The true independence is obedience to the Father

 Homily: 14th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle A

This weekend is a very proud weekend for the United States.  Yesterday we celebrated the declaration that the founding fathers of the United States made claiming independence from rule by the King of England.  We celebrate this with a feast: hot dogs and hamburgers grilled outdoors that are shared with friends and family; and with lavish displays of fireworks: an extravagant display of the warmth and the passion that we feel for this nation that we call home. This, of course, is not much different from the independence day celebrations that are held in Mexico and Central America in September each year.

That aside, however, what we celebrate on the 4th of July is the claim that we made on liberty.  The independence that we declared was a claim to liberty from an oppressive system of government.  It was not a claim to liberty from government, however, but rather a claim to liberty for a more just form of government.  Our founding fathers knew that government was necessary to provide order to a society; but they thought that a government chosen by the people whom it would govern and to whom it would be responsible would better preserve the liberty inherent to each person.  Freed from the oppressive burden of being ruled by the King of England, our founding fathers believed that the people could bear the much more gentle yoke of governing themselves.

When Jesus began his ministry among us he declared: “The Kingdom of God is at hand.”  These were strong words and to those who were anxiously hoping for God to send his Messiah to restore his kingdom here on earth, this was welcome news.  Like our declaration of independence, Jesus’ words seemed to be a declaration to the people of Judah and Israel that God’s liberation from their oppressive governors (that is, the Roman occupiers) had finally come.  This, however, was only partially true.  Jesus had come not to overthrow any particular government, but rather to claim liberty for mankind from the oppressive reign of sin.  His goal was to restore to humanity the liberty that it enjoyed in the Garden of Eden.

Just look at the Gospel reading today.  Jesus begins by saying, “I give praise to you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, for although you have hidden these things from the wise and the learned you have revealed them to little ones.”  What was our first sin?  Wasn’t it the sin of disobedience that led Eve to eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil?  Isn’t it fitting, then, that God reveals the restoration of the liberty of the Garden of Eden to man precisely through those who are not learned; who have not, in a sense, eaten from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil?

Jesus then goes on to say, “All things have been handed over to me by my Father.”  In the Garden of Eden God declared that it would be a son of Eve who would strike the serpent’s head and restore mankind to its first dignity.  Thus we see Jesus revealing himself as that “Son of Eve” to whom God has given the power to restore humanity’s broken communion with the Father: for he says, “No one knows the Son except the Father, and no one knows the Father except the Son and anyone to whom the Son wishes to reveal him.”

Finally, Jesus proclaims the liberty that he has come to restore.  “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest.”  Does anyone remember what the first practical consequence of sin was?  The first real consequence of sin was death, right?  But that wasn’t experienced right away.  The first practical consequence, therefore, was something else.  And what was it?  Work!  Labor!  “By the sweat of your brow you will bring forth fruit from the earth” God told Adam when expelling him from the Garden.  Now Jesus claims “I will give you rest.”  Clearly he had in mind the freedom from oppressive labor that humanity enjoyed in the Garden of Eden.

Like the freedom that our founding fathers claimed for our nation, however, this freedom that Jesus claims for mankind is not a freedom from all rule.  Rather, he claims our freedom from the oppressive rule of sin and death in our lives so that we can be free to follow the rule of obedience—that is, the rule of harmony with God that governed us in the Garden of Eden.  This is the yoke of Jesus, the yoke that he claims is “easy” and “light”, and so it is: for it is under this yoke of obedience where labor truly finds rest.

Saint John Paul II once said, “Freedom consists not in doing what we like, but in having the right to do what we ought.”  My brothers and sisters, if we are free in this country and elsewhere it is so that we can pursue the life of freedom; the life “in the Spirit” that Saint Paul talks about in our second reading.  The freedom to “do what we like”, however, is the life “in the flesh” that Saint Paul says leaves us as “debtors to the flesh”.  Now anyone who is in debt knows that they are not truly free.  Rather, they are chained to the debtor until the debt is paid.  Jesus Christ came, however, to free us from this debt of sin and life “in the flesh” so that we might be free to pursue the life of freedom—life “in the Spirit”—in which we experience rest from our labors.  This freedom restores to us the right to “do what we ought”: that is, to submit once again to the rule of obedience to God alone and thus to experience the rest our first parents experienced in the Garden.  This, my friends, is a liberty worth celebrating with a feast and with fireworks: the feast that we share here today and the fireworks that we bring into the world as we go forth, proclaiming the Good News.

Let us, then, my brothers and sisters, turn to Jesus—and to his Spirit who dwells within us—and let us take up his gentle yoke (and, thus, lay down the oppressive yoke of sin); for his is the sweet burden of obedience to the Father that will lead us to perfect rest.

Given in Spanish at St. Patrick Parish: Kokomo, IN – July 5th, 2026

La independencia verdadera es la obediencia al Padre

 Homilía: 14o Domingo del Tiempo Ordinario - Ciclo A

Este fin de semana es motivo de gran orgullo para los Estados Unidos. Ayer celebramos el doscientos cincuenta aniversario de la declaración mediante la cual los padres fundadores de los Estados Unidos proclamaron su independencia del dominio del rey de Inglaterra. Lo celebramos con un banquete–perritos calientes y hamburguesas a la parrilla al aire libre, compartidos con amigos y familiares–y con espectaculares exhibiciones de fuegos artificiales: una muestra grandiosa del afecto y la pasión que sentimos por esta nación a la que llamamos hogar. Esto, por supuesto, no difiere mucho de las celebraciones del Día de la Independencia que tienen lugar en México y Centroamérica cada mes de septiembre.

Más allá de eso, sin embargo, lo que celebramos el 4 de julio es la reclamación de nuestra libertad. La independencia que declaramos supuso reclamar la libertad frente a un sistema de gobierno opresivo; no se trataba, sin embargo, de una reclamación de libertad del gobierno (en sí mismo), sino más bien de una reclamación de libertad para una forma de gobierno más justa. Nuestros padres fundadores sabían que el gobierno era necesario para dotar de orden a la sociedad, pero consideraban que un gobierno elegido por el propio pueblo–y al que debía rendir cuentas–preservaría mejor la libertad inherente a cada individuo. Liberados de la carga opresiva de estar sometidos al rey de Inglaterra, nuestros padres fundadores creían que el pueblo podía sobrellevar el yugo, mucho más ligero, de gobernarse a sí mismo.

Cuando Jesús comenzó su ministerio entre nosotros, declaró: “El Reino de Dios está cerca”. Estas eran palabras fuertes y, para quienes aguardaban con anhelo que Dios enviara a su Mesías a restaurar su reino aquí en la tierra, constituían una noticia muy bienvenida. Al igual que nuestra declaración de independencia, las palabras de Jesús parecían anunciar al pueblo de Judá e Israel que la liberación divina de sus gobernantes opresores–es decir, los ocupantes romanos–había llegado por fin. Sin embargo, esto era solo parcialmente cierto. Jesús no había venido para derrocar a ningún gobierno en particular, sino para liberar a la humanidad del dominio opresor del pecado. Su objetivo era devolver a la humanidad la libertad de la que había gozado en el Jardín del Edén.

Basta con fijarse en la lectura del Evangelio de hoy. Jesús comienza diciendo: “¡Te doy gracias, Padre, Señor del cielo y de la tierra, porque has escondido estas cosas a los sabios y entendidos, y las has revelado a la gente sencilla!” ¿Cuál fue nuestro primer pecado? ¿Acaso no fue el pecado de desobediencia el que llevó a Eva a comer del árbol del conocimiento del bien y del mal? ¿No resulta, pues, apropiado que Dios revele al hombre la restauración de la libertad del Jardín del Edén precisamente a través de aquellos que no son sabios ni entendidos; de aquellos que, en cierto sentido, no han comido del árbol del conocimiento del bien y del mal?

Jesús prosigue diciendo: “El Padre ha puesto todas las cosas en mis manos”. En el Jardín del Edén, Dios declaró que sería un hijo de Eva quien golpearía la cabeza de la serpiente y devolvería a la humanidad su dignidad original. Así vemos a Jesús revelándose como aquel “Hijo de Eva” a quien Dios ha dado el poder de restaurar la comunión rota de la humanidad con el Padre, pues afirma: “Nadie conoce al Hijo sino el Padre; nadie conoce al Padre sino el Hijo y aquel a quien el Hijo se lo quiera revelar”.

Finalmente, Jesús proclama la libertad que ha venido a restaurar. “Vengan a mí, todos los que están fatigados y agobiados por la carga y yo les daré alivio.” ¿Alguien recuerda cuál fue la primera consecuencia práctica del pecado? La primera consecuencia real del pecado fue la muerte, ¿verdad? Pero eso no se experimentó de inmediato. Por tanto, la primera consecuencia práctica fue otra cosa. ¿Y cuál fue? ¡El trabajo! ¡La fatiga! “Con el sudor de tu frente obtendrás el fruto de la tierra”, le dijo Dios a Adán al expulsarlo del Jardín. Ahora Jesús afirma: “yo les daré alivio”. Claramente, tenía en mente la libertad frente al trabajo opresivo que la humanidad disfrutaba en el Jardín del Edén.

Sin embargo, al igual que la libertad que nuestros padres fundadores reclamaron para nuestra nación, esta libertad que Jesús reclama para la humanidad no es una libertad exenta de toda norma o gobierno. Más bien, él reclama nuestra libertad frente al dominio opresivo del pecado y la muerte en nuestras vidas, para que seamos libres de seguir la norma de la obediencia–es decir, la armonía con Dios que nos regía en el Jardín del Edén. Este es el yugo de Jesús, el yugo que él describe como “suave” y “ligero”, y así lo es: pues es bajo este yugo de obediencia donde el trabajo encuentra verdaderamente el alivio. ///

San Juan Pablo II dijo una vez: “La libertad no consiste en hacer lo que nos gusta, sino en tener el derecho de hacer lo que debemos”. Hermanos y hermanas, si somos libres en este país y en cualquier otro lugar, es para que podamos buscar la vida de libertad; la vida “en el Espíritu” de la que habla San Pablo en nuestra segunda lectura. La libertad de “hacer lo que nos gusta”, sin embargo, es la vida “conforme al desorden egoísta del hombre” que, según San Pablo, nos deja como “sujetos al desorden egoísta del hombre”. Ahora bien, quien es sometido sabe que no es verdaderamente libre; más bien, está encadenado al acreedor hasta que se salda la deuda. Sin embargo, Jesucristo vino a liberarnos de esta deuda del pecado y de la vida “sujeto al desorden egoísta del hombre”, para que fuéramos libres de buscar la vida de libertad–la vida en el Espíritu–en la que experimentamos alivio de nuestras fatigas. Esta libertad nos devuelve el derecho a “hacer lo que debemos”: es decir, a someternos nuevamente al mandato de obedecer solo a Dios y, así, experimentar el alivio que nuestros primeros padres vivieron en el Jardín. Esta, hermanos míos, es una libertad que vale la pena celebrar con un banquete y con fuegos artificiales: el banquete que compartimos aquí hoy y los fuegos artificiales que llevamos al mundo al salir a proclamar la Buena Nueva.

Volvámonos, pues, hermanos y hermanas, hacia Jesús–y hacia su Espíritu que habita en nosotros–y tomemos su yugo suave (y, así, dejemos el yugo opresivo del pecado); pues suyo es el dulce peso de la obediencia al Padre que nos conducirá al alivio perfecto en el cielo.

Dado en la parroquia de San Patricio: Kokomo, IN – 5 de julio, 2026

Sacrificio engendra vida nueva

 Homilía: 13º Domingo en el Tiempo Ordinario – Ciclo A

          Hermanos, las lecturas de la Misa de estas semanas tienen como tema general las enseñanzas sobre el costo y las recompensas del discipulado. Hoy, esa enseñanza se centra en un tema más específico: cómo una vida de sacrificio engendra vida nueva. Así que examinemos nuestras lecturas para ver a qué me refiero.

          En la primera lectura de hoy encontramos esta pequeña y encantadora historia protagonizada por el profeta Eliseo. Es casi "tierno", ¿no? Eliseo es un profeta itinerante; una mujer influyente se compadece de él y lo invita a cenar, convirtiéndose esto en una costumbre cada vez que él visita la localidad. La situación se repite tanto que la mujer llega incluso a construir una pequeña habitación anexa a su casa para él, a fin de que disponga de un lugar donde alojarse y no solo de un sitio donde comer. Entre todos los relatos sobre Eliseo, en los que a veces puede parecer una persona dura, esta historia resulta, en realidad, muy entrañable.

          Vemos, por supuesto, que la historia encierra algo más: algo que despoja el relato de sentimentalismo y aporta profundidad emocional a la escena. Se describe a la mujer como una “mujer influyente”, lo que significa que ella (o, dicho de otro modo, “su esposo”) poseía recursos económicos. Le habría resultado fácil ignorar a Eliseo, dado que es probable que él no se moviera en los círculos “influyentes” de Sunem. Sin embargo, no lo hizo. Al contrario, se fijó en él y le brindó hospitalidad, solo porque lo reconoció como “un hombre de Dios”. Vemos, pues, que ella no solo era una “mujer influyente”, sino también una “mujer de fe”.

          Además, descubrimos que ella y su esposo no tenían hijos y que, al parecer, no fue por falta de intentos. Más bien, da la impresión—a juzgar por la respuesta del criado de Eliseo—de que llevaban casados ​​bastante tiempo sin haber logrado concebir. ¿Se imagina lo que supuso para ellos construir una habitación en su casa para otra persona? La mayoría de nosotros podemos imaginar (y algunos hemos experimentado) lo que significa anhelar profundamente tener hijos y no poder concebir. Intente imaginar, entonces, lo que implica decidir añadir una habitación a su casa para un huésped de paso, sin dejar de pensar en el hijo para quien esa habitación estaba destinada desde un principio. Ahora, imagine lo difícil que debió de resultarle hacerlo. Sin embargo, lo hizo; y, según se desprende de la lectura, lo hizo sin decirle ni una palabra a Eliseo: es decir, lo hizo simplemente porque él, como hombre de Dios, merecía tal hospitalidad, y no porque ella esperara ganarse el favor divino.

          Sin embargo, ella sí obtuvo el favor de Dios, ¿verdad? Cuando Eliseo se alojó por primera vez en la habitación que ella y su esposo habían preparado para él, preguntó qué se podía hacer por ellos. Al enterarse de que no tenían hijos y de que el esposo era ya demasiado mayor para ser padre, pronunció la maravillosa profecía de que Dios los favorecería y los bendeciría con un hijo: un heredero varón para su familia. Imagínese la sorpresa que debió sentir esta mujer al escuchar tal profecía. ¡Imagínese la alegría cuando, unas semanas más tarde, descubrió que efectivamente estaba embarazada! Sí, vemos que esta historia encierra una gran profundidad emocional; y en ella, una hermosa lección sobre cómo los sacrificios que hizo esta mujer—sacrificios realizados con fe para servir a uno de los siervos de Dios—realmente dieron lugar a una nueva vida para ella y su esposo.

          En la segunda lectura, san Pablo profundiza en el aspecto teológico de cómo el sacrificio engendra una vida nueva. Nos recuerda que fue el sacrificio de Cristo en la Cruz lo que nos trajo una vida nueva, y que nosotros también debemos sacrificarnos y morir a nosotros mismos para que esta vida nueva en Cristo se arraigue en nosotros y engendre vida nueva en nuestro interior y en quienes nos rodean. San Pablo nos recuerda que este morir y resucitar a una vida nueva tiene lugar en nosotros, espiritual y sacramentalmente, a través del bautismo. Esto ha de ser para nosotros un recordatorio permanente de que, un día, sucederá realmente: pues todos hemos de morir algún día, pero si creemos en Cristo y vivimos como sus discípulos, nos espera la resurrección a una vida eterna y glorificada.

          San Pablo nos recuerda que debemos considerarnos “muertos al pecado”. Esto se debe a que el pecado lleva a la muerte; por lo tanto, cuanto más nos insensibilicemos al pecado (es decir, cuanto más nos sacrifiquemos por los demás, en lugar de priorizar nuestro propio bienestar), más podrá la nueva vida que tenemos en Cristo afianzarse en nosotros, renovando nuestras vidas y generando nueva vida en el mundo que nos rodea.

          En la lectura del Evangelio, Jesús plantea exigencias claras a sus discípulos: les dice que, si quieren ser sus discípulos, no pueden amar a padre o madre, a hijo o hija, más que a él. Más bien, afirma el, quienes deseen ser sus discípulos deben tomar la cruz (¡sí, aquel horrendo instrumento de ejecución romano!) y seguirle. Luego habla de manera paradójica al decir: “El que salve su vida la perderá y el que la pierda por mí, la salvará”. Analicemos esto un poco, ¿okay?

          En primer lugar, ¿acaso está diciendo Jesús que no podemos amar a nuestro padre o madre, o a nuestro hijo o hija? No, por supuesto que no. Por alguna razón, nos resulta fácil pensar—cuando razonamos de manera abstracta—que todo debe ser de una forma o de la otra: es decir, que nuestro amor debe dirigirse exclusivamente a una persona en detrimento de la otra. Pero, en realidad, nos damos cuenta de que amar profundamente a alguien hace que nuestro amor crezca, ¿verdad? Comprendemos que el amor no es un juego de “suma cero”; al contrario: cuando se entrega a la persona adecuada, ¡en realidad se expande y hace posible amar aún más! Jesús lo sabe; sabe que, cuando sus discípulos lo aman a él, primero y por encima de todo, su amor se multiplicará exponencialmente, permitiéndoles amar a los demás—incluidos el padre, la madre, el hijo y la hija—con una intensidad mayor de la que jamás hubieran imaginado posible.

          El autor, el padre Francis Fernández, lo expresa así: “Amar al prójimo en Dios no significa recorrer un camino largo y tortuoso para llegar a amarlo. El amor a Dios es un atajo hacia nuestros hermanos. Solo en Dios podemos comprender y amar verdaderamente a todos los hombres, inmersos como están en sus errores, al igual que nosotros en los nuestros, y hacerlo a pesar de aquello que, humanamente hablando, tendería a separarnos de ellos o a llevarnos a pasar de largo sin siquiera dirigirles la mirada”. ¡Es algo hermoso! Esposos y esposas, madres y padres, todos los que me escuchan: esto significa que, si le dicen “te amo” a alguien pero no se han esforzado primero por conocer y amar a Dios con todo su corazón, ¡están restando valor a ese amor! Porque no pueden amar a esa persona plenamente hasta que la amen en Dios y a causa de su amor por Él. A esto se refiere Jesús cuando dice: “El que ama a su padre o a su madre más que a mí, no es digno de mí”.

          Este amor supremo por Jesús es lo que resuelve la paradoja. Pues, cuando amo a Jesús lo suficiente como para cargar con el horrendo instrumento de ejecución romano y seguirle—es decir, cuando decido perder mi vida (o sea, sacrificarla) por él—entonces hallaré una vida nueva y un amor verdadero y puro con el que podré amar a los demás y engendrar también vida nueva en ellos.

          Permítanme retroceder un momento, porque tal vez hemos vuelto a caer en planteamientos demasiado “abstractos”. Ese amor “verdadero y puro” del que hablé no será apasionado (aunque pueda tener momentos de pasión). Más bien, este amor verdadero y puro se asemejará más a una hospitalidad radical: una apertura desde lo más profundo de nuestro ser para reconocer y acoger a cada persona con la que nos encontramos, con la misma generosidad de espíritu con la que Jesús reconoce y acoge a cada uno de nosotros. Esto se manifiesta en los pequeños gestos que Jesús enumera: “El que recibe a un profeta por ser profeta (como en la primera lectura)... el que recibe a un justo por ser justo... quien diere, aunque no sea más que un vaso de agua fría a uno de estos pequeños, por ser discípulo mío...”. No se trata de momentos de amor apasionado, sino de pequeños actos de hospitalidad radical. Sin embargo, Jesús nos dice que estos pequeños actos de hospitalidad radical—estos pequeños actos de sacrificio—reportarán a quienes los realizan una recompensa generosa. ///

          Hermanos, estas son buenas noticias. Buenas noticias porque estas oportunidades de practicar la hospitalidad nunca están lejos de nosotros. Ustedes han sido muy generosos conmigo cada vez que he pasado por su hogar en estos últimos meses. Sin duda, el Señor los recompensará por ello. El padre Pierre llegará esta semana, brindándoles una nueva oportunidad para demostrar cómo su amor por Dios—por encima de todo lo demás—amplía su capacidad de amar al recibirlo con generosa hospitalidad. Estos gestos, junto con los innumerables sacrificios de hospitalidad radical que ustedes ofrecen, seguramente engendrarán nueva vida en esta parroquia y harán crecer y expandir aún más el amor en sus corazones.

          Que el amor radical, nacido del sacrificio de Jesús que aquí actualizamos sobre el altar, nos sostenga en el amor hasta el día en que veamos plenamente la recompensa que nos está preparada en el cielo.

Dado en la parroquia de Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN – 28 de junio, 2026

Sacrifice engenders new life

 Homily: 13^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

Friends, the readings for Mass for these weeks that we are in have, as their general theme, teachings about the costs and rewards of discipleship.  Today, that teaching centers around a more particular theme, that of how a life of sacrifice engenders new life.  So, let’s take a look at our readings and see what I mean.

In today’s first reading we have this delightful little story, featuring the prophet Elisha.  It’s almost “cutsey”, isn’t it?  Elisha is a roving prophet and this woman of influence has pity on him so she invites him in for dinner and then this becomes a pattern every time Elisha comes to town.  This happened enough that the woman goes so far as to have a little room built onto her house for him so that he’d have a place to stay and not just a place to get a meal.  Among all of the stories of Elisha where he can seem to come off as harsh, this story is actually pretty sweet.

We see, of course, that there is more to the story: more that strips away the sentimentality of it and gives a depth of emotion to the scene.  The woman is noted as being a “woman of influence”, meaning that she (also meaning, “her husband”) had money.  It would have been easy for her to ignore Elisha as it is likely that he wouldn’t have run around in the “influential” circles in Shunem.  Yet, she didn’t.  Rather she took notice of him and showed him hospitality, simply because she recognized him as “a holy man of God.”  We see, then, that she was not only a “woman of influence”, but also a “woman of faith”.

Still further, we find out that she and her husband were childless; and, it seems, not for lack of trying.  Rather, it seems (because of Elisha’s servant’s response) like she and her husband had been married for some time, but had not yet conceived a child.  Could you imagine what it was like for them then to build a room for someone else in their house?  Most of us can imagine (and some of us have experienced) what it is like to have a deep longing to have children, yet be unable to conceive.  Try imagining, then, deciding to add a room to your house for a passing guest without thinking about the child for whom that room was always meant.  Now imagine just how hard it must have been for her to do that.  Yet she did; and, as it seems from the reading, she did it without so much as a word to Elisha: meaning that she did it simply because, as a holy man of God, he deserved that hospitality, and not because she had hoped to win favor from God.

Yet, she did win favor from God, didn’t she?  When Elisha first stayed in the room that she and her husband had prepared for him, he inquired as to what could be done for them.  When he heard the news that they were childless and that the husband was almost too old to be a father, he spoke the delightful prophecy that God would favor them and bless them with a child: a male heir for their family.  Imagine now the shock this woman must have felt hearing this prophecy.  Imagine the delight when, some weeks later, she discovered that she was indeed pregnant!  Yes, we see that there is a depth of emotion to this story; and in it, a beautiful lesson of how the sacrifices that this woman made—sacrifices made in faith to serve one of God’s servants—truly engendered new life for her and her husband.

In the second reading, Saint Paul gets more theologically specific about how sacrifice engenders new life.  He reminds us that it was Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross that brought us new life and that we must also sacrifice and die to ourselves so that this new life in Christ might take hold of us and engender new life in us and in those around us.  Saint Paul reminds us that this dying and rising to new life takes place spiritually and sacramentally in us through baptism.  This is to be for us a permanent reminder that, one day, it will take place for real: for we all must die someday, but if we believe in Christ and live as his disciples a resurrection to an eternal, glorified life awaits us.

Saint Paul reminds us that we must think ourselves as “dead to sin”.  This is because sin leads to death; and so, the more we deaden ourselves to sin (that is, the more that we make sacrifices of ourselves for others, instead of choosing to serve ourselves alone), the more the new life that we have in Christ can take hold of us: renewing our lives and engendering new life in the world around us.

In the Gospel reading, Jesus clearly makes demands of his disciples: telling them that, if they want to be his disciple, they cannot love father or mother, son or daughter, more than him.  Rather, he says, those who wish to be his disciple must take up the cross (yes, the horrific Roman execution device!) and follow after him.  Then he speaks paradoxically, saying: “Whoever finds his life will lose it, and who ever loses his life for my sake will find it.”  Let’s break this down a bit, shall we?

First, is Jesus saying that we cannot love our father/mother or son/daughter?  No, of course not.  For some reason, it’s easy for us to think (when we are thinking abstractly) that it has to be all one way or all the other: that is, that our love must be exclusively for one to the detriment of the other.  But in reality, we realize that, when we deeply love someone, it causes our love to grow, doesn’t it?  We realize that our love is not a “zero sum” game, but rather that, when given to the right person, it actually expands our love and makes it possible to love more!  Jesus knows this; and he knows that when his disciples love him first and above all that their love will expand exponentially, making it possible to love everyone else—including father/mother and son/daughter—with an even greater love than they first thought possible.

Author Fr. Francis Fernandez says it this way: “To love our neighbor in God is not to go about by a long and circuitous route in order to love him.  Love of God is a short-cut to our brothers.  Only in God can we really understand and love all men, immersed even as they are in their errors and we in ours, and in spite of those things that humanly speaking would tend to separate us from them or lead us to pass them by without a glance in their direction.”  This is beautiful!  Husbands and wives, mothers and fathers, everyone who can hear me: this means that, if you say “I love you” to someone, but haven’t striven to know and love God with all of your heart first, then you are cheapening your love for them!  Because you cannot really love them fully until you love them in and because of your love for God.  This is what Jesus means when he says, “Whoever loves father or mother more than me is not worthy of me.”

This paramount love for Jesus is what unravels the paradox.  For when I love Jesus enough to take up the horrific Roman execution device and follow him—meaning, when I decide to lose my life (that is, sacrifice my life) for him—then I will find new life and a true, pure love with which I can love others and engender new life in them, as well.

Let me back up again, a moment, because perhaps we have gone too “abstract” again in our thinking.  This “true, pure” love of which I spoke will not be passionate (though it may have passionate moments).  Rather, this true, pure love will look more like a radical hospitality: an openness to our core to recognize and receive each person we encounter with the same generosity of spirit with which Jesus recognizes and receives each of us.  This manifests itself in the little ways that Jesus enumerates: “Whoever receives a prophet because he is a prophet (like in the first reading)… whoever receives a righteous man because he is a righteous man... whoever gives only a cup of cold water to one of these little ones to drink because the little one is a disciple...”  These are not moments of passionate love, but rather small acts of radical hospitality.  Nonetheless, Jesus tells us that these small acts of radical hospitality—these small acts of sacrifice—will earn for those who offer them a generous reward. ///

Friends, this is good news.  Good news because these opportunities for hospitality are never far from us.  You all have been very generous to me as I’ve dropped in and out of your home here over these past months.  The Lord will surely reward you for this.  Fr. Pierre will arrive this week, giving you another chance to demonstrate how your love for God above all others expands your love, as you receive him with generous hospitality.  These and the countless other sacrifices of radical hospitality you offer will surely engender new life in this parish and will grow and expand love in your hearts even further.

May the radical love engendered in the sacrifice of Jesus that we re-present here on this altar sustain us in love until the day we see fully the reward prepared for us in heaven.

Given at St. Charles Borromeo Parish: Peru, IN – June 28^th, 2026

Grace + Our Cooperation With Grace = Overcoming Sin

 Homily: 12th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

Friends, as each of us grows into adulthood, one of the things that we learn is that we are often victims of our genes (G-E-N-E-S, not J-E-A-N-S).  In other words, we find that our genetics, over which we have no control, create challenges for us in our lives.  For example, my mother cannot look at a slice of pizza without her cholesterol increasing.  This is not because of anything she did, but it’s simply the way her body works because of her genetic makeup.  My father, on the other hand, can eat whatever he wants and his cholesterol stays flat in a good range.  Again, this is not because of anything that he has done, but simply the way his body works because of his genetic makeup.  Over the years, and after multiple tests, I’ve discovered that I have my father’s genes when it comes to this, which irks my mother quite a bit.  That’s not the point, though.  The point is that sometimes negative traits that we have are inherited and there’s nothing that we can do about it.

Sin is like those inherited traits.  There are some in the world who like to think that we can simply “wish sin away”, as if it is some label that we’ve put on certain actions and behaviors, not something that is “inside” of us.  These are folks who are bothered by the negative attitude that focusing on sin can cause in people and would rather focus on having a more positive attitude and encouraging people to “try to do good”.  In other words, they try to act as if sin doesn’t exist.  In the second reading from Saint Paul’s letter to the Romans, Paul is explaining some very important points about sin and redemption.  In doing so, he also reminds us of the clear evidence of sin in the world.  He says, “Through one man sin entered the world, and through sin, death…”  Death is the consequence of sin.  Thus, by implication, if death is still in the world, then so is sin.  Make sense?  If the existence of sin caused death to enter the world, then the persistence of death in the world means that sin also is still in it.

That sin is an inherited trait is clear by what Paul says later:  “and thus death came to all men, inasmuch as all sinned…” and “death reigned… even over those who did not sin after the trespass of Adam…” (this latter part being an allusion to what we now call “Original Sin”).  As we pay attention, we see that death is still in the world, and thus can conclude sin still is in the world.  That being true, we can conclude that, as descendants of Adam, sin, as an inherited trait, is still in us, too.

The good news is that, by grace—and by ordering our lives rightly according to grace—we can overcome the limitations that these inherited traits impose upon us.  Paul says, “But the gift [i.e. grace] is not like the transgression [i.e. sin]. For if by the transgression of the one the many died, how much more did the grace of God and the gracious gift of the one man Jesus Christ overflow for the many.”  In other words, he’s saying that if sin (and, therefore, death for all) entered the world so easily (that is, through the transgression of one man), then how much more easy was it for grace (which is infinitely more powerful than sin) to enter the world and so overcome sin (and, therefore, provide life for all)?  Therefore, grace, and our cooperation with it, becomes the way that we can overcome the limitations that the sin we inherited imposed upon us.

For example, let’s go back to my mother (or anyone who struggles with high cholesterol).  Medications exist today to help reduce and/or eliminate harmful cholesterol in our bodies.  These work best, however, when coupled with behavior changes, such as exercise and a change in diet to low-cholesterol foods.  Grace (the medication) and her cooperation with grace (changes in her behavior) allow my mother to overcome the limitations that her inherited traits imposed upon her (that is, the genetic disposition to high cholesterol).  This is such a boring example, isn’t it?  I hope it’s illustrative, though.

Friends, this is the reason that Jesus is so adamant in the gospel that we not fall into worldly thinking that invites us either to try to dismiss this notion that sin is an inherited trait (and something that we have to contend with) or that it is something to which there is no remedy.  He exhorts us not to be afraid of anything in the world—even bodily death—but rather to trust in the One who has power over bodily death—and, thus, complete power over sin, through which death entered the world.  In doing so, we open ourselves to grace; and, as I’ve already said, grace, and our cooperation with grace, is the way that we can overcome the limitations that sin and the disposition to sin that we inherited has imposed upon us.

So how do we gain access to this grace?  It begins and ends with faith, of course: that is, with receiving the gift of the revelation of God and, thus, putting our complete trust in God and in the redemption won for us by Jesus on the cross.  Faith then leads us to baptism, through which we are cleansed of sin (both Original Sin and any personal sin for which we may be guilty).  The sacraments of confirmation and holy communion complete that baptismal grace and strengthen us to live as cooperators with that grace in the world.  The sacrament of reconciliation helps restore us to grace when we fail to cooperate with or even work directly against grace.  Finally, we access grace daily when we acknowledge Jesus before others, trusting, as he promised in the gospel today, that this will lead him to acknowledge us before the Father, where he will intercede for us and unlock an overflow of grace for us.

Doesn’t this sound awesome???  It does to me!  Every day, we can look out into the world and think, like Jeremiah laments at the beginning of the first reading, that “I hear the whisperings of many: ‘Terror on every side! Denounce! let us denounce him!”  In other words, we can observe ourselves and our surroundings and think, “This sin and the inclination to sin that I’ve inherited surrounds me and I have no recourse”.  But Jesus’ exhortation to us today not to be afraid is a reminder that grace, which is a share in the divine power of God’s life, is available to us through faith.  And when we cooperate with grace, ordering our lives according to the commandment to love God above all and our neighbor as ourselves, then we overcome sin and our tendency to sin, and open ourselves to an eternal life, free from any limitations, inherited or otherwise.  This is truly awesome!

Friends, it is true that we are often victims of our genes, meaning that inherited traits (like sin), traits over which we have no control, can affect us negatively.  Trying to hide from this reality often leads to negative consequences.  When we acknowledge these limitations and open ourselves to grace, however, we find the power to help us overcome.  Let us, therefore, as Jeremiah exhorts us, “Sing to the Lord, praise the Lord” that he has rescued us from sin and freed us for eternal life.  And with this song of praise on our lips and in our hearts, let us boldly return to the world to acknowledge Jesus before others and cooperate with grace, so that many others may be united to us in glorifying God and preparing for the life to come.

Given at St. Lawrence Parish: Muncie, IN – June 21st, 2026

Called to be "laborers for his harvest"

 Homily: 11^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          “At the sight of the crowds, Jesus’ heart was moved with pity for them because they were troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd…”

          Friends, as we finally get back to the “ordinary” of this “Ordinary Time”, we are blessed to be greeted with this beautiful line from the ninth chapter of Matthew’s Gospel.  It’s beautiful because it records for us the wonderfully tender nature of Jesus’ heart.  As we have just celebrated the solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus this past Friday, it is a reminder of that celebration to see his heart on display in the Gospel reading.

          This, of course, brings us joy: because we know that hearts can be fickle, and this story about Jesus in the Gospel could have recorded a very different reaction.  Jesus’ reaction to the sight of the crowds is a very noble and tender one.  His heart “was moved with pity for them”.  I’m sure most of us, however, could imagine our own reaction to this scene: having already worked to help so many, you then look up and see another multitude of people waiting for your help.  All of us would be tempted to say, “Oh, this is just too much.  It’ll be never ending!  I just can’t continue with this.”  If we give into that temptation and abandon the crowd, then it could be said that “Our hearts were moved with pity for ourselves…”  Jesus’ heart was moved with pity for them, and, as those who are counted among the “them”, we are joyful because of it.

          Beautiful as this is, however, Jesus’ heart isn’t just moved with pity, but also moved to do something about it.  Immediately he turns to his disciples and urges them to ask “the master of the harvest” (God the Father in heaven) “to send out laborers for his harvest”.  Then, as if he is the actor in a one-man play, taking on the role of “the master of the harvest”, he turns and summons the twelve disciples to send them out to be “laborers for the harvest”.  Again, it is truly a noble and tender heart that sees others in great need and, knowing that something can be done, is moved to do it.  Friends, I don’t think that it is a superlative to say that this orientation of Jesus’ heart is still present in the Church today: for she continues to be the embodiment of how “the master of the harvest” continually sends “laborers for his harvest”.  In fact, I feel quite certain that, if she ever abandoned this mission, the Church would simply disintegrate and disappear.

          Without going to much farther afield into the abstract ecclesiology of the Church and her mission, I want to step back to the text and take note of something.  I think that it’s very interesting that, after having said that “[Jesus] summoned his twelve disciples”, Matthew names them all.  By the time that these Gospels were written, everybody knew who the twelve apostles were.  It would have been enough to say, “Jesus summoned his twelve disciples and gave them the mission”; everyone would have known those to whom he was referring.  Nevertheless, I can still see naming them as a way to record, for posterity, who were the first twelve.  But I also see something else of Jesus’ tenderness manifesting itself in reminding us of the individuality of each of the twelve, which happened when Matthew was inspired to give us their names.  I have a story that I think will help you to see why.

          Last week, I was asked to visit a sick parishioner in Logansport.  Noemi is a relatively young mother (she’s a little younger than I am).  About eight years ago, she was found with a cancerous tumor in her brain. As much of it as possible was surgically removed and she was then given radiation and chemotherapy to try to ensure all of it was eliminated.  Unfortunately, the cancer has returned and in a way that doctors had no further recourse to help her.  Her mother, who had asked me to visit her, said that she was despondent and hoped that I could come to pray with her and, perhaps, bring her some hope.

          I went to visit her and found her somewhat as her mother described.  My heart was moved with pity for her.  We talked for a little bit as I tried to understand more about her situation.  I also wanted to give her permission to express any feelings she may be experiencing about God: as many people in situations like this can feel angry at God, but don’t feel like they have the permission to express it.  She was able to share with me that she felt angry with God and forgotten by him.  I assured her that God had not forgotten her, but that he was with her this whole time, and that my presence there was a sign of this very fact.  “You see,” I told her, “there is no other reason for me to be here right now than the fact that God wants you to know that he has not forgotten you: that he has not abandoned you.”  In other words, I tried to remind her that, having no other connection to her, I had no other reason to be there, except that visiting the sick and bringing them the sacraments is what God has called me to do.  In doing so, I bring a tangible sign to them that God is still with them, and that he has not forgotten them. 

          Reflecting on my priestly ministry, I am struck by how strange it seems that God chose me—that is, that he chooses regular schmoes, like me—to fulfill his purpose.  Just as easily he could have sent an army of angels for this task (which probably would be both more efficient and effective).  Yet, he chooses us—men and women with names—to go out and be the tangible sign of his presence: to be “laborers for his harvest”.

          This is why I think it’s so great that we hear the names of the Apostles today.  It reminds us that God, in his tender pity for the crowds who “were troubled and abandoned”, sent regular schmoes to go out and manifest his loving presence to the crowds in need: not angels, not AI robots, but persons with names and families and histories…  It’s great, because it also reminds each of us that, as members of his Church, we are called to continue in this apostolic legacy: to be the laborers that “the master of the harvest” sends out “for his harvest” to manifest his loving presence to those who are in danger of forgetting it.

          Therefore, as we give thanks with great joy today for the noble and tender love of Jesus’ heart that is moved with pity for us whenever we are troubled or feel abandoned, let us commit ourselves to respond when God calls us to accompany the “troubled and abandoned” in our midst, so that they, too, can know that God is with them.  In doing so, we will be reaping the fruits of the harvest and solidifying the presence of God’s Church in this place for many years to come.  May God’s accompaniment of us in this Holy Eucharist—present in both the Word and in the Blessed Sacrament received from this altar—strengthen us for this good work.

Given at St. Charles Borromeo Parish: Peru, IN – June 14^th, 2026

Confronting the Truth about Jesus and his teaching

 

Homily: Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ – Cycle A

Friends, as we celebrate this great feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus, I am reminded of one of the more memorable Eucharistic processions in which I participated while I was studying Spanish in Antigua, Guatemala.

There, each of the major parishes take turns throughout the month of June to have their own processions, so there ends up being many opportunities to join in a procession.  The Cathedral parish is always the first to hold theirs, of course.  In Antigua, they celebrate the feast on the Thursday after Trinity Sunday, which is the traditional day on which to celebrate it, and the Cathedral Mass and procession was in the morning, which was during my lessons in Spanish.  My teacher suggested that we join the celebration so that I could get an idea of how they celebrated these feasts in Latin America.  As a devout seminarian, I was happy to agree!

The Mass in the cathedral was celebrated by the bishop, of course.  It was beautiful and the cathedral was full of people.  Many more were gathered outside to prepare for the procession and the path through the streets was prepared, also.  Homes and businesses along the streets were decorated with banners and other festive adornments, and in the streets were “alfombras”—colorful “carpets” made from pine needles, colored sawdust, and flower petals with beautiful designs—placed there solely to be walked on as the procession with the Blessed Sacrament passed over them.

At the time of the consecration, I was fully focused on the altar and ready to adore our Lord made present to us in the form of bread and wine.  Then, as the bishop consecrated the bread and showed it to us, I heard it: FOOMP, FOOMP… POP, POP.  “Oh my gosh,” I thought, “Someone just blew off fireworks outside the church during Mass!  That was so irreverent!”  And then, as the bishop consecrated the wine and held it up for us to adore, I heard it again: FOOMP, FOOMP… POP, POP.  This second time, my reaction changed.  “Oh my gosh,” I thought, “This was intentional.  They intended to shoot off fireworks at the consecration.  That’s so weird!”  At that moment, I knew that my teacher was right: I was about to have an experience of how they celebrated these feasts in Latin America!

As Mass concluded and the procession began, I realized that the fireworks at the consecration was just the beginning.  As the bishop crossed the threshold of the door to the cathedral carrying the monstrance with the Blessed Sacrament, he paused and two more fireworks were launched.  Then, as the procession made its way through the streets, at regular intervals, fireworks continued to be launched ahead of it.  In addition, strips of firecrackers were lit along the sidewalks, usually mere feet from those who were following the procession.  All the while musicians were playing songs of Eucharistic devotion and the faithful were singing and praying the rosary or other devotions.

In spite of the fact that all of these loud displays assaulted my cultural sense of reverence—that is, that quiet, reserved displays of devotion are most appropriate—I nonetheless came to recognize an important fact: No one in that city had any doubt who was walking through the streets that day!  Or, if they did, they were forced to confront their doubts that day! ///

Today we heard in our first reading these words from the book of Deuteronomy, “Do not forget the Lord, your God, who brought you out of the land of Egypt, that place of slavery; who guided you through the vast and terrible desert… and fed you in the desert with manna…”  And so, we celebrate this feast of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Jesus to remember the sacred humanity of Jesus, the Son of God, through which we were redeemed of our sins and restored to friendship with God, and the Blessed Sacrament, the Real Presence of the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Jesus, by which we “eat his flesh and drink his blood”—the living bread come down from heaven—and so have life within us.  We do this to remember, as Moses commanded the ancient Israelites to do—or, rather, so that we never forget—that the Lord, our God, has brought us out of that place of slavery and fed us with miraculous bread to sustain us on our journey to eternal life.  We remember, not just because it is an important doctrine—which, of course, it is—but also because it has implications for everything in our lives.

Friends, Jesus’ challenge to his disciples (and to his skeptics) in the Gospel is one that cannot be ignored.  One has either to accept the teaching or to deny it.  Ignoring it is not an option.  Rather, as Father Luigi Giusani (founder of Communion and Liberation) put it, it is a problem that must be solved.  He likens it to a landslide that you encounter while driving along a road on the way to your destination: you cannot simply ignore it.  Rather, it is a problem that must be solved if you are to continue on your way to your destination, even as the solution will affect the path you take towards it.

The same is true for the incarnation and for Jesus’ revelation in the gospel today: we cannot simply ignore it.  God has entered human history and has said, “unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you.”  If your destination is “life”, then this revelation becomes a landslide across the road: you have to figure out how to navigate through or around it, and the solution will affect the path by which you continue.  In other words, if you say, “I’m going to continue going forward”, then you have to find a way to come to terms with that statement.  As you do, you might find that, the way it leads you is different from your original path; and you may even need a guide to direct you other than as you would have chosen.  But if you say, “Ah, this is too much; I’m going to turn back”, deciding not to contend with that statement, well then you are no longer pursuing the destination, but your life will be different still.  Many of those who heard these words from Jesus turned back from the path (and, thus, away from their destination).  Many others, however, confused as they may have been, continued to follow him along the path that this revelation dictated and they entered the life he had promised: albeit through a path that they might never have chosen otherwise.

My brothers and sisters, the Mass that we celebrate today and the processions that are taking place here at All Saints later today, at St. Charles in Peru this morning, and in many other places this Lord’s Day, are our call to confront this problem once again and to push others to do so.  When we celebrate any Mass, and even more so when we take the Blessed Sacrament out into the streets, we are performing a profound act of faith: that what we have encountered and what we believe is true—that is, that to follow Jesus and to eat his flesh and drink his blood in the Blessed Sacrament is the solution to the “problem” that God’s incarnation presents.  Our task is to make our lives continual encounters with this “problem”–that is, to live in such a way so that the mystery of the incarnation becomes real in us–so that those who may never encounter a Mass or a Eucharistic procession might nonetheless encounter the Incarnate God in a personal way, through us, and, thus, have the chance to choose life—the life that his Body and Blood make possible for us. /// Regardless of how each of us is called to and chooses to do this, I’d like to remind you that fireworks (apparently) are always an available option 😉.

Friends, no matter how God calls us to witness to this truth in our lives, our first task is always this: to worship God “with our whole heart, and with our whole being, and with our whole strength” (Deut 6:5), which begins and ends always here, in the Mass.  May our worship today, and our efforts to witness to these truths in our lives–fireworks or not–bring glory to God and salvation to all those around us.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN - June 6th & 7th, 2026