1,2,3...Eyes On Me! (33rd Sunday, Year C)

     One of the unexpected benefits of being a priest and living an independent lifestyle is that I am almost always the driver whenever I go somewhere. Now, if you don’t like to drive or you need to get other things done on the way, that can be a problem. But for control-freaks like me, it’s wonderful. On the rare occasions when I’m the passenger in someone else’s car, I’m always on edge if I don’t think they’re as attentive to the road as I want them to be.

And one of the most terrifying people to ride with is the driver who thinks they need to make constant eye contact while you talk. I appreciate active listening skills as much as anyone, but when it comes to driving, I want my pilot’s eyes on the road and the mirrors…not on my face! It's just a basic fact of life: where we look is where our attention goes.

I’m reminded of this whenever I visit a school classroom. Before the lesson begins, the teacher often says something cute like, “One, two, three, eyes on me!” If the kids don’t actually look at the person in front of them, they will inevitably be distracted by everything else in the room.

Of course, this idea of “looking at what matters” isn’t just about physical sight. It’s true spiritually as well.

In our second reading, St. Paul calls out the Christians in Thessalonica for becoming “busybodies”, for focusing not on the road God has placed in front of them, but instead looking sideways into the business of others. What we choose to look at with the eyes of our heart is ultimately what we end up desiring. And today, it is very easy to take our eyes off the road to holiness.

Under the banner of “staying informed,” many Christians are consumed by news and commentary that does nothing but fill them with fear, anger, and agitation. Instead of working on our own path to holiness, many of us loudly offer our opinions on the faults, failures, and shortcomings of others. I think St. Paul would have a lot to say to our hyperconnected society, where people speak first and think later…if at all.

As we approach the end of the Church year, the readings turn our thoughts to the end of our lives and the end of the world. Since we don’t know when either of those will occur, the Church invites us to live each day with a kind of gentle readiness; a daily preparation to meet God face-to-face. This isn’t meant to be gloomy or morbid. It’s actually quite freeing. When we prepare our hearts a little each day, we’re reminded of what really matters, what’s worth worrying about, and what’s not. It helps us make sure our spiritual house is in order, so that when we meet the Lord, we can do so with confidence and peace.

One of the biggest obstacles to this readiness is that sideways glance; looking into the business of others, or locking our attention on things that aren’t really our responsibility. So for the rest of this homily, I want to offer a little spiritual “vision test”: a gentle examination of where our eyes, our minds, and our hearts might be looking these days.

Let’s begin with our physical vision. What do I choose to look at? When I look out at the world, do I notice God’s beauty, His fingerprints in creation, the simple miracles that surround me? Or do I rush from one thing to another?

When I look at others, do I search for the good or am I quick to highlight flaws, weaknesses, and failures? Do I carry a critical eye toward my family, my coworkers, my friends, and anyone who crosses my path? What do I allow my eyes to rest on?

Then there’s what we look at online. What do I consume? Am I constantly staring at the possessions, vacations, or lives of others…feeding jealousy or resentment? Do I view others as brothers and sisters in Christ, people Jesus died for and loves as much as He loves me? Or do I slip into judgment, comparison, or even contempt?

And yes, we need to ask the hard question: Do I use my eyes to objectify others? Are the sites, influencers, and videos I willingly place in front of me things I could watch with my spouse, my grandmother, or one of the parish priests standing next to me? In seminary they told us, half jokingly, to imagine the archbishop beside us whenever we got online. I’m not sure how effective that was, but the point stuck. All I will say is I hope he likes watching videos on Youtube about lawn mowers and woodworking!

Finally, there’s the most intimate glance of all: What do I see when I look in the mirror? Do I see someone uniquely crafted and loved by God? Do I see a person Jesus willingly died for by name? Do I recognize that God delights in me, desires my friendship, and knows me more deeply than I know myself? Or do I stare into the mirror full of self-criticism, comparing myself to others, or defining myself by my worst moments? Do I doubt that I am lovable, good, and worth God’s grace?

Because the truth is simple: our hearts move in the direction of our vision. If we consistently focus on the negative, the critical, the imperfect, whether in ourselves or others, our hearts will drift toward negativity and discouragement. If we fixate on the lives of others, becoming spiritual busybodies, we’ll miss the real work God wants to do in our lives. God can’t give us grace in the places we refuse to look. And we can’t have peace, joy, or holiness when our eyes are glued anywhere except God and the path He has laid out for us.

So as we approach the end of this liturgical year, let’s ask God to help us sharpen our spiritual vision. To see more clearly. To look at what truly matters. To look at Him.

Like children in a classroom, we need God to gently redirect our focus from time to time. And that’s okay. We never outgrow being His sons and daughters. So we can say:

“Jesus, we want to see you. We want to see you in our homes, in our families, in our friendships, in our work, and in ourselves. Keep our eyes fixed on you. And whenever we start to drift or get distracted…don’t hesitate to whisper to our hearts, ‘One, two, three…eyes on me!’”

God's Dwelling (Dedication of the Lateran Basilica, 2025)

At first glance, we might wonder what in the world today’s feast is about. Why are we, thousands of miles away from Rome, celebrating the dedication of a church building most of us have never seen?

As always, there’s more to the story. The Basilica of St. John Lateran is no ordinary church. It’s the pope’s cathedral, the first major church built after Christianity became legal under Emperor Constantine in the early 300s. In fact, Constantine donated part of his own palace to build it. Over the centuries, the Lateran has been rebuilt, burned, restored, and renewed. It’s gone through seasons of beauty and destruction and yet, it has always remained. In that sense, it’s a symbol of the Church herself… and of our faith, which somehow endures through fire, ruin, and rebuilding.

But today’s feast isn’t really about a piece of architecture. It’s about what that building represents: God’s dwelling among His people. The Lateran Basilica reminds us that God is not confined to one place or time. Every church, from the grandest cathedral to the simplest chapel, points to an even deeper truth: we ourselves are the living temples of God’s Spirit.

Our readings help us understand that lofty idea.

In the first reading, from Ezekiel, we hear about a stream of water flowing from the temple, a beautiful image of life and nourishment flowing from God’s house. I’ll admit, this passage hits differently for me since we’ve had not one but two water main breaks near the gym! I’ve literally seen water flowing east from our building’s foundation though I can’t say it brought much life or joy, only a big bill.

Still, Ezekiel’s image is powerful. Water flowing from God’s temple in a dry, desert climate, brings life wherever it goes… even freshening the Dead Sea. It’s a picture of God’s grace transforming what was once barren and lifeless. The Church sees in this vision a foreshadowing of Jesus Christ, the new and everlasting Temple, and of the Holy Spirit flowing from Him, giving life to the world. It’s also a symbol of baptism: the living water that cleanses, heals, and gives us new life.

The trees that grow along the river’s edge, bearing fruit for food and leaves for healing, remind us that God’s grace nourishes and heals us and that through us, His grace can bring healing to others.

In the second reading, St. Paul takes that image and brings it even closer: “You are God’s temple, and the Spirit of God dwells in you.” That’s not just a metaphor. Paul is reminding the Corinthians and us that God’s dwelling is not simply a place but a people. We, the Church, are His building. Christ is the foundation, and all of us are the living stones built upon it.

That means the holiness of the Church depends not just on our buildings, but on how we live. Paul warns against anything that damages that temple: false teaching, division, immorality; because when the community breaks apart, the dwelling place of God is affected.

Then we come to the Gospel, Jesus cleansing the temple. He isn’t just angry about the noise or the moneychangers; His passion is for the holiness of God’s house. His zeal is for worship that is true and pure. But there’s something deeper going on: when He says, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up,” He’s talking about Himself. Jesus becomes the new temple, God’s presence now lives fully in Him. By our baptism, that presence now lives in us.

    So today, we celebrate not just a basilica in Rome, but a living truth: God chooses to dwell in His people. The dedication we celebrate today is not simply of stones and marble, but of hearts ready to receive God’s Spirit.

This feast calls us to remember that we’re not just visitors to God’s temple, we are the temple. Our task is to let the living water of God’s grace flow through us, into our relationships, our parish community, our world. When we live as God’s dwelling place, our words heal, our actions nourish, and our presence brings peace and joy.

    But to do that, we sometimes have to let Jesus do a little “temple cleansing” in us. Maybe there are tables He needs to overturn! Perhaps there are the distractions, grudges, addictions, fears, and other clutter that crowds out the Spirit. Christ wants to clear those spaces, not to condemn us, but to make room for life to flow again.

So as we celebrate this ancient feast, we might ask ourselves:

• How can I allow God’s living water to flow through me and bring life and healing to others?
• What “moneychangers” or distractions need to be driven out from the temple of my heart to make room for God’s free and joyful presence?
• In what ways can I honor and care for the living temple that is both my body and my community, knowing that God’s Spirit dwells within?

May you and I become fitting places for God’s love, grace, healing, and goodness to dwell. May our lives help others to offer pleasing worship to the Lord. And may we live in such a way that God is filled with joy as he looks at what his grace has built within us!

 

Everyone in this Parish is Going to Die! (All Souls, 2025)

Celebrating All Souls’ day on a Sunday is a pretty rare thing. Fr. Braun and I thought it would get everyone’s attention by starting our homilies simply looking out at the congregation and solemnly saying, “one day, all of you will die!” In fact, there was a priest who did something very similar. He was normally pretty easy-going and lighthearted. So when he gave his homily on All Souls’ Day, with the final, thundering line, “One day, every single member of this parish will die”,  The congregation sat frozen….until someone in the back burst out laughing. All heads turned to see a stranger trying to catch his breath between fits of laughter. Annoyed, the priest said, “And what is so funny about the fact that everyone in this parish will die?” The man replied, “I’m not a member of this parish.”

Now, none of us would be so foolish to think we can cheat death. But, if we’re honest, most of us avoid thinking about our own mortality as much as possible. It’s uncomfortable to imagine the day when our time on this earth, along with our possessions, our plans, and our daily routines will fade away. It is much easier to distract ourselves with other things that aren’t necessarily bad but certainly aren’t important. We tend to pour most of our energy into this passing life and very little into preparing for the life that never ends.

That’s precisely why the Church gives us All Souls Day, a yearly reminder to commemorate the dead, to shake us gently, to remind us that death isn’t something to fear or ignore, but to face with faith and hope. On this day, we remember our loved ones who have died, and we also remember that one day, we too will take that same step into eternity.

This day isn’t morbid or grim. It’s actually one of the most hope-filled days of the year. The liturgy points us to the truth that God’s love is stronger than death. The Church is not obsessed with dying; she is passionately concerned with living forever. For followers of Christ, death is not the end. It’s the doorway to eternal life. And the Church teaches that after death, three possibilities await us.

Possibility one: Jesus will look at our life and see we tried our best to live as he did. In other words, we made God the number one priority and we died in the state of grace. Also, he would see that we thought of others before ourself, we made sacrifices to feed the hungry, care for the sick and dying, clothe the naked, and so on. In this case he will see that we were faithful in prayer, kept the commandments, and stayed obedient to the Church’s teaching on faith and morals. After seeing all of this, God will recognize the life of his son within us and we will hear those saving words: “Come, you who are blessed by my Father. Inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world.”

Possibility #2: Jesus will look at our life and see that we spent most of our time and energy on ourselves and our own interests. In other words, we gave God time only when it was convenient or we felt like it, and we did not die in the state of grace. As a result, he would see that we thought of ourselves first, that we were stingy in making sacrifices to feed the hungry, care for the sick and dying, clothe the naked, and so on. In this scenario, Jesus will see and know this soul but this person will ultimately have failed to recognize and care for Christ, especially in others, throughout his or her life. Christ will see someone who was disobedient or defiant of him, of his Church, and ultimately most concerned with themselves. To these, Jesus will say:Depart from me, you accursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels.

    The third possibility is purgatory, for those who did their best to live faithfully but still had weaknesses, attachments, and sins not fully purified. That’s most of us. We die in God’s grace, but not yet perfectly free from sin. Purgatory is a state of being where we are cleansed and made ready for heaven. It is not a punishment; it’s an act of love. It’s God’s way of finishing the work he began in us; healing our hearts and freeing us from anything that keeps us from perfect love. It’s like a final washing before the banquet, so that nothing unclean remains when we stand before the holiness of God. The early Christians prayed for the dead, and even Scripture praises this practice: the Book of Maccabees calls it “a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead.”

Knowing this should inspire us to do two things. First, to accept the our sufferings with faith so that our hearts may be purified and our love made more perfect. When we face trials or hardships, we can remember that God uses those moments to prepare us for eternal joy. And second, to pray for our loved ones who have died. Every Mass, every rosary, every act of love offered for the dead helps them on their journey to heaven. They rely on our prayers because they can no longer help themselves!

This is one of the most beautiful and comforting aspects of our Catholic faith; our connection with loved ones does not end at death. God has mysteriously linked our lives to theirs in a communion of love that death cannot break. When we pray for them, we offer real help; when they reach heaven, they in turn pray for us. 

So today, on this feast of All Souls, let’s not be afraid to think about death. Let’s see it as a reminder to live each day in a way that prepares our souls to meet God face-to-face. Let’s also remember, with love and gratitude, those who have gone before us: our parents, grandparents, friends, and all the faithful departed.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon them. May the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen. 

No Favorites! (30th Sunday, Year C)

One of the amazing things about Scripture is that when I take the time to pray with it quietly and calmly, something always jumps out at me. Even when I know the passage by heart, because it’s the Word of God, it’s always new and full of surprises.

This week, the opening sentence of the first reading caught my attention: “The LORD is a God of justice, who knows no favorites.” I don’t know about you, but that sounds completely opposite of how I live! I have all kinds of favorites. When I get into my truck, there’s a favorite seat setting. When I like a song, I hit “thumbs up” and it goes into my favorites. My phone has a list of favorites to call and bookmarks of favorite sites. Even my water filter remembers my favorite number of ounces! The list goes on and on. And don’t even ask me about favorites when it comes to friends, family, or parishioners…I’m not sure I could live up to God’s standard of having no favorites.

When we think about praying to God, don’t we sometimes assume He loves us the way we love others; …..conditionally, …..with a ranking based on how well we behave or how faithful we are? Don’t we sometimes try to earn His love, as if we could somehow become one of His “favorites”? The first reading challenges that idea. As hard as it is to believe, God loves each and every one of us completely the same. In a non-cheesy sense, we are all God’s favorites!

So why does Scripture also seem to say that God favors the poor, the humble, and the oppressed? It’s not because He loves them more, but because they are often the ones most disposed to receive His love and help. God hears every prayer equally, without prejudice, with the same love, concern, and mercy, but the difference happens within us. When we’re surrounded by wealth, power, health, or comfort, we start to believe we can manage just fine without God. We begin to see Him as supplemental instead of essential; someone we go to when we’ve run out of options, instead of our first option.

When someone is stripped of those illusions, when they have no power or resources to rely on, they are able to turn to God in complete dependence. That kind of helplessness puts a person in the perfect place to recognize their need for God. And that’s where grace begins.

That’s the lesson of today’s Gospel. Jesus teaches that we must be utterly humble and aware of our total dependence on God. Whether we’re praying for food, money, health, or mercy, our prayer should come from the perspective of someone who has nothing to prove, someone who simply says, “Lord, be merciful to me, a sinner.” We don’t have to impress God with our accomplishments or our reasoning. He knows what we need and already loves us more than we can imagine. He plays no favorites.

I think it’s also interesting to see how the parable doesn’t deny the Pharisee’s goodness. He actually is a moral man. He fasts, he tithes, and he gives credit to God for his virtues. All things we should do too! But something’s still off. What’s wrong with this Pharisee?

Eleanor Stump, a philosophy professor at St. Louis University, points to St. Thomas Aquinas, who wrote about four types of pride, the vice that destroys the Pharisee’s prayer and renders it unworthy.

Foolish pride: thinking you have an excellence you don’t have, like a child who thinks he’s the best basketball player in the world.

Self-made pride: thinking you have an excellence you do have, but that you achieved it all by yourself.

Self-congratulatory pride: recognizing your gifts come from God, but believing He gave them to you because you’d make better use of them than anyone else.

Superior pride: acknowledging that God gave you your gifts because He’s good, but secretly being glad others don’t have them—because it makes you feel special.

That last kind is the Pharisee’s problem. He’s not lying about his virtue; he’s just using it as a mirror to admire himself. He thanks God for his goodness but boasts of being better than others. He compares himself to the tax collector instead of comparing himself to the holiness of God. As long as he’s “better than that guy,” he feels fine. And that’s a deadly kind of pride, a poison to the soul.

So how do we avoid that trap? The antidote is the virtue of humility. True humility recognizes that every good thing we have is an undeserved gift from the Lord. It doesn’t deny our gifts or talents; it sees them clearly and gratefully. Humility leads us to develop those gifts, deepen them, and then share them freely, just as God freely shared them with us. It rejoices in the gifts of others, even when they surpass ours, because all goodness glorifies God.

We also need to watch out for false humility, which can masquerade as virtue. Humility isn’t putting ourselves down, denying our talents, or pretending we’re worthless. Humility isn’t low self-esteem or self-hatred. It’s seeing ourselves truthfully, as we really are before God, both the good and the bad.

Which brings us to the final point: no matter how good, holy, or gifted we are, every one of us is the tax collector when we stand before the Lord. We all have room to grow in holiness. And that’s nothing to be ashamed of! God already knows our weaknesses, our sins, our failures, and He loves us anyway. He delights in the prayer that comes from a humble, trusting heart. God has no favorites!

As we continue with the perfect prayer of the Mass, let’s make the words of the tax collector our own: “Lord, have mercy on me, a sinner.” If we pray that sincerely, we can be sure God will shower us with mercy, grace, and countless blessings.

 

TP or Not TP? (29th Sunday, Year C)

To listen to this homily, click here.

  One of the cosmic questions that haunts the human race is, “why are some of the simplest things also the hardest to do?” The difficulty comes not so much from the task but the motivation needed to complete them. Things like putting your shoes away and not in front of the door, untying the knot on the plastic bag when you order takeout or peeling that thin paper off a blister pack of medicine!

But maybe the grandaddy of them all is the roll of toilet paper in your bathroom. How hard is it to change when it's empty? It takes, what, five seconds? And yet how many times have we walked into that sacred space only to see a new roll perched precariously on top of the old one…like some sort of outhouse Jenga? Surely it took more effort to get the balance right than just changing the roll!

Apparently, this is a universal struggle and not just something I survived growing up. I read an article that there’s an escalating battle in the TP industry: double, triple, jumbo, and mega rolls are no longer enough. Charmin floated the Forever XL Roll, complete with its own stand. It’s more than 13 inches in diameter and equivalent to 36 rolls of standard toilet paper. Of course, that still doesn’t solve the real problem: who changes the roll, it just delays it.

Changing a roll of toilet paper isn’t the only simple thing we humans have a hard time doing. Prayer is another. What is prayer? In its most basic form, it’s simply talking to God. We can speak with the Lord anytime, anywhere, about anything. He is always listening and present, whether we’re in church, in the car, at work, or on a walk. And yet, even though it’s so simple, we struggle mightily to pray and even more so to keep praying consistently. How often we put it off, stacking many other tasks and distractions on top of something so essential.

Or we start out strong, when prayer feels good and easy, but give up when it becomes dry or demanding. We might even wonder, “If God knows everything and can do anything, why does He need my little words?”

Here’s the truth: God doesn’t need anything from us. He is complete. But He knows we need prayer. Prayer doesn’t change God; it changes us. Articulating what we need, asking favors, expressing sorrow, gratitude, and praise; these things regenerate our spirits, increase our faith, and give us strength, healing, and holiness. God could do everything for us, but like a good parent, He knows we need to be part of the process. Prayer is our participation in the journey of becoming saints and returning home to heaven.

Prayer isn’t hard to do but it’s something we have to do. God can’t do it for us. He’s done the heavy lifting of salvation, sending His Son to conquer sin and death. Our part is to stay close to Him and support one another.

And that brings us to another truth about prayer: we don’t just pray for ourselves or by ourselves. One of the great lies of modern times is this idea of “rugged individualism”, that we’re strong when we don’t need anyone. But God loves us as unique persons and saves us as a community. We’re not spiritual islands making our lonely way to heaven. We go together as members of one Body.

In the marvelous first reading, we see this clearly. Moses is praying for the Israelites as they battle the Amalekites. God gives them victory but He asks Moses to lift his hands in prayer and intercession. When his arms are raised, the Israelites win. But as the day wears on, Moses grows tired, and when his arms drop, they begin to lose. So Aaron and Hur step in. They hold up Moses’ arms so he can keep praying. Together, with God, they help Israel win the battle. It’s a beautiful image of prayer in community.

Jesus is the new Moses, stretching out His arms on the cross until the victory over sin and death is won. Every time we see His extended arms on the crucifix, we’re reminded that He still intercedes for us. But we’re not just spectators! We’re called to be like Aaron and Hur, supporting others in prayer, holding up the arms of those who are weary or discouraged.

I can tell you, as a priest, there have been many times I’ve felt worn out or wondered, “Is my ministry making any difference at all?” And then someone will say, “I’m praying for you,” or “I appreciate what you’re doing.” You have no idea how many times your kindness and prayers have lifted my arms when I was tired.

That’s one reason I love the “Our Father” at Mass. When I extend my hands in prayer with you and for you, I’m reminded that we’re in this together, helping one another in the spiritual battle that continues after we leave church.

Reflecting on these readings also reminded me how often I skimp on prayer. I do fine with a routine during the week but when my schedule opens up, when it’s my day off or I’m on vacation…how quickly I abandon those moments with God! I suspect we can all relate: knowing we ought to pray, but putting it off until the day or week slips away.

So how about this: the next time you see that empty toilet paper roll or some other simple thing that is hard for you to do, let it remind you to pray. It doesn’t take long, it’s easy to do, and it benefits not just us but others as well. Who knows how our day or someone else’s life might be transformed by our prayer? Who knows who might be relying on us to hold up their arms in prayer today?

We don’t need to be theologians or super Catholics to offer powerful prayers. We just need to remember the three C’s of prayer:
It must be Concrete which means real words, real time, accountable, and not vague intentions.
It must be Consistent: a steady habit, not just a reaction when things go wrong. 10-15 min each day is better than 1hr/wk.
And it must be Communal: we need each other’s prayers, and others need ours.

Lord, give us perseverance in prayer like the persistent widow in the Gospel. And may we, like the psalmist, always say, “Our help is from the Lord, who made heaven and earth.”

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.