No Pain, No Gain (26th Sunday, Year C)

 To listen to this homily, click here.

It’s not every day you get to preach on Habakkuk. In fact, it’s not even every year that he shows up in the Mass readings. For that reason, we must take some time to hear what he has to say. Habakkuk is one of the “minor prophets.” Which doesn’t mean he’s unimportant; it just means he didn’t write as much as the major prophets like Isaiah or Jeremiah. His whole book is only three short chapters, but what he says packs a punch.

He lived during a frightening time for the southern kingdom of Judah. They were on the verge of being conquered by the Babylonians, who were feared as one of the most ruthless empires of the ancient world and unstoppable armies of their time. Their brutality was unprecedented; similar to how we might view groups like Al-Qaida or ISIS today.

Not so long ago, the northern kingdom had been wiped out by Assyria, and Judah had mostly shrugged it off. They lived in comfort, convinced such disaster could never touch them. But now, the enemy was at the gate and terror was about to envelop God’s Chosen ones.

Habbakuk, on behalf of the people, challenges God and says, “how long are you going to let this go on?” We cry out to do you and you do nothing.” Not a good idea to call out God! The prophet and the people get an answer back from the Lord, much of which is cut out of our reading today. God replies he is doing something amazing, so amazing that if he told Habbakuk, he wouldn’t believe it. He is allowing Babylon to conquer and destroy his own people as part of the Divine Plan. This would be like God saying, “I will let ISIS be victorious over America and it is all part of my design. Just have faith.” No one, then or now would believe it! With the perspective of time, we see God does just that with the Babylonians. It doesn’t happen right away; in fact, it takes a number of generations. But in the end, a Persian King named Cyrus, sets the Israelites free and sends them home. Not only that, he even gives them money, materials, and craftsmen to rebuild the temple and offer pleasing worship to God. 

But first the Israelites have to be punished. For generations they have ignored the poor and suffering. The people closest to the Lord, they have scorned. God’s people have fallen in love with the things of this world and the comforts they offer. As a nation, they put their trust in acquiring riches, power, and prestige. They stopped worrying about what pleases the Lord and instead spent their energy trying to please the world around them. Worst of all, instead of spreading the message of mercy, salvation, worship that came from their covenant with God, they remained silent and ashamed about their special relationship with God. 

God never stops loving his people but they have become so wicked that they will only turn back to him when they see their self-appointed idols of riches, power, and worldly alliances fall apart. Their hearts have become completely hardened. 

Only a person with the gift of Faith, could trust that God would work through the Babylonians. Only a person with Faith can avoid having a hardened heart to the voice of God, as we prayed in our psalm. Only a person with faith can bear their share of hardship for the gospel, as St. Paul encourages Timothy to do in the second reading. And if a person has even the smallest portion of true faith, Jesus assures us that they could say to a tree, “be uprooted and cast into the sea” and that would indeed happen.

The obvious connection between all the Scriptures this weekend then is the gift of faith. With it, we can see God’s hand and his care for us, even in the darkest moments of human history. If Faith informs our daily living, we can be like St. Paul, in prison, writing one of his last communications before execution, and still be full of care and encouragement for others. 

There is another, darker side to the coin as well. Without faith in God, the kind of faith that wants nothing more than to know, love, and serve him, we decline spiritually at a rapid pace, both as individuals and as a society. I found myself thinking about this sobering point repeatedly as I wrestled with the readings for today. Maybe that’s why so many preachers skip over this first reading and simply talk about faith without the troubling background of Babylon looming over the Southern Kingdom. The context of Habakuk raises the uncomfortable possibility that we, as modern Christians, have become blind to or tolerant of the substantial suffering of our most vulnerable brothers and sisters. How often do we cry out for God to save us and put an end to the ills of our society, horrible things like mass shootings, corrupt politicians, hypocritical clergy, broken homes, and the epidemics of suicide, anxiety, depression, and addiction. And yet, at the same time we have become largely numb to things like abortion, experimentation on humans at the embryonic stage, human trafficking, the constant death and degradation of refugees around the world, homelessness and the objectification of people for profit and pleasure. 

Will God respond to our prayer for deliverance as he did to Habakuk? That He is indeed doing something amazing, so amazing we wouldn’t believe it if He told us because of our lack of faith. Could it be that many of us in our country and in our Church have hardened our hearts so much that we cannot return to God until we have been purified by suffering and loss, just as the Israelites were? Not an easy thing to consider for sure. But the parallels between their times and ours are eerily similar. 

Only faith will enable us to see God working amidst the sin, sadness, and tragedy that is all too common in our times. Only faith will soften our hearts and move us to work with God to build lives, families, and communities that are righteous, compassionate, and focussed on helping others and offering right worship to the Lord. We receive the gift of faith in small, concrete decisions made each day regarding our relationship with God. We soften our hearts by making time daily to pray and listen to God, reading his Scriptures, going on retreat, and looking to serve others in the name of Jesus, especially the poor, forgotten, vulnerable and inconvenient. We need to make our own the prayer of the apostles today; “Lord, increase our faith.” Even if we just have a little, it can accomplish incredible things. So please, Lord, give it to us. Make us willing to suffer and do whatever it takes to be faith-filled people. Increase our faith today, tomorrow, and every day, amen!

"Doing No Harm" Isn't Enough (26th Sunday, Year C)

To listen to this homily, click here.

There’s a saying we sometimes use when we want to justify ourselves: “Well, at least I didn’t do anything wrong.” We say that line as though it were a moral shield or spiritual mulligan, as though simply avoiding sin is the same thing as doing good. But today’s readings challenge us to go deeper. They remind us that holiness is not found in being comfortable or in patting ourselves on the back because we didn’t hurt anyone. Holiness is found in using what God has given us, our time, our talents, our resources, for the sake of others, especially those who are struggling, overlooked, or pushed to the margins.

The prophet Amos doesn’t mince words in the first reading. He condemns the people of Zion who are lying around on ivory couches, feasting on fine meats, drinking wine by the bowlful, and slathering themselves with the best oils. None of those things are wrong in themselves. The problem is that they are so wrapped up in their comfort, self-care, and enjoyment that they are blind to the collapse of their nation and the suffering of their people. Their comfort has made them complacent and blind to the needs of others.

Then Jesus gives us the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. You know the story. The rich man is clothed in purple and fine linen and dines lavishly every day. Just outside his door lies Lazarus, a poor man covered in sores, who goes hungry and is ignored day after day.

Notice something important: the parable never says that the rich man harmed Lazarus. He didn’t kick him, mock him, or have him thrown out by the police. He did something even worse; he acted as if he didn’t exist. And that’s the point. The sin of Dives is not cruelty but indifference. His wealth and comfort blinded him to the humanity of the man at his doorstep and hardened his heart to the point he no longer noticed Lazarus as a fellow human being.

Even after death, the Rich Man still doesn’t see Lazarus as a person. When he cries out from the flames, he doesn’t speak to Lazarus directly. He asks Abraham to send Lazarus as though he was a servant. “Send Lazarus to bring me water. Send Lazarus to warn my brothers.” The rich man can only think of Lazarus as someone to use, never as someone to love.

That’s the danger of comfort and complacency. They shrink our hearts until we no longer see the people in front of us as fellow children of God and brothers and sisters in Christ.

Here’s where this parable hits home for us. By any global measure, each household of Incarnate Word would land in the top 10-15% of the world’s most materially blessed. We may not feel like high rollers when bills come due, but we are among the most extravagant people who have ever lived in history. We have abundant food, clean water, sturdy shelter, endless entertainment, and countless conveniences at our fingertips. 

Those things aren’t bad, but they can lull us into a dangerous blindness and complacency if we’re not careful. We can sit on our couches, scrolling, distracted, listless, while never really seeing the “Lazarus” at our own gate. If we asked God to open our eyes, I think we would all be shocked by how close the poor, the lonely, the addicted, the desperate, the suffering are to our doorsteps. Of particular scandal for us today is that such a wealthy and well-fed society continues to allow its unborn to be slaughtered and so many other children to languish in foster care without a forever family. Are there areas of blindness or indifference that we have accepted in our own life, especially as it relates to his children?

Jesus is clear: discipleship is not measured by what we avoided doing, but by what we actively shared. In Matthew 25, at the Last Judgment, the questions are simple: Did you feed the hungry? Did you clothe the naked? Did you welcome the stranger? Did you visit the sick and imprisoned? Not once does Jesus ask, “Did you avoid hurting anyone?” The measure of a Christian life is not just avoiding sin. The measure is love in action.

And here’s the hopeful part: every one of us has something to share. Some of us have money. Others have time. Others have talents or education or simply a listening ear. Some have social influence or positions of leadership. Every single blessing God has entrusted to us is given not just for our own comfort, but for the good of others.

The rich man in the parable begged Abraham to send someone from the dead to warn his brothers. Abraham’s answer was chilling: “If they will not listen to Moses and the prophets, neither will they be persuaded if someone should rise from the dead.” And yet, for us, someone has risen from the dead. Christ himself is risen, and he is speaking this parable to us today. The only question is: will we be persuaded? Or will we let the comforts of life dull our hearts and blind our eyes from noticing the Lazarus at our gate?

The path of holiness is rarely comfortable. It means getting up from the couch, interrupting our routine, looking beyond ourselves, and giving until it costs something. But in the end, nothing we share is ever lost. It becomes treasure in heaven, it becomes a bond with Christ himself, who promised us: “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.”

So, let’s not settle for the bare minimum of “doing no harm.” Let’s ask ourselves instead: Who is the Lazarus at my doorstep? What blessings has God given me that I can put at the service of others? And then, we must act. Because comfort and complacency may be the enemies of holiness, but love and generosity are at the very heart of what it means to follow Christ. 

Tips For the Children of Light, (25th Sunday, Year C)

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This parable is always a good time! The first impression causes a spiritual double take as we try to figure out if Jesus’ praise of the dishonest steward is encouraging us to become shifty Christians. It reminds me of the story of a young lawyer who was sent to represent a railroad company being sued by a farmer. The farmer’s prize cow had gone missing, and he blamed the railroad. The clever lawyer convinced the farmer to settle out of court for half of what he originally wanted. After the papers were signed and the check was cashed, the lawyer couldn’t help gloating. He said, “You know, I couldn’t have won that case if it had gone to trial. The engineer was asleep, and the fireman was in the caboose when the train passed through your farm that morning. I didn’t have a single witness to put on the stand!” With a smile, the farmer said, “Well, I’ll tell you, young feller, I was a little worried about winning that case myself because that cow came home this morning.”

Both the farmer and the lawyer knew something about shrewdness and so did the steward in Jesus’ parable.

While Jesus is not praising dishonesty, he admires the steward’s cleverness and resourcefulness, his willingness to do anything and everything in his power to ensure his future well-being. Faced with a crisis, the steward used his wits to prepare for what comes next. Jesus’ challenge is simple: if people can be that clever about worldly things, shouldn’t his followers be at least that wise about eternal things?

If we take the time to think about it, we see Jesus’ point all around us. The “children of this world,” as Jesus calls them, the political elites, business tycoons, and most famous celebrities all spend enormous energy planning, investing, networking, and working to secure their future. They build their legacy, store up wealth, strategize for careers, and scheme to get ahead. Jesus asks us: do you put that same energy into preparing for eternity? Do you give as much attention to your soul as your investments, your job, your reputation and your hobbies?

That’s the first takeaway for us. Our faith is not something to be lived halfheartedly or with whatever is leftover after we have done everything else. If the people of this world pour themselves into worldly success, then we, the children of light, must pour ourselves into holiness, into building up the kingdom, into storing up treasure in heaven with all the ingenuity and scrappiness we can muster.

The second takeaway is this: everything we have is on loan. None of it is ours forever. Our money, our possessions, even our lives, all belong to God and we are stewards. One day we will have to give an account of how we used them. This is where the parable stings a little. Each and every one of us will stand before God. Each and every one of us will have to answer the question: What did you do with the time, the talents, the opportunities, and the resources I entrusted to you?

That thought should sober us. There is no such thing as working too hard to ensure eternal happiness and union with God. People will give years of their lives to build a career, decades to pay off a home, countless hours to maintain health and fitness. But what about our souls? What about eternity? That is the one future we can’t afford to neglect.

Here’s the good news: God most often asks us to demonstrate our stewardship by being faithful in small things we are all capable of doing. Most of our lives are made up of little opportunities: a kind word, an honest day’s work, a visit to the lonely, a helping hand, a thoughtful gift. Jesus tells us that how we handle the little things is the best test of how we will handle the big things. To be faithful in small matters is the path to being entrusted with greatest gift of all which is eternal life.

A third takeaway is generosity. Jesus is telling us to use our wealth, our resources, our gifts not to build monuments to ourselves but to establish holy relationships, to help the poor, to serve the kingdom. An old saying puts it well: money can buy everything but happiness, and it can purchase a ticket to every place except heaven. The true measure of our wealth is not what we keep, but what we give away. Every act of love is a deposit in eternity.

And finally, Jesus ends with the stark truth: No servant can serve two masters. We can’t hedge our bets. We can’t pretend to be Christians while serving money, comfort, or self-interest on the side. God wants all of us. Not part-time loyalty, but total devotion.

Today’s Gospel is a call to wake up. It is a call to be wise, to be shrewd in the things of God. To prepare for the ultimate future, which is not just retirement, but eternity. To live as stewards, not owners. To be generous, faithful, and single-hearted in our devotion to God.

Because in the end, each of us will stand before the Lord. We will give an account of our lives. And on that day, no excuse, no cleverness, no shifting of the numbers will matter. What will matter is whether we used God’s gifts for His glory, whether we were faithful in little things, and whether we lived with love.

So let’s not wait until the last minute to start preparing. Let’s begin now, faithfully, generously, wholeheartedly, so one day we may hear those words we all long to hear: “Well done, good and faithful servant. Come, share your master’s joy.”

 

Building a Spiritual Budget (23rd Sunday, Year C)

To listen to this homily, click here.

When I bought my very first new car, I spent a tremendous amount of time researching. By the time I got to the dealership for a test drive, I didn’t really have any questions about the car I was buying; I had read just about every article and review written about it! I had worked the numbers, checked my budget, and felt pretty good about being able to afford it. I was proud of myself; this was my first really big purchase. But then I went to license the vehicle and was hit with an extra cost I hadn’t planned for: the taxes. Suddenly my thorough planning didn’t seem so complete anymore! It was a lesson I learned the hard way, that with any big purchase, there are always hidden costs you’d better prepare for.

Major purchases need careful thought and planning. If you buy a house, you have to think not just about the price tag, but also the taxes, insurance, utilities, and repairs. You want to know if the neighborhood is safe, what schools are nearby, whether you can really afford to live there. We research appliances, electronics, even phones before we buy them because we know neglecting to plan could be disastrous.

As important as this kind of research is, Jesus tells us today that there’s something even more important to plan for: discipleship. Over the past three Sundays, we’ve been hearing a trilogy of saving truths from him. Two weeks ago, he told us we can only enter heaven through the narrow gate. Last Sunday he gave us the key to that gate: humility, “everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” And today, Jesus tells us what that key actually costs: “Any of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.”

It shouldn’t surprise us that the cost of heaven is steep. Jesus says, “calculate the cost.” If you’re going to build a tower, make sure you can finish it. We know that’s true with cars, houses, or anything expensive. And if we want to follow Jesus, which is the only path to eternal life, we need to know the cost up front: everything.

That’s where the challenge comes in. Eternal life is precious, but it requires a willingness to give up anything that stands in the way. Jesus is asking us to take stock of our lives the way we’d look at a budget. What are the hidden costs that might keep us from really following him? You can come up with your list of possibilities but here are a few common ones.

Do I follow Christ in the way I speak to others…or about others? Am I willing to give up gossip, bragging, or putting people down, even if it feels good in the moment? Or is that too steep a cost?

What about my friends? Do they encourage me to grow as a disciple, to make good choices, to respect myself and others? Or do they pull me away from Christ and into things that harm me? Am I willing to let go of those friendships if they keep me from God? Jesus even goes so far as to say we must be willing to let go of family ties if they block our path to him. Is that cost too much?

And then there are our possessions. Am I generous with what I’ve been given? Do I give to the poor, support my parish, share my time and talents? Or do I cling too tightly to what I have? If God asked me for more, would I trust him enough to give it? Or is that too costly?

There are so many areas where Jesus invites us to ask, “Is there anything in my heart that I’ve told him is off limits?” Would I follow if he called me to the priesthood or religious life? Am I willing to work on being more present and kind towards spouse and children? Do I stand up for the dignity of every human life, even when it’s unpopular? Can I trust God enough to let him guide my marriage and family life, letting go of fear, selfishness, or the desire to control?

The cost of discipleship is high, but the promise is eternal life. That’s why Jesus tells us to count the cost, but not to be afraid of it. Whatever he asks of us, he also gives us the strength,  joy, and grace to carry out. And when we put as much effort into our spiritual lives as we do into our financial ones: planning for prayer, budgeting time to deepen our faith, examining the “hidden costs” that keep us from following, we find the freedom and peace that only Christ can give.

As we come to this Eucharist, let’s take the time to calculate the cost and embrace it. To take up our cross and follow after Jesus. Because in the end, he is not just worth the price; he is the one who helps us to pay it and the reward he offers is life without end.

Signs of Vanity (22nd Sunday, Year C)

 To listen to this homily, click here.

One of the challenges when preaching about humility is that many people have an incomplete idea of what the virtue actually looks like. We’ve all run into different misconceptions which tend to be defined by superficial or self-hating parodies. Some think humility means always putting yourself last in line, denying any praise you receive, or brushing off compliments in awkward ways. Others think humility means pretending you don’t have gifts or talents at all. But these are all caricatures and forms of false humility.

True humility doesn’t mean thinking less of yourself; it means thinking of yourself less. Holy humility allows us to look at ourselves with clarity and charity, both the good and the bad, and get a sense of how we appear in the eyes of God. Humility doesn’t deny the gifts God has given, it acknowledges them with joy and gratitude and then asks, “How can I use these gifts for others?”

Sometimes it helps to understand something by looking at its opposite. The opposite of humility is vanity. Vanity is the unhealthy worry about how we look in the eyes of others instead of God.

Now, it’s good to have some self-awareness. We should care about how we present ourselves: basic habits like chewing with our mouth closed, practicing good hygiene, being polite and respectful. Those aren’t vanity, they’re part of healthy consideration for others. Every year when I was in seminary, they would host a dinner class with “Miss Manners” who would attempt to wrangle 100+ seminarians to comport themselves with some dignity. Manners are not about making us fancy or pretentious. They’re about making others feel comfortable and respected. A healthy self-awareness can build bridges between us and those we are around, and those same manners can be used in our relationship with God.

Vanity, however, twists that healthy self-awareness and makes it all about me. It takes something meant to connect us with others and turns it into a spotlight shining back on ourselves.

So how do we know if vanity is creeping into our lives? Let me offer four symptoms to watch for:

First—Everything is always about us. We dominate conversations, fail to listen, and put ourselves first whenever there’s conflict. Even when we are not talking, we are preparing our response to whatever the other person is saying. A humble person makes space for others; truly listens and considers their point of view; a vain person only fills the room with themselves.

Second—We’re never wrong. The first reading says the wise love proverbs…meaning, the wise are teachable and acknowledge how much they don’t know. The humble are willing to learn, even from correction and criticism. The vain, on the other hand, never admit mistakes or always have some excuse. Spiritually, the humble want to see their sins so they can bring them to God for healing. The vain refuse to acknowledge them, thinking it’s weakness. But Jesus reminds us of the irony of the Gospel: the greatest are the servants, the first are the last, and those who admit their weakness are the ones made strong.

Third—We let the opinions of others dictate how we live. We become chameleons, acting one way at church and another way in the world, shifting who we are to win approval. Vanity makes us more concerned with reputation than with relationship; with looking good in front of others instead of being real before God. Part of being real with God is asking for help, admitting confusion with life’s mysteries, and acknowledging our inability to defeat evil by ourselves.

An especially sad example of this has surfaced in recent years whenever evil strikes. After the Annunciation school tragedy this week, some reacted negatively to the flood of promised prayers to the victims and their afflicted community. These voices loudly denounced such prayers as empty, useless, and incomplete; saying, in effect, “we don’t need prayer, we’ll solve this ourselves.” Bishop Robert Barron pointed out that this attitude is not only dismissive of faith, but it’s also a form of pride. To declare that prayer has no place in these moments of suffering is to say that we are sufficient without God, that our wisdom and strength alone will heal what is broken. It reduces prayer to a slogan instead of seeing it as the lifeline that connects us to the One who can transform hearts. And since we are in a life-and-death struggle with evil, prayer is one of the main tools we have. To try and win a spiritual battle with human efforts alone will be a tremendous mistake and always end in failure and even more suffering. 

Humility, on the other hand, never abandons prayer. Yes, we work to solve the problems we face with practical, real-world solutions. But we begin by kneeling before the Lord, admitting that the deepest healing and the truest wisdom will always come from Him. And sometimes, even with prayer, terrible suffering will happen. Why is a mystery. But to give up prayer is to cut ourselves off from the very source of peace and mercy we need most.

Fourth—We hide our true selves from God. Sometimes we tell ourselves, “God thinks I’m perfect just the way I am; there is no need to change, no need for confession, no need for growth.” But if that were true, why did Jesus come? Why did He die on the Cross? Why did He give us the sacraments of mercy and healing? The truth is, God already knows our wounds and sins. Hiding them is vanity. Real humility means coming before Him honestly, acknowledging we need Him, and letting Him heal us in the ways he has established.

Every healthy relationship, whether it’s friendship, marriage, family, or faith, depends on humility and is destroyed by vanity. The vain person is too full of themselves to have room for anyone else. The humble person makes space… for others, for God.

There’s an old saying: “Keep your sanity by remembering two things: first, there is a God. Second, I am not Him.” That’s humility. Faith itself can’t happen without it. We can’t grow closer to God if we’re constantly telling Him how things should be done, instead of letting Him be Lord.

And so, the invitation this Sunday is clear: let go of vanity and embrace true humility. Either we freely choose to learn from God now through prayer, service, and openness to His Word. Or we learn the hard way, by being humbled through our pride. Jesus’ words ring as true today as when He first spoke them: “Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”

Embrace the agony! (21st Sunday, Year C)

 To listen to this homily, click here.

One of the things priests get to do, one of my favorite parts of the job, is answer questions. People are curious about God, about the Church, and sometimes even about our life as clergy. I love going into classrooms, sitting with small groups that have been storing up questions, or hosting a “Bother the Father” session. You never know what people will ask, and you always walk away with a fresh perspective.

Often, when someone asks about the moral teaching of the Church, they’re hesitant to reveal their personal struggle. So the question will come out in terms of a “friend” who has a problem, or in a very detailed “theoretical” situation that doesn’t sound theoretical at all. It’s easier to keep things abstract. But things get real when they touch our own life, our own struggles.

That’s the background to today’s Gospel. Someone asks Jesus: “Lord, will only a few people be saved?” Instead of giving a number, Jesus makes it personal: “Strive to enter through the narrow gate.” The better question wasn’t “Will only a few be saved?” but rather “Lord, will I be saved?” That’s a much harder question because it requires honesty about my life, my choices, my heart and the stakes are eternal!

Jesus doesn’t soften the answer. He says it takes striving. The word He uses is strong; it comes from the same root as “agony.” In other words, getting through the narrow gate is not about giving God a polite effort or checking items off a religious to-do list. It requires struggle, perseverance, sacrifice. It demands our very best effort. At times, it will feel like agony; like one of those all-out workouts where you end up on the gym floor, unable to do another set.

But here’s the good news: even though our effort is necessary, it’s not enough on its own. We cannot earn heaven or deserve eternal life. It is God’s gift, received through grace in the sacraments, through prayer, through mercy and forgiveness. But this life-saving grace isn’t cheap. We must be willing to strive, to struggle, to let ourselves be stretched beyond what is comfortable and what we think is possible.

That’s where the challenge comes in for us today. We live in a world of comfort and convenience: food in abundance, climate control with the touch of a button, nearly anything we want arriving at our door in two days or less. Spiritually though, comfort is often the enemy of growth. God doesn’t ask us to seek out suffering for its own sake, but He does ask us to reject comfort as our guiding principle. We are shaped by adversity, but we are unmade by complacency.

So what does striving look like in our world of convenience? It looks like prayer when entertainment would be easier. It looks like fasting in a culture that tells us indulgence is harmless. It looks like sacrifice and charity in a society that urges us to look out for ourselves first. And each of us must do it personally. We can’t rely on the faith of our parents or the holiness of our spouse. We don’t get in shape by watching others exercise, and we won’t get into heaven by admiring other people’s holiness.

Finally, Jesus warns us that the Kingdom of God will surprise us. Some who are last will be first. Some who are first will be last. The invitation is wide, but the gate is narrow. Which means the real question is not “Will only a few be saved?” but “Am I willing to strive, to struggle, to sacrifice so that I may enter?” Salvation is not something we accomplish through one decision or action but something we must pursue every day that we are alive. Every choice we make is either moving us closer or further from that goal.

So perhaps the Gospel leaves us with some uncomfortable but necessary questions:

• Have I grown too comfortable in my faith?
• How often do I choose the easy way simply because it is convenient, rather than the narrow way because it is faithful?
• When was the last time my discipleship actually cost me something—my time, my comfort, my money, my pride? Is my default position to choose what is easiest and cheapest when it comes to God and his kingdom? Does God get the leftovers…if he gets anything at all?

In the end, the narrow gate is not found in convenience or through some hack passed on in social media. It is found in daily sacrifice, in choosing prayer over distraction, in putting others before ourselves, in persevering when it would be easier to give up and allowing ourselves to be pushed beyond where we are comfortable.

And so, each day, we wake up and tell the Lord: Today I will strive again. Today I will take one more step on the narrow way.

Called to Be Faithful, Not Successful (20th Sunday, Year C)

 To listen to this homily, click here.

One of the remarkable things in the world of sports is the long list of greatest athletes who excelled in their discipline, dominated their position, but never won a championship. Some examples are Dan Marino in football, Joe Thornton in hockey, Charles Barkley in basketball, or Ken Griffey Jr. in baseball. These are household names, people who dedicated their lives to their craft, who were the very best at what they did, and yet they never held that trophy at the end of the season.

It reminds us of something we don’t always like to admit: you can be excellent, faithful, dedicated, and still not finish in first place.

Which would accurately describe the prophet Jeremiah in our first reading. He was one of the greatest prophets of the Old Testament. He was consecrated by God, called before he was even born, to speak the word of the Lord. He poured himself into that vocation. But if you measure his life by outward success, Jeremiah comes up short. He never won over the crowds. He wasn’t celebrated or honored by his people. In fact, he was rejected, mocked, persecuted, even thrown into a cistern to die. By worldly standards, his mission looked like failure.

And yet, Jeremiah was faithful. He did what God asked him to do. He spoke the truth. He lived the mission entrusted to him. Although the world never crowned him with success or embraced his teaching, Jeremiah’s words planted the seeds of conversion in God’s people, his faithfulness advanced salvation history, and his life was vindicated by Lord.

That is an important reminder for us, because so often we are tempted to measure our discipleship, our lives of faith, by the world’s scoreboard. We ask ourselves: Am I “successful” at this? Do people like me? Is it paying off? Am I being rewarded?

And perhaps one of the strongest temptations is to think that if everyone is happy with us, then we must be doing something right. We tell ourselves that being a Christian means “getting along” with everyone, never rocking the boat, never saying or doing anything that might cause tension. But Jesus tells us in today’s Gospel that following Him will sometimes bring division. His truth doesn’t always fit neatly into the world’s comfort zones. The fire He came to cast on the earth purifies and transforms, but it also unsettles.

So, if our main goal is to be popular, to be everyone’s buddy, we may miss the very mission God has entrusted to us. True faithfulness will sometimes mean standing apart, speaking up, or living differently.

This is not to say that we should go around picking fights or stoking controversy. Jesus is not glorifying a contrarian mindset or suggesting that conflict proves we are on the right track. For example, Jeremiah himself became discouraged at times by the resistance he faced and asked God if he was the right person for the job. He did not enjoy the rejection of his message and neither should we. But prospect of pushback and persecution did not prevent Jeremiah or Jesus from boldly proclaiming the truth. 

Which offers us a chance to reconsider our criteria for success when it comes to discipleship. It cannot be measured in popularity, recognition, or worldly achievement. True success is doing the will of God: defending truth when it’s challenged, speaking out when we see something wrong, and living the unique plan God created for each of us. That’s what makes a life holy. That’s what makes a life fruitful.

The Letter to the Hebrews gives us powerful encouragement. We are surrounded by a great cloud of witnesses; saintly men and women who have run this race before us. They know the cost of faithfulness. They know what it means to endure rejection, hardship, and even apparent failure. And now, from their place in heaven, they cheer us on like a hometown crowd in a packed stadium. They urge us to power past every obstacle, to persevere, and to keep our eyes fixed on Jesus, who is both the goal and the prize of the race we run.

The world may not always recognize or celebrate that kind of life. But God sees. God knows. And in His time, our faithfulness will be vindicated.

Think again of Jeremiah at the bottom of that cistern: sunk in the mud, abandoned, left for dead. From the outside, it looked like the end of the line, the failure of his mission. And yet God raised him up. God lifted him out. What looked like defeat somehow became a witness to God’s saving power. That is our hope too. When we feel stuck, when the mud of discouragement or failure clings to us, we can remember that we are not alone… the saints are cheering us on, Christ is with us, and we can trust that God will raise us up. Not because we were “successful” in the world’s eyes, but because we were faithful in His.

Teach Us How To Pray (17th Sunday, Year C)

To listen to this homily, click here.

One of the things I’ve enjoyed ever since I learned how to do it is reading. Whether it’s a good story to escape into, an intriguing history or nonfiction work…or even the side of the cereal box, reading has always been a joy.

One of the downsides of loving to read, though, is that you tend to collect a lot of books. That’s not a big problem if you stay in one place for a long time. But as a priest who’s been moved more than a few times, lugging boxes and boxes of books from parish to parish gets old pretty fast. These days, I try to keep only the essentials, and most of the books I buy are digital. They’re much easier to move!

Earlier this week I was looking for a particular work on Our Lady of Guadalupe, and as I scanned the shelf, I realized how many prayer books I’ve acquired over the years. Of course, that makes sense for a priest. But I noticed something: with each new title, I think there was a part of me that hoped this one would unlock the secret, making prayer easier, quicker, more fruitful.

Have you ever done something like that? Maybe not with prayer, but with cooking, or exercise, or relationships, we’re always looking for that one method or formula that works every time. But today's readings remind us of something very basic, something we all need to remember again and again: prayer is not about getting the method right; it’s about remembering who we’re praying to.

In the Gospel, the disciples come to Jesus and ask him, “Lord, teach us to pray.” They weren’t asking for a new set of words. These were faithful Jewish men; they already knew prayers and scriptures by heart. What they saw in Jesus was something different. A relationship. They noticed how personal, how intimate his prayer was. They wanted that.

Jesus responds not with a technique, but with a name: “When you pray, say: Father.” In other words, prayer isn’t first about the how, it’s about the who. The who we pray to changes everything. If you think of God as distant, indifferent, angry, or annoyed, prayer becomes exhausting and dry. But if you believe that you're talking to a loving Father, your Papa, then prayer becomes something else: it becomes a conversation of trust and love.

We see this reflected in the first reading too, with Abraham. This story is often remembered as a kind of negotiation. But really, it’s a moment of revelation, God is showing Abraham who He is. Abraham lived in a world filled with petty, cruel, fickle gods. But this God? He listens. He cares. He is just. He doesn’t let evil go unchecked, and he will not punish the innocent with the guilty.

Abraham isn’t haggling; he’s discovering how good God really is.

Jesus builds on this image in the Gospel, revealing even more: this just and righteous judge is also our Father. And not just any father...a good one. One who knows how to give the very best gifts to his children. Jesus says, “What father among you would hand his child a snake when he asks for a fish?” And then adds, “If you who are imperfect know how to give good things, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask?”

We don’t always get what we pray for, not because God isn’t listening, but because He wants to give us something better. He knows the bigger picture. And when we don’t get what we ask for right away, it’s not a rejection, it’s often an invitation to keep praying, to grow in humility, deepen our trust, and let God produce something even greater in us.

That’s why Jesus tells us to be persistent in prayer, to knock, to seek, to ask. And not just once, but over and over again. The original Greek actually means “keep on knocking… keep on asking.” Jesus says we should be shamelessly persistent; not because God needs convincing but because we need the practice. Prayer doesn’t always change the situation. But it always changes us, makes us more humble, more faithful, more like Christ. That’s how Jesus prayed. In the Garden of Gethsemane, at the hardest moment of his life, he said, “Father, not my will, but yours be done.” That’s what it means to pray like Jesus.

So if prayer ever feels hard, or dry, or mysterious…don’t give up. And don’t worry about doing it “right.” The most important thing is not how you pray, it’s who you’re talking to. And if you remember that He’s your Father, your good, just, and loving Father, you’ll find yourself praying not to get some thing, but to be with the one who made all things and can do all things.

My prayer for all of us today is simple. That like Abraham, we would discover how good and just and merciful our God truly is. That like the disciples, we would come to Jesus and say, “Teach us to pray”, not to find the right words, but to share in the trust and intimacy he had with the Father. And that we would never forget that God is always ready to hear us, to help us, and to give us everything we truly need.

All we have to do is reach out in honesty, humility, and love.