Rejoice! The Father restores you!

 Homily: 4th Sunday of Lent—Cycle C

         Friends, today, as we celebrate Laetare Sunday, the Church calls us to rejoice in the midst of Lent.  The word Laetare means "rejoice" and this Sunday serves as a moment of refreshment on our Lenten journey toward Easter.  The Church anticipates that the penances that we have undertaken are beginning to bear fruit in us and so invites us to celebrate—just a little—here at this midway point so as to encourage us to persevere in the good work that we have begun.  The readings today help us both to celebrate and persevere as they beautifully highlight the theme of reconciliation and God’s boundless mercy, a theme that represents the motivation for all of our efforts during Lent.

         In the Gospel, Jesus gives us one of the most profound stories ever told—the Parable of the Prodigal Son.  We all know the story well: a young man, seeking freedom, demands his inheritance, squanders it on reckless living, and finds himself destitute.  When he finally "comes to his senses," he decides to return home, expecting only servanthood but receiving instead the embrace of a loving father.  This parable is so profound, because it eloquently illustrates a core experience of humanity.  All of us here, I’m sure, have either been the prodigal son (at some point in our lives) or have watched someone very close to us do exactly as the prodigal son did.  In many ways, you could call this a “Parable of the Fall”, for in it we see the core sin that separates us from God and each other: that is, the presumption that I myself know what’s best for me and so I must go and take it for myself.  Just as Eve was fooled into believing that she could be the final judge of what was good for her to pursue, so did the younger son falsely believe that he knew what the best, most fulfilling life would be.

         What this parable adds to that story is a distinct sense of hope.  The story of the Fall ends with Adam and Eve expelled from the garden into a life of toil, suffering, and contention with one another with only a faint glimpse of a promise for future redemption.  The Gospel parable gives us a glimpse of what this redemption looks like.  In fact, this parable reveals the very heart of God (the same God, by the way, who expelled Adam and Eve from the Garden).  In this parable, Jesus shows us that God is not a harsh judge waiting to punish; but rather a loving Father who runs to embrace His children when they turn back to Him.  The fact that we don’t “hear” of this Father (at least, not in such tender, human terms) until Jesus is due perhaps to the fact that this wouldn’t be possible until the promise made to our first parents in the garden was about to be fulfilled.  In other words, God wouldn’t reveal his heart in this way until it was possible to achieve the reconciliation it desired in Christ.  None of this changes the fact that the God who made the promise in the garden is now revealed to us as the loving Father who runs to embrace us when we turn back to him.  What a reason to rejoice, no?!?!

         The sacrament of Confession is the place where we experience the heart of the Father personally.  Just think, if the Prodigal Son had stayed in the far country, ashamed of his mistakes, he would never have known the joy of his father’s forgiveness.  In the same way, if we remain distant from God, burdened by sin, we miss the opportunity to be embraced by His mercy.  This could be part of the reason why St. Paul, in the second reading, reminds us that, through Christ, we are made into a new creation and so calls us to be ambassadors of reconciliation.

         We are not like Adam and Eve, who had to remain far from God because the “child who would crush the serpent’s head” had not yet come.  Rather, we, through baptism into Christ the Redeemer, are a new creation: one that can approach God for reconciliation, even if we have (for whatever reason) turned our back on our Father and squandered our inheritance.  We do not celebrate Lent in order to make ourselves feel bad about ourselves.  No.  We celebrate Lent in order to force ourselves to stop the ordinary, day-to-day routine in order to look at where we are and see how far away from God we may have strayed.  Then, with the humble courage of the Prodigal Son, we set ourselves to turn back from the way on which we’ve strayed and to reconcile with the Father, through Jesus.

         Every Lent, this one included, is the special season in which God invites us to return to Him with trust.  He does not condemn us, but restores us, just as the father in the parable restores his son.  The Church, through the priest, offers us this same loving welcome in Confession.  Having received this loving welcome, as St. Paul instructed the Corinthians, we are then called to be ambassadors of this reconciliation to those around us who are either resistant or ignorant of the invitation to return to the Father’s embrace. ///

         The story of the Prodigal Son is not just about one lost son, however.  It is also about the elder son, who, though faithful in duty, harbored resentment that the younger son was received and reconciled (celebrated, even!) by his father. This was the sin of the Pharisees and the scribes, who prompted Jesus to tell this parable by complaining that Jesus readily welcomed publicly known sinners (like tax collectors) among his disciples.  This older son, although he remained closed to his father physically and was dutiful in obeying him, nonetheless was not close to his father’s heart, for he did not feel the sadness his father felt when his younger son turned his back on him, nor did he feel the joy his father felt when this same son returned to him.  This reminds us that, in accepting God's mercy for ourselves, we must also allow our hearts to be close to his and so to love as he loves.  Only then will we be able to extend his love and mercy to others, regardless of how far they have been away from God.

         My friends, true joy comes when we celebrate the homecoming of every lost soul.  If we sense a lack of joy in our lives, I would guess that there we are likely harboring resentment in our hearts towards reconciled sinners or pride in our own apparent faithfulness (pride that leads us to believe that we do not need reconciliation).  If we find these things, let us humble ourselves, as the Prodigal Son did, and run to the Father and seek his help and forgiveness.

         And so, my friends, as we continue our Lenten journey, let us renew our commitment to the purpose of this holy season and ask ourselves: 1) If I find myself distant from God because of sin, do I trust in his mercy and quickly to return to Him?  2) When I see God work powerfully in the lives of others (especially those whom I dislike for some reason or who, perhaps have hurt me), do I truly rejoice when they are forgiven and restored?  3) Having received God’s loving mercy, have I embraced the call to be an ambassador of reconciliation, inviting others who are far from God to return to him so as to receive his mercy?  If our answer to any of these questions is “no”, then we still have work to do this Lent 😊.  Let us not be afraid to “rejoice”, however, knowing that, through our renewed commitment and our Lenten penances, we will open ourselves more profoundly to the loving embrace of our Father. ///

         In the first reading, it is described how the ancient Israelites, after passing into the Promised Land by crossing through the Jordan River, celebrated the Passover and then “ate from the produce of the land”; and, when they did so, that the manna stopped.  That last part was a sign that they were finally home as they enjoyed no longer the “food for the journey”, but rather the fruits of a land that was theirs.  This was a sign that God had received them fully into his embrace. This Laetare Sunday, we rejoice, like them, because God is always ready to welcome us home, and because this Eucharist, our “food for the journey”, is a foretaste of the rich fullness of God’s goodness that awaits us in heaven.  Therefore, let us give thanks, even as we rejoice, that here and now we can “Taste and see the goodness of the Lord” that we will one day enjoy in its fullness in heaven.

Given at St. Augustine Parish: Rensselaer, IN – March 29^th and 30^th, 2025

Given at Sacred Heart Parish: Remington, IN – March 30^th, 2025

Dios se hará carne en nosotros cuando le demos permiso.

 Homilía: Misa de Renovación de Votos

Hermanas Misioneras del Divino Espíritu

          Queridos hermanos, la fiesta de la Anunciación siempre se conmemora como un día para honrar a la Santísima Virgen María en su fidelidad a Dios y en su vocación como Madre de Dios. Sin embargo, no debemos olvidar que hoy también celebramos la encarnación de Dios: es decir, el momento en que la Segunda Persona de la Santísima Trinidad asumió la naturaleza humana para vivir como uno de nosotros y, así, ser sacrificado por nosotros para que pudiéramos ser redimidos del pecado y del castigo de la muerte.

          Por supuesto, no hay razón para separar estos dos eventos para celebrarlos, pues son intrínsecamente dependientes el uno del otro: la encarnación no habría sucedido sin la fidelidad de María y su disposición a aceptar la vocación divina. Así, en la misma celebración, honramos a Dios por elegir humillarse y asumir nuestra naturaleza humana para que esta pudiera ser restaurada a su gloria original; y honramos a María por su simple, pero poderoso fíat , que nos abrió la gracia de la salvación.

          Quizás, por lo tanto, podríamos tomarnos un momento para examinar el poderoso impacto de estas dos importantes verdades. Para ello, me gustaría centrarme en estas palabras del prólogo del Evangelio de San Juan (que leeré en latín): verbum caro factum est – «y el Verbo se hizo carne».

          Como cristianos, (quizás) damos por sentado estas palabras: es decir, que estamos tan familiarizados con ellas que olvidamos lo absurda que es la idea que indican. Para los pueblos antiguos, e incluso para los que vivieron en la época de Cristo y los años posteriores, decir que Dios (es decir, la suprema Esencia Divina que era adorada únicamente por los judíos) asumiría una naturaleza humana era una idea blasfema. Tómense un momento para imaginar cómo era vivir en Israel en la antigüedad. No había plomería interior ni sistema de alcantarillado moderno. No había limpiadores de calles ni lavadoras. En su mayor parte, la gente caminaba bastante sucia, y para ellos eso era normal. Decir que Dios, a quien nada impuro podía tocar, se haría humano, como nosotros (es decir, se sometería a ser sucio y asqueroso como nosotros), era como decir que no era Dios: porque ¿por qué Dios, que es la perfección que todos esperamos, dejaría de lado su perfección? Por lo tanto, verbum caro factum est fue una declaración revolucionaria porque afirma que Dios hizo exactamente lo que pensábamos que era más absurdo que hiciera; y lo hizo para redimirnos del castigo debido a nuestros pecados y para salvarnos de la muerte.

          Hoy, por lo tanto, ¡debemos celebrar como si fuera Navidad! Porque cuando verbum caro factum est, ¡nuestra salvación estaba asegurada! En unión con muchos de los primeros santos de la Iglesia (y especialmente con las Iglesias cristianas de Oriente), celebramos este día como el “día de la redención”: porque solo la encarnación de Dios fue la garantía de los actos salvíficos que vendrían treinta y tres años después en su Pasión, Muerte y Resurrección. (De hecho, una antigua tradición afirmaba que la encarnación y la muerte de Cristo en la cruz ocurrieron el mismo día, 25 de marzo, para enfatizar este punto.) ///

          Por supuesto, todo esto dependía del asentimiento a la voluntad de Dios dado por la «humilde esclava del Señor» en Nazaret. Al haber sido preservada de la mancha del Pecado Original desde su concepción, María nunca estuvo sujeta a los deseos naturales desordenados que el Pecado Original provoca en cada uno de nosotros. Así, por su propia voluntad, se mantuvo libre de pecado durante toda su vida. Gracias a esto, su mente, corazón y cuerpo eran claros, puros y estaban dispuestos a aceptar tanto la voluntad de Dios (que se convirtiera en madre del Dios Altísimo) y que ella se convierta en su Morada Divina (en la carne de una nueva vida milagrosa, concebida en su vientre).

          Lo que vemos en esto es algo igualmente asombroso que verbum caro factum est, personificado por la inscripción en el altar de la capilla de la gruta de la Basílica de la Anunciación en Nazaret. (La capilla de la gruta está construida en el lugar que la tradición sostiene que fue el hogar de la infancia de María y, por lo tanto, el lugar de la Anunciación). Allí, en el altar, se modifica la frase del prólogo del Evangelio de San Juan. Dice así: verbum caro hic factum est —“aquí, el Verbo se hizo carne”. En otras palabras, no solo “el Verbo se hizo carne”, sino “el Verbo se hizo carne” en un lugar particular, en un momento particular, y por el asentimiento a la voluntad de Dios dado por alguien que creyó en Dios y en su bondad. ¿Ven ustedes lo que digo? ¡Dios ha dado a sus fieles el poder de encarnarlo en el mundo simplemente por nuestro asentimiento a su voluntad! Lo más absurdo del mundo antiguo (y, posiblemente, del mundo moderno) —verbum caro factum est— aún es posible a través de nosotros cuando decimos "sí" a Dios y a su voluntad. ¡Increíble!

          Nuestras queridas Hermanas Misioneras saben algo al respecto. En muchos sentidos, fue su propia sensación de que Dios las llamaba a «hacer carne su Palabra» en el mundo lo que las impulsó a decir «sí» y a convertirse en hermanas religiosas consagradas, dedicadas al servicio misionero en el mundo. Su renovación de votos hoy es una señal de que aún creen firmemente que, a través de ellas, «verbum caro hic factum est»—que el Verbo aún puede hacerse carne a través de ellas aquí y ahora. Las honramos hoy por su compromiso de seguir fielmente el llamado de Dios.

          Que hagamos esta renovación públicamente es una señal que nos inspira a cada uno a renovar (o quizás a dar por primera vez) nuestro "sí" a Dios, para que el Verbo siga haciéndose carne en nosotros de maneras únicas y poderosas. Esta Cuaresma es el momento de purificar nuestra mente, corazón y cuerpo para que nuestra voluntad no encuentre ningún obstáculo que le impida dar su asentimiento al plan de Dios de hacerse carne en y a través de cada uno de nosotros. Hermanos y hermanas, ¡que seamos fieles en este esfuerzo!

          Pronto, en esta Misa, dirigiremos nuestra atención a este altar, donde, con María, veremos al Verbo encarnarse de nuevo, bajo las apariencias de pan y vino. Al hacerlo, demos gracias a Dios por acercarse tanto a nosotros, así como por estas queridas hermanas que nos han ayudado a acercarnos a él. Y oremos por ellas, y unas por otras, para que Dios siga manifestándose en nosotros y a través de nosotros para la salvación de todos. /// ¡Santísima Virgen María, Madre del Verbo hecho carne, ruega por nosotros!

Dado en la parroquia de San Bonifacio: Lafayette, IN – 25 de marzo, 2025

Solemnidad de la Anunciación

The right question orients us correctly

 Homily: 3^rd Sunday of Lent – Cycle C

         Previously, when I was primarily in parish ministry, I made a lot of visits to the elderly, especially those who were sick.  While each of the visits were unique, some of my visits were more memorable than others.  One, in particular, happened a number of years ago when I visited a woman named Mary in a nursing home.  This home was not her residence; rather, she still lived at home by herself (for the most part), but about three months prior she had contracted pneumonia and so was sent to the hospital.  Mary was no “spring chicken” at the time and so it took her a couple of weeks of treatments in the hospital for her to overcome the pneumonia (kind of like Pope Francis now).  Her doctors, however, didn’t feel like she was strong enough to return home, so they transferred her to a nursing home for rehabilitation.

         My visit to her wasn’t a random one.  Rather, Mary had requested to see a priest.  When I arrived I asked her how she was doing and began to inquire about why she felt that she needed to see me.  What I found was that Mary was depressed.  She hadn’t been home for a couple of months.  She missed her cat and, basically, she was homesick.  Add to that the rigors of daily therapy sessions, which for her didn’t seem to be helping her to get any closer to returning home and she, understandably, was beginning to feel frustrated and a little hopeless.  The thing that made her call for her priest, however, was that the administration had told her that she had one week left to show some effort and progress before they were going to cut off care completely.

         Thus, when we talked, she would say things like, “I’m tired” and “I’m ready to give up.”  She also said, “I don’t see why God is keeping me here.  I don’t feel like there is any purpose left to my life.”  Then she turned to speculating about God, saying, “Why would God take two of my daughters from me and leave me here?” and “I guess God must not be ready for me yet.”  All this time, I tried to listen and offer some supportive words.  Eventually, however, came the deep, fundamental question that she was grappling with: “Do you think that God is punishing me?” ///

         Ever since ancient times, people have struggled with the idea of suffering.  For the most part, suffering seems to be illogical: meaning, the when and how of suffering is often not connected to any discernible cause in our lives.  In ancient times, including the time of Christ, peoples made sense of suffering by connecting it to God and punishment for wrongdoing.  Thus, when the people in our Gospel reading today come to tell Jesus about the Galileans who were killed by Pilate’s henchmen on the very altars where they were offering sacrifices (literally, the most humiliating way they could think of being killed, aside from crucifixion), the question on their minds was “they must have sinned really badly, right (like, way more badly than I have ever sinned)?”  Because Jesus could read the hearts of men, he also knew that some of them would be pondering the same thing about another tragedy, the eighteen people who were killed when a tower near the pool of Siloam in Jerusalem collapsed on top of them.  In their minds, such a random event could only have been the work of God; and since, for the Israelite people, God was good and just, such a work of God could not be the result of malice and, therefore, must be an act of justice, punishing those people for some sin of theirs that was unknown to others. ///

         As I saw with Mary on that day in the nursing home, this notion that suffering is somehow a punishment inflicted on us by God is an idea that remains with us even today.  Even with all of our technological advances, we still have not been able to answer the question about suffering.  Thus, we inevitably turn to where we’ve always turned to answer the unanswerable: to God.  For some, that produces an image of God who is vengeful, cold and distant.  For others, it produces an image of God who is impotent and unable to save us.  Yet for others, it produces and image of a God who just doesn’t care about us.  For Christians, however, it should produce in us hope.  Divine Revelation has shown us that the God we worship is none of those things, but rather he is the God who is all good and just, slow to anger and rich in mercy.  Nevertheless, when the rubber hits the road and we find ourselves in a moment of suffering, it is often easier for us to begin to think of God in one of these other forms.

         Jesus, however, turns this thinking around.  When these people come to him to tell him of the men that Pilate had killed, Jesus knew that they were expecting him to say, “Those men must have been great sinners!  Thank God that you are not sinful like them and so have been spared this suffering.”  Instead of saying this, however, he turned the focus back onto them: “Do you think that they were greater sinners than all of you?  By no means!  Repent now from your sins, because the same fate is possible for sinners of any magnitude!”  Then to emphasize his point, he refers to the people killed by the tower of Siloam in order to show them that his admonition includes all of the Jews: “Whether you are a Galilean or are from Jerusalem,” he seems to say, “tragedy can strike anywhere and to anyone, so repent now from your sins so that you do not die in them!”  Or, to put it another way, Jesus is showing them that they are asking the wrong question: not, “How badly do I have to sin before something bad like that happens to me?”, but rather, “Am I ready to meet God, even if something bad like that happened to me?”///

         Jesus’ point, therefore, is not to say that God is punishing people for their sins, but rather that these tragedies should be a wake-up call to remind them and us to look at our own lives and to root out sin without delay, for none of us know when our final day will come.  And this is Saint Paul’s message, too, in his letter to the Corinthians: For he says that, although the Israelites were close to God in the desert—they stood in the cloud of his presence, they ate the miraculous food from heaven and drank water from the rock—they grumbled against him and were struck down in the desert before they reached the promised land.  He says that these are signs for us to be vigilant against sin and to repent without delay. ///

         The great Christian author, C. S. Lewis, said that “suffering is God’s megaphone.”  In other words, it’s God’s way of getting our attention.  Thus, when we see tragedy—or experience it ourselves—our task is not to question if God is punishing us, but rather to ask, “Am I ready to meet him?”

         If your answer is “No” or at least “I’m not sure”, then don’t be afraid.  Remember that in Jesus’ parable there was a gardener who interceded on behalf of the tree that produced no fruit.  This gardener won for the tree another year and promised to cultivate the ground around it and to fertilize it for nourishment.  As we profess at the beginning of our liturgy in the Penitential Rite, we believe that Jesus is seated at the right hand of the Father to intercede for us.  Therefore, if we have avoided tragedy or survived great suffering in our lives, especially if we weren’t ready yet to meet God, it is certainly due to Christ’s intercession for us before the Father. ///

         My friends, Christ is our Gardener before God, the Father, in whose orchard we have been planted.  This jubilee year of hope is the year that he has won for us to produce fruit and this Lent is specifically a time for the ground to be cultivated around us—to root-out all that prevents us from producing fruit.  And the fertilizer?  Well, that’s the Eucharist.  The Body and Blood of Christ, along with his word that has been handed down to us in these Scriptures, is all the nourishment we will ever need to produce fruit for our Heavenly Father. ///

         After my meeting with Mary that day I had a thought.  She had been wondered whether or not God was ready for her.  Perhaps, however, what she should have been thinking—which is something that we all should be thinking—is that maybe we aren’t quite ready yet for God.  May Jesus, Our Divine Gardener, cultivate his love in our hearts so that we may fill the world with its fruit and be ready to meet him on the day when he calls us home.

Given at St. Augustine Parish: Rensselaer, IN – March 22^nd & 23^rd, 2025

Given at Sacred Heart Parish: Remington, IN – March 23^rd, 2025

An invitation to climb the mountain with the Lord

 Homily: 2^nd Sunday of Lent – Cycle C

         I would guess that many of us here have had the experience of being on vacation where everything worked out perfectly.  Flights were on time, there was no traffic, the hotel was actually better than what the pictures in the advertisement showed it to be; the weather was exactly how you had wanted it to be and you had just the right amount of time to do all of the things that you had set out to do without rushing through anything, which left you with just enough down time to relish all that you’ve enjoyed.  It’s the kind of vacation that makes you think to yourself, “Man, I wish that we could just stay here forever.”

         For me, it was a trip to Rome where I most experienced this feeling.  I was traveling with a group of seminarians on a study tour through Rome and some of the surrounding areas.  It was January, but the weather was all but perfect: Mostly sunny and about mid-60’s each day, which was perfect for walking through the city and seeing all of the sights.  Ancient ruins, the great Basilicas and holy places, an audience with the Pope, some of my closest friends from the seminary, and, of course, incredible pastas and wine every night.  You can probably imagine how much I desired to return home.  In fact, I remember very clearly telling Fr. Denis, the rector of our seminary who was leading the trip, “You better hope that the weather turns bad before we have to leave, because if it doesn’t there’s no way that I’m going back to Indiana in January.  I’ll stay here and join a band of gypsies if I have to.”  Of course what I was saying was “It is good that we are here.  I wish that we could stay here forever.”

         Thus, I certainly wouldn’t blame Peter for his response to his experience on the mountain that we heard in today’s Gospel reading.  You could imagine what it was like living in Israel in ancient times.  There was no indoor plumbing or modern sewage system.  There were no street cleaners or washing machines.  For the most part, people walked around pretty dirty and for them that was normal.  Thus, when Peter, James and John got a glimpse of the glory of God when Jesus was transfigured before them, and when they saw Moses and Elijah—the two great prophets of the Hebrew people—standing there with Jesus, it’s no surprise that Peter blurts out (even in his fear) “Lord, it is good that we are here.  Let’s set up some tents and stay here.”

         That’s a natural tendency for us, isn’t it?  That once we’ve experienced an escape from the messiness of our daily lives we think it easier to throw all of that away and grasp onto what is in front of us: an experience of beauty, closeness with others, and joy.  But soon, however, we realize that the experience that is in front of us cannot be contained and we find that what we thought was an escape was only a temporary reprieve.

         Peter, James and John get that awakening.  Peter wanted to build tents and stay on the mountain, but, as the Scriptures tell us, “he did not know what he was talking about.”  This was an experience of Jesus, the Son of God, as someone wholly different from him—as someone completely beyond his grasp—yet Peter wanted to stuff him into a tent so as to keep that experience for himself and the other two.

         Christ, for his part, wouldn’t allow that.  Just as, after his resurrection, when Mary Magdalene met him in the garden outside of the tomb, Jesus said to her “Stop holding onto me.  I have not yet ascended to my Father”; and when he told his disciples at his Ascension into heaven “Do not be sad, for I must go up so that I can send the Spirit to you,” so here Christ does not allow the apostles to hold onto the experience of his glory, but rather he directs them back down the mountain to take that experience to others.  In other words, these experiences weren’t meant to be permanent—at least, not in this world, anyway—but rather catalysts propelling them into the world to proclaim the glory of Christ to others.

         Nevertheless, I believe that this experience of Christ’s transfiguration can be a model for us during Lent.  Every year, the Church sets aside this time to be for us a “retreat” of sorts.  During Lent we are called to take a serious look at our lives to see where we’ve been falling short in following the way that Jesus laid out for us (something that we should be doing all the time, but with even more intensity and purpose now).  Even more so, however, we are being called by Jesus to this “mountaintop experience.”  Through fasting and abstinence we leave off some of the messiness of our daily lives so as to follow Christ up the mountain.  Thus detached from the world, we are freed to see him as he truly is, in prayer.  Having experienced Jesus as he truly is, we then come down the mountain—renewed and energized—to take this experience to our neighbors by witnessing what we’ve experienced both in words and in acts of love.  It really is a nice, easy to remember model, isn’t it?

         All of this starts with detachment.  My brothers and sisters, we must learn to detach ourselves from the things of this world, otherwise we’ll never make it up the mountain to experience Christ in a profound way.  One way that we do that is through our particular Lenten practices of fasting and abstinence—fasting from food and “giving up” something to which we feel overly attached.  Another powerful way that we detach from the things of this world is through the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  Through it we commit ourselves not only to leaving off our sinful ways, which bind us to the world, but we step forward to encounter Christ in an intimate way, reconciling our hearts to his.  My dear friends, if you have not celebrated this sacrament yet during Lent, I hope that you will make a commitment today to do so soon.  Second only (in this life) to an encounter with Jesus’ real presence in the Eucharist, the Sacrament of Reconciliation is the best place for you to experience that deep, personal encounter with Christ in the person of the priest, to feel his love for you, and to receive his healing forgiveness that has the power to free you from whatever binds you to this world.

         My brothers and sisters, if you’ve been afraid of returning to the Sacrament of Reconciliation, or if you’ve just been apathetic about it, now is the time to face your fear or apathy and to follow Jesus’ call to meet him on the mountain, where he desires to reveal to you his glory, and to hear, not only the words of the Father regarding him—“This is my chosen Son”—but also the words of the Father regarding yourselves: “You are my chosen son… you are my chosen daughter… and I love you.”  If we can know that, my dear friends, then we won’t need the mountain any longer and on Easter Sunday we’ll rush down it proclaiming the joy that we celebrate even now, here in this Eucharist: He is risen!

Given in Spanish at St. Joseph Parish: Rochester, IN – March 16^th, 2025

Una invitación a subir a la montaña con el Señor

 Homilía: 2º Domingo de Cuaresma – Ciclo C

         Supongo que muchos de nosotros aquí hemos tenido la experiencia de estar de vacaciones donde todo salió a la perfección. Los vuelos llegaron a tiempo, no había tráfico, el hotel era incluso mejor de lo que mostraban las fotos del anuncio; el clima era justo como uno lo deseaba y tuvieron la cantidad perfecto de tiempo para hacer todo lo que se había propuesto sin prisas, lo que nos dejaba algún tiempo para disfrutar de todo lo que experimentaron. Son el tipo de vacaciones que te hacen pensar: "¡Ojalá pudiéramos quedarnos aquí para siempre!"

         Para mí, fue en un viaje a Roma donde experimenté más esta sensación. Viajaba con un grupo de seminaristas en un viaje de estudios por Roma y sus alrededores. Era enero, pero el clima era prácticamente perfecto: mayormente soleado y con una temperatura de unos 60 °F cada día, ideal para pasear por la ciudad y ver todos los lugares de interés. Ruinas antiguas, las grandes basílicas y lugares sagrados, una audiencia con el Papa, algunos de mis amigos más cercanos del seminario y, por supuesto, pastas y vinos increíbles cada noche. Probablemente se imaginen cuánto deseaba volver a casa. De hecho, recuerdo con mucha claridad haberle dicho al padre Denis, el rector de nuestro seminario, quien dirigía el viaje: “Debes esperar que el tiempo empeore antes de que tengamos que irnos, porque si no, no hay manera de que regrese a Indiana en enero. Me quedaré aquí y me uniré a una banda de gitanos si es necesario”. Por supuesto, lo que yo decía era: “Qué bien que estemos aquí. Ojalá pudiéramos quedarnos aquí para siempre”.

         Así que, ciertamente no culparía a Pedro por su reacción a su experiencia en la montaña que escuchamos en el Evangelio de hoy. Pueden imaginarse cómo era vivir en la Israel antigüedad. No había agua corriente ni alcantarillado moderno. No había barrenderos ni lavadoras. En general, la gente andaba bastante sucia, y para ellos eso era normal. Así, cuando Pedro, Santiago y Juan vislumbraron la gloria de Dios cuando Jesús se transfiguró ante ellos, y cuando vieron a Moisés y Elías—los dos grandes profetas del pueblo hebreo—allí con Jesús, no sorprende que Pedro exclamara (incluso con miedo): “Maestro, sería bueno que nos quedáramos aquí y que hiciéramos tres chozas”.

         Es una tendencia natural en nosotros, ¿verdad? Que una vez que hemos experimentado una evasión del caos de nuestra vida diaria, creemos que es más fácil dejarlo todo atrás y aferrarnos a lo que tenemos por delante: una experiencia de belleza, cercanía con los demás y alegría. Pero pronto, sin embargo, nos damos cuenta de que la experiencia que tenemos por delante es incontenible y descubrimos que lo que creíamos una evasión era solo un alivio temporal.

         Pedro, Santiago y Juan experimentan ese despertar. Pedro quería acampar y quedarse en el monte, pero, como dicen las Escrituras, “no sabía lo que decía”. Esta fue una experiencia de Jesús, el Hijo de Dios, como alguien completamente diferente a él, como alguien completamente fuera de su alcance; sin embargo, Pedro quería meterlo en una choza para reservar esa experiencia para él y los otros dos.

         Cristo, por su parte, no lo permitiría. Así como, después de su resurrección, cuando María Magdalena lo encontró en el jardín fuera de la tumba, Jesús le dijo: “Deja de aferrarte a mí. Todavía no he subido a mi Padre”; y cuando les dijo a sus discípulos en su Ascensión al cielo: “No estén tristes, porque debo subir para poder enviarles el Espíritu”, así también aquí Cristo no permite que los apóstoles se aferren a la experiencia de su gloria, sino que más bien los dirige de regreso a la montaña para que lleven esa experiencia a otros. En otras palabras, estas experiencias no estaban destinadas a ser permanentes—al menos, no en este mundo—sino más bien catalizadores que los impulsaran al mundo para proclamar la gloria de Cristo a otros.

         Sin embargo, creo que esta experiencia de la transfiguración de Cristo puede ser un modelo para nosotros durante la Cuaresma. Cada año, la Iglesia reserva este tiempo para que sea una especie de "retiro". Durante la Cuaresma estamos llamados a reflexionar seriamente sobre nuestras vidas para ver dónde nos hemos quedado cortos en seguir el camino que Jesús nos trazó (algo que deberíamos hacer constantemente, pero ahora con mayor intensidad y propósito). Sin embargo, aún más, Jesús nos llama a esta "experiencia cumbre". Mediante el ayuno y la abstinencia, dejamos atrás parte del desorden de nuestra vida diaria para seguir a Cristo en la cima de la montaña. Así, desprendidos del mundo, somos libres de verlo como realmente es, en la oración. Habiendo experimentado a Jesús como realmente es, bajamos de la montaña—renovados y con energía—para compartir esta experiencia con nuestro prójimo, dando testimonio de lo que hemos experimentado, tanto con palabras como con actos de amor. Es un modelo bonito y fácil de recordar, ¿verdad?

         Todo esto comienza con el desapego. Hermanos y hermanas, debemos aprender a desprendernos de las cosas de este mundo; de lo contrario, nunca subiremos a la montaña para experimentar a Cristo profundamente. Una manera de hacerlo es mediante nuestras prácticas cuaresmales de ayuno y abstinencia: ayunar de comida y renunciar a algo a lo que nos sentimos demasiado apegados. Otra forma poderosa de desprendernos de las cosas de este mundo es mediante el Sacramento de la Reconciliación. Mediante él nos comprometemos no solo a abandonar nuestros caminos pecaminosos, que nos atan al mundo, sino que nos acercamos a un encuentro íntimo con Cristo, reconciliando nuestros corazones con el suyo. Queridos hermanos, si aún no han celebrado este sacramento durante la Cuaresma, espero que hoy se comprometan a hacerlo pronto. En segundo lugar (en esta vida), después del encuentro con la presencia real de Jesús en la Eucaristía, el Sacramento de la Reconciliación es el mejor lugar para que usted experimente ese encuentro profundo y personal con Cristo en la persona del sacerdote, para sentir su amor por usted y para recibir su perdón sanador que tiene el poder de liberarlo de todo lo que lo ata a este mundo.

         Hermanos y hermanas, si habían tenido miedo de volver al Sacramento de la Reconciliación, o si simplemente habían sido apáticos al respecto, ahora es el momento de afrontar su miedo o apatía y de seguir el llamado de Jesús a encontrarles con él en la montaña, donde desea revelarles su gloria, y de escuchar, no sólo las palabras del Padre respecto a él: “Éste es mi Hijo, mi escogido”, sino también las palabras del Padre respecto a ustedes mismos: “Tú eres mi hijo escogido… eres mi hija escogida… y yo te amo”. Si podemos saber eso, queridos hermanos, entonces ya no necesitaremos la montaña; y el Domingo de Pascua correremos bajando proclamando la alegría que celebramos incluso ahora, aquí en esta Eucaristía: ¡Que él ha resucitado!

Dado en la Parroquia de San José: Rochester, IN – 16 de marzo, 2025

No es demasiado tarde para volver al Señor

 Homilía: Miércoles de Ceniza – Ciclo C

          “Esto dice el Señor: ‘Todavía es tiempo. Vuélvanse a mí de todo corazón…’” “Todavía es tiempo…” Hermanos, venimos aquí para comenzar esta maravillosa temporada de Cuaresma, en este día sagrado de penitencia, y escuchamos el mensaje del profeta: “Todavía es tiempo…” Ya seamos discípulos devotos que regularmente ofrecemos alguna penitencia por nuestros pecados o discípulos que frecuentemente ignoran el llamado a la penitencia… Ya sea que miremos al mundo con la esperanza de que, a través de las reparaciones que ofrecemos, pueda volverse de sus caminos pecaminosos o miremos al mundo con desesperación de que pueda ser salvado… En otras palabras, independientemente de dónde nos encontremos—el estado de nuestras mentes y corazones—escuchamos estas palabras del profeta: “Todavía es tiempo…”

          "Todavía es tiempo… Vuélvanse a mí de todo corazón, con ayunos, con lágrimas y llanto; enluten su corazón y no sus vestidos. Vuélvanse al Señor Dios nuestro”. “Todavía es tiempo…” mientras el mundo parece desmoronarse. “Todavía es tiempo…” mientras mi propia seguridad parece amenazada cada día. “Todavía es tiempo…” mientras mis relaciones parecen estar rotas, heridas e imposibles de reparar. “Todavía es tiempo…” mientras siento que mi fe está entumecida y estoy lejos de Dios (y Dios de mí). “Todavía es tiempo… vuélvanse a mí de todo corazón… vuélvanse al Señor Dios nuestro”.

          Hermanos, es algo poderoso el reunirnos, en cualquier estado en que nos encontremos, y decidir, como un cuerpo de creyentes, como el Cuerpo de Cristo, colectivamente tomar el manto de la penitencia y, confiando en Dios, comenzar este peregrinaje hacia la Pascua buscando reconciliarnos a nosotros mismos y a nuestro mundo con él. Se necesita coraje para comenzar este viaje, pero también fe: fe profunda en lo que el profeta declara acerca de Dios: “porque es compasivo y misericordioso, lento a la cólera, rico en clemencia, y se conmueve ante la desgracia”. Tan necesario y productivo es este llamado a la penitencia que el profeta llama a todos a salir de su rutina para participar en esta ofrenda de peregrinación: “¡Toquen la trompeta en Sión, promulguen un ayuno,

convoquen la asamblea, reúnan al pueblo, santifiquen la reunión, junten a los ancianos, convoquen a los niños, aun a los niños de pecho. Que el recién casado deje su alcoba y su tálamo la recién casada”. Y así, nosotros estamos aquí hoy.

          Hermanos y hermanas, renovamos este tiempo de penitencia no porque en años anteriores haya sido ineficaz, sino más bien porque nunca deja de ser eficaz; y nosotros mismos, y nuestro mundo, seguimos necesitando de su eficacia. Por eso, la marca que recibimos en nuestra frente es a la vez un signo de nuestra humildad ante el Señor y un testimonio para nosotros mismos y para el mundo de este llamado del profeta: “No es demasiado tarde para hacer penitencia y volver al Señor. Por eso, comencemos ahora, con seriedad, celo y humildad, y el Señor nos mostrará su gracia”.

          Por eso, no tengamos miedo de ayunar, orar y dar limosna en penitencia por nuestros pecados y los pecados del mundo. Al mismo tiempo, permanezcamos vigilantes contra la tendencia a “enlutar nuestras vestiduras” solamente, sin “enlutar nuestros corazones”: porque es nuestro corazón lo que el Señor más quiere de nosotros. “Todavía es tiempo”, mis hermanos… por eso, comencemos; y comencemos con alegría: la alegría esperanzada de saber que nuestra peregrinación de penitencia conduce a la gloria de la Pascua: la gloria de nuestra victoria sobre toda debilidad que aflige a nuestro mundo con sufrimiento y dolor: la gloria de Jesucristo, crucificado pero resucitado; la gloria de ese mismo cuya gloria es compartida con nosotros en esta Eucaristía.

Dado en la parroquia San Jose: Rochester, IN – 5 de marzo, 2025

It's not too late to turn back to the Lord

 Homily: Ash Wednesday – Cycle C

          “’Even now’ says the Lord ‘return to me with your whole heart…’”  “Even now…”  Friends, we come here to begin this wonderful season of Lent, on this holy day of penitence, and we hear the message from the prophet, “Even now…”  Whether we have been devoted disciples who regularly offer some penance for our sins or disciples who frequently ignore the call to penance… Whether we look at the world with hope that, through the reparations we offer, it can turn back from its sinful ways or we look at the world with despair that it can be saved… In other words, regardless of where we find ourselves—the state of our minds and hearts—we hear these words from the prophet, “Even now…”

          “Even now… return to me with your whole heart, with fasting, weeping, and mourning; rend your hearts, not your garments, and return to the Lord, your God.”  “Even now…” while the world may seem to be falling apart.  “Even now…” while my own security seems to be threatened every day.  “Even now…” while my relationships seem to be broken, hurt, and impossible to repair.  “Even now…” while I feel like my faith is numb and I am far from God (and God from me).  “Even now… return to me with your whole heart… return to the Lord your God.”

          Friends, it is a powerful thing to come together, in whatever state that we find ourselves, and to decide, as a body of believers, as the Body of Christ, collectively to take up the mantle of penitence and, trusting in God, to begin this pilgrimage journey toward Easter seeking to reconcile ourselves and our world to him.  It takes courage to begin this journey, but also faith: profound faith in what the prophet declares about God; “For gracious and merciful is he, slow to anger, rich in kindness, and relenting in punishment.”  So necessary and productive is this call to penitence that the prophet calls everyone out from his or her routine to take part in this pilgrimage offering: “Blow the trumpet in Zion! Proclaim a fast, call an assembly; gather the people, notify the congregation; assemble the elders, gather the children and the infants at the breast; let the bridegroom quit his room and the bride her chamber.”  And so, we are here today. 

          My brothers and sisters, we renew this time of penitence not because in previous years it has been ineffective, but rather because it never ceases to be effective; and we ourselves, and our world, continue to be in need of its effectiveness.  Therefore, the mark we receive on our foreheads is both a sign of our humility before the Lord and a witness to ourselves and the world of this call of the prophet: “It is not too late to do penance and to return to the Lord. Therefore, let us begin now, with earnestness, zeal, and humility, and the Lord will show his graciousness to us.”

          Therefore, let us not be afraid to fast, and pray, and give alms in penitence for our sins and the sins of the world.  All the while, remaining vigilant against the tendency to “rend our garments” alone, without “rending our hearts”: for it is our hearts that the Lord most wants from us.  “Even now” my friends, let us begin; and let us begin with joy: the hopeful joy of knowing that our pilgrimage of penance leads to the glory of Easter: the glory of our victory over every weakness that afflicts our world with suffering and pain: the glory of Jesus Christ, crucified but risen; the glory of that same One whose glory is shared with us in this Eucharist.

Given in Spanish at St. Joseph Parish: Rochester, IN – March 5^th, 2025