappear because of the risen Jesus. But he does walk with us and offer us his peace in the midst of our suffering. The peace the world gives is not like his because it is weak, uncertain, and self-generated. Jesus’ peace is strong, sure, and given as a gift from God. He gives it to us amid our anxiety. Will you receive it as a gift? I hope so. He wants to fill the hearts of this generation with his peace.
I’ve always found it amazing that Jesus never says to his disciples the straightforward and bumper stickery words “I love you” or “I will always love you” (a la Dolly Parton’s song). Why doesn’t Jesus say, “I love you”?
Well, actually he does, but in particular ways. He says, “As the Father loves me, so I love you”(John 15:9) there by rooting his love for us in the space of the Holy Trinity. This week he commands, “Love another as I have loved you”(John 13:34). He presents his love for us as a completed action which continues into the present moment. How has he loved us? By becoming one of us, one with us, and finally giving his life for us in his suffering on the cross. We weren’t there when he did that, but neither were his Apostles (except one). Still, that action is his great “I love you” to us.
His love is also hedged in a command: “Love one another.” So how can we practically follow it? The great St. John XXIII wrote in his diary that each day he followed this rule: “Only for today, I will do one good deed and not tell anyone about it.”The hidden nature of a good deed is a sign that it is truly loving. This week, take on St. John XXIII’s practical method of following Jesus’ great commandment of love. It’s a splendid way to say, “I love you.”
A few years back, I felt as if I couldn’t hear God’s voice the way I used to. The words in the Bible seemed like cold ink on a page. Prayer felt like sitting anxiously in a lonely room. I was worried — how could I, a priest, preach or help others if I couldn’t hear God’s voice? It went on for months.
Then a friend encouraged me to go on a retreat and spend as much time as possible in silence. After a day or two of quiet prayer, I noticed gentle but clear thoughts of repentance in two specific areas of my life. I asked God for the grace to change, and I went to confession. Suddenly, the divine silence that haunted me was filled with a sense of God’s closeness and goodness. I realized, gratefully, that God had been speaking to me in the quiet voice of my conscience.
This week we hear Jesus say, “My sheep hear my voice. I know them and they follow me”(John 10:27). Jesus links the hearing of his voice to following him. He speaks to us in our conscience in an intimate, personal way, when we most need to hear him. When you feel deaf to God’s voice, perhaps it is time to listen in silence for His voice in your conscience calling you to hear and follow the Good Shepherd of your soul.
I eat breakfast. If I don’t have something substantial, I’m fading by midmorning. Breakfast is my key meal because it sets up my physical wellbeing for the rest of the day.
Spiritually speaking, we need sustenance to get us going. This is true for the Apostles in this Sunday’s remarkable Gospel reading. The risen Jesus makes his third appearance to them in the early morning light and calls, “Come, have breakfast” (John 21:12). The exhausted and cold fishermen sit, and he feeds them bread and fish as the dawn breaks. They are overwhelmed by his presence to the point of awestruck silence. As they eat, their bodies and their hearts come alive. Once refreshed by their morning meal, they will be ready to feed others — indeed, the whole world — with the love of the risen Jesus. But first, they need breakfast from him.
Do you realize how essential early morning prayer is? Jesus desires to refresh us every morning with his word of love, with his grace-filled presence. This week, hear Jesus calling to you: “Come, have breakfast!” Embrace some form of spiritual, meditative practice each morning for spiritual strength to get you going.
It’s common for Catholics to hear the question, “Why do I have to go to a priest to have my sins forgiven?” I’ve never liked that question because not only is it clunky (confession is the ordinary way for the pardoning of serious sins, not lesser ones). But it misses the larger context: the wonderful origins of the sacrament itself. And this context is deeply Jewish.
Ancient Jews associated forgiveness of sins with priests offering sacrifices in the Jerusalem temple. It was a solemn, public, and tangible way to access God’s mercy. So when the risen Jesus breathes on the Apostles and says, “Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained”(John 20:23), the upshot is remarkable: he is the new temple, and his Apostles are the new priests. Jerusalem is no longer the place to find forgiveness from sin. Jesus’ body, the Church, is.
So why should we go to the Sacrament of Confession? For the same reason ancient Jews went to the temple in Jerusalem: to experience the intimacy, joy, and life-giving power of God’s eternal forgiveness.
When I was a young boy, my parents told me about their wedding. Then a few years later, they showed me my mother’s wedding dress and my dad’s suit. It was astonishing to see and touch garments that connected me to the event that led to my existence. Of course, I already believed they were married based on their word. But these holy garments made the event real and tangible for me.
Something like this is at play when St. John reports encountering in Jesus’ tomb, “the cloth that had covered his head, not with the burial cloths but rolled up in a separate place”(John 20:7). Those two separate cloths, for his head and for his body respectively, meant a great deal to St. John and to the early Christians. Some years after the resurrection, there surfaced reports of two cloths with unusual characteristics, one bearing the image of a crucified man’s body, another smaller one with the image of a wounded man’s face. Some call them the Shroud of Turin and the Veil of Manoppello; they both can be seen today.
These two cloths have a long and complicated history, and scholars debate aspects of them. If you’re curious, I encourage you to read about them. To be clear, I believe in the resurrection of Jesus because of the testimony of eyewitnesses and the gift of faith in the Church. Nevertheless, seeing these two mysterious cloths have made the life-giving event of Jesus’ resurrection more real and tangible for me. Maybe they will for you, too.
May 11, 2025