An Inconvenient Truth

Homily: 26^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

“An Inconvenient Truth” is the title of a 2006 documentary of former United States Vice President Al Gore’s efforts to raise awareness about “global warming” and to promote efforts to help combat it.  The title of the film used Mr. Gore’s own words, who called global warming an “inconvenient truth”.  “Inconvenient” since efforts to combat it demand that we all choose to give up many of our modern conveniences; or, at least, to modify them so as to minimize their “carbon footprint”: a generic term indicating the impact that a certain thing or process has on global warming.

This week there were “Climate Change” summits in both the US and Canada.  “Climate Change” has replaced “Global Warming” as the word that is being used to describe the impact that our modern world is having on our global environment.  It’s a broader term, indicating that excessive “change” (not just “warming”) is something with which we should be concerned and so work to combat it.  The change of term does not change the inconvenience of the truth, however, and so activists continue to work to raise awareness and to promote both large-scale and small-scale change in society so as to combat it.

Unfortunately, in my humble opinion, alarmism has seemingly taken over what ought to be a very valuable discussion: that is, how we all ought to work together to make changes in our own lifestyles that can slow the rate of change and, thus, truly care for our environment.  “Governments must fix this”, is not the answer here; rather, every-day Joes, like you and me, need to make decisions every day about trips we take, products we purchase, and energy we consume if we wish to make a difference.  Take that “mindfulness” to a global scale and, all of a sudden, we could find ourselves feeling much less alarmed about our effects on the environment. ///

Today in our Scripture readings, we are presented with another “inconvenient truth”.  This one is the truth about the responsibility of the rich to the poor.  Perhaps the majority of us here wouldn’t consider ourselves “rich”; and, when considered on the income spectrum of those living in the United States, we’d probably be correct.  When considered on a global spectrum, however, that certainly changes.  Income that would be considered at or below the “poverty level” here in the United States would still place a person well into the upper levels of income in other, less-developed nations.  Regardless, however, even if we don’t consider ourselves “rich”, it is also likely that we are not “poor”, either; and so, we should take heed of the inconvenient truth presented by our Scriptures today.

The parable of the rich man and poor Lazarus is probably quite familiar to us, and so I’d like to spend a little time going through what the prophet Amos is criticizing in the first reading.  I’m not sure we understand the excesses he is describing there and so let’s take a closer look.  Amos’ dire prophecy stems from the habit of indulgence at feasts in which the wealthy regularly engaged.  He speaks of the couches on which they reclined to eat, which were luxuriously appointed with inlaid ivory and whose comfort invited them to spend long hours at meals.  He then speaks of the meat on which they daily dine.  Yet, at the time, a diet of meat was almost unknown.  Animals were peoples’ livelihood.  They were means of transportation or of carrying out work.  They produced wool and milk and other products useful for life.  Only occasionally, then, were they slaughtered for a meal; and, usually, (if not exclusively) in conjunction with some religious sacrifice.  Therefore, that the rich are dining on calves and lambs—the very animals most often used in sacrifice—is another sign of their extravagance.  They anoint themselves with costly fragranced oils and, instead of drinking wine out of cups (something which would promote some level of restraint), they drank it out of bowls (all the better to gulp the wine, instead of sip).  Old Testament prophets aren’t usually given to exaggeration, but even if it were so, in this case, we could still picture the extravagance with which the rich splurge with their wealth.

Like the parable from the Gospel, however, it is not so much the extravagance of the rich that the prophet condemns; rather, it is the indifference paid to their poor brethren that is the core of the prophet’s judgment.  For Amos, and at a time when the tribes of Israel were split between the north and the south, it was the indifference of those who lived in Judah—and Jerusalem, specifically—to the plight of their kinsman of the northern tribes who were suffering from an unraveling of their society, in which poverty was widespread.  It is their indifference that will bring condemnation upon them and they—that is, the wealthy of Judah—who will suffer the disgrace of exile first.  This reversal of fortunes because of the indifference of the rich to the poor is best described in Jesus’ parable when, as the rich man, now suffering torment in the afterlife, asks Abraham to send Lazarus to help ease his suffering and hears this reply: “My child, remember that you received what was good during your lifetime while Lazarus likewise received what was bad; but now he is comforted here, whereas you are tormented.”  Lazarus was a kinsman to the rich man and his indifference to his kinsman led him to eternal suffering.

This is the “inconvenient truth” that the Scriptures present to us today: that we, who enjoy what is good during our lifetime will be judged for how we treated those who received what was bad in theirs.  Do we treat them as kinsmen—that is, brothers and sisters who have a claim on our compassion and help?  Or do we treat them with indifference: enjoying the good in our lifetime without much concern for the bad that they are receiving?  The Scriptures make it clear that we must treat them as our brothers and sisters if we expect to inherit the eternal life of happiness that Jesus has won for us.

Many of us, of course, do what we can to help the materially poor around us.  And this is good!  This weekend, however, as the Church celebrates the World Day for Migrants and Refugees, I’d like to highlight that this “inconvenient truth” also demands that we remove all indifference to migrants and refugees who seek help from us to have a better life.  Help, first and foremost, to achieve better living conditions in their native place, then, secondly, help to be received with generosity here if they are no longer able to remain there.  To do either, however, we will have to give up some of our own comforts (that’s why the truth is called “inconvenient”), but to do so is to fulfill the will of God, who loves the poor and hears them when they cry out to him in need.

My brothers and sisters, as Saint Paul once wrote, “There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, man nor woman, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.”  Therefore, let us renew our commitment to this “inconvenient truth” that is presented to us today and seek to root out all indifference to our less-fortunate brothers and sisters and so help them.  Just as we, who are poor beggars before God, have been welcomed to this banquet of God’s love and mercy, let us show our thanksgiving by opening our lives to those around us who are suffering and, thus, prepare ourselves and those around us for the eternal life of comfort and consolation that God has prepared for us.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – September 28^th & 29^th, 2019

Humility that opens ourselves to others

Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati

Homily: 22^nd Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

Friends, today’s readings call us to think about and attend to the virtue of humility in our lives.  Why humility?  Well, if there’s one thing that we can learn from the first sin, it’s that we can overestimate our ability to comprehend a given situation and its consequences, leading us to bite off more than we can chew (pun intended) and end up in an embarrassing situation or, worse yet, suffering some severe consequences for our actions, as our first parents did in the Garden of Eden.  “Pride goeth before the fall”, the saying goes, and so our Scriptures today call us to humility.

In our reading from the wisdom writings of Ben Sirach, we hear that humility, far from limiting our influence with others and God’s favor of us, will actually increase them.  And if we think about it, this makes sense.  While we often think that those who are proud and who think highly of themselves tend to win the esteem of others, usually this is limited to those whose accomplishments are exceptional; and so, the esteem that they hold is really about their accomplishments more than it is about who they are as persons.  In everyday living, however—that is, in and among the people with whom we interact everyday—we recognize that it is the unassuming person, the humble person, whom we admire most.  This is the person who puts others before him or herself, who doesn’t brag about accomplishments, but rather about the accomplishments of others, and who is always open to being corrected, in spite of the fact that he/she may be well-learned in a particular topic or skill.

And so, it follows that this person is more favored by God.  The one who doesn’t assume he/she knows best, but rather submits to God and his judgments in all things, receives God’s favor.  Just look at the example of Jesus: who, when he was approached by a man who called him “Good Teacher”, turned and said, “Why do you call me good?  Only God is good...”  Although he was God incarnate in human flesh, he knew that, in his human nature, he must not seek the praise of others, but point always to his Father in heaven.  Thus, Saint Paul says, in his famous Canticle, “...because of this, God highly exalted him and bestowed on him the name above every other name...”  ///  The humble person is esteemed by others and finds favor with God.

Then, in the Gospel, we read how Jesus used a dinner party to teach his disciples this lesson about humility.  While he watched the guests jockey for positions of prominence, he probably noticed that a few of them were positioning themselves higher in rank than they really were, trying to make themselves look better.   Jesus knew what we all know and that is that when you try to exalt yourself, people see right through it and you usually come off worse for it.  But when you accept your place and always try to put others before you, people see that, too, and will usually be generous with you to offer a better place.  If not, you’re no worse for it, since you didn’t risk suffering the consequences of embarrassment (or, possibly, something worse).

Jesus then turns to the host of the dinner—and I love this part—and he instructs him in radical humility.  He says, “when you hold a lunch or dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or your wealthy neighbors, in case they may invite you back and you have repayment.  Rather, when you hold a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind; blessed will you be for their inability to repay you.”  Who of us, right, ever thinks this way?  We all love fellowship with our relatives, friends, and neighbors.  Can it really be that Jesus is telling us never to have them over for dinner?  Well, I think that, since we believe Sacred Scripture to be inspired by the Holy Spirit, we need to take seriously the idea that Jesus may mean this literally (and, of course, that the promise of being repaid at the resurrection is also literally true).  But if we look at it simply as a dichotomy—that is, as either “this” or “that”—then I think we might be thinking too narrowly.

Remember that one of the things that we hold in tension as Christians is the “both/and”.  For example, we believe that Jesus is both God and Man.  We believe that the kingdom of God is both here now and still coming.  And so, when we look at this, while striving to take Jesus for his word, we should look for the “both/and” in the situation.  In other words, is there a way to live his teaching in which we can enjoy the fellowship of close relatives, friends, and neighbors without neglecting the poor, crippled, lame, and blind?  I think that the answer is “yes”, and I’d like to share an example with you to explain why.

Pier Giorgio Frassati was a young man from Turin, Italy, who lived in the early 1900s.  He was the son of an Italian ambassador; and so, needless to say, he came from a prominent family who lived with all of the trappings that a wealthy businessman and ambassador could provide for his family.  Nonetheless, from an early age, Pier Giorgio displayed a great empathy and devotion to the poor.  It was said that once, when he was around 5 years old, a poor mother and her child came to the Frassati home looking for help.  Pier Giorgio noticed that the child didn’t have shoes, so he quickly ran and got a pair of his own shoes to give to the child.  This devotion to the poor continued throughout his adolescence and young adulthood.

Pier Giorgio was a handsome and athletic young man who had a joy-filled personality; and so, he also had many friends and he loved to spend time with them.  Throughout his young life, he sought to balance his devotion to his family, his friends, and to the poor.  The three he saw as equal and so gave himself to them equally (although often imperfectly).  For example, he never left for a trip with his friends (usually a hiking trip in the Italian Alps... he loved climbing!) without first making sure that the poor he knew from the streets of Turin had what they needed.  None but a few of his friends, however—and none of his family—knew of his devoted ministry to the poor.  And so, when he contracted and died from polio in 1925—at just 24 years old—his family and most of his friends were shocked to find throngs of Turin’s poor who came to his funeral to honor this young man who had served them so lovingly.

Pier Giorgio Frassati did not neglect his fellowship with his family, friends, and neighbors during his life.  Yet he nonetheless found a way to invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind to the banquets that he had prepared.  And he did so humbly: never bragging about all that he did, but rather always striving to do what he could out of gratitude for all that he had received in his life.  As Catholics, we now know him as Blessed Pier Giorgio Frassati, who is just one approved miracle away from being canonized a saint: which would indicate that he, indeed, has been repaid for serving all of those who could not repay him.

My brothers and sisters, there are countless other saints who lived the same way—and some folks here in our own community, I’m sure.  And so, let’s look to Blessed Pier Giorgio and the others to be for us an inspiration to seek how God is asking us to make this humility a deeper, lived reality in our lives.  The fact that all of these examples reveal to us is that it is possible for us to live this way; and, thus, that we cannot expect to receive the reward of the righteous if we do not strive to live it.  And so, let us look today—yes, TODAY—for ways to live this humility more deeply so that we might be more conformed to the model of righteous humility: Jesus Christ—whom we worship in this Eucharist and encounter here at this altar.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – September 1^st, 2019

The least are all the more necessary

Homily: 3^rd Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

These past two weeks, I was in Central America—El Salvador and Guatemala, to be precise—for a pilgrimage with other priests, deacons, and religious from around the country visiting the sites of the Central American martyrs.  These are persons like Saint Oscar Romero, a bishop in El Salvador, and the newly beatified Blessed Stanley Rother, who was a priest from Oklahoma who went to serve in Guatemala. My anticipation when making this trip was that I’d be inspired be these holy priests and others who gave their lives for their people.  From that standpoint (in case you wanted to ask), the trip was great.

In between those visits, our group was inundated (literally, flooded!) with information about the civil violence in El Salvador and Guatemala in the 70’s and 80’s, in which individual witnesses to the violence perpetrated against innocent persons (in some cases, whole villages!) was recounted.  From this standpoint, the trip was horrible (and I mean by that, horrifying). I hope to be able to recount something of what I heard to you all in the next weeks, but now I’ll just say that that the stories of government sponsored atrocities against innocent people were sickening, saddening, and depressing.

Consoling through all of these stories was meeting some of the men and women who lived through these terrible times (which, by the way, haven’t completely ended) and who nonetheless have found a reason for hope in their Catholic faith.  I encountered in the Maryknoll missionaries who worked with these people during these terrible times what it really means when the Church says that she has a “preferential option for the poor”, as they risked their lives to serve the needs and defend the rights of people who had very little resources to defend themselves.  Finally, I discovered in myself an experience not unlike that which the people experienced in our first reading in today’s Mass.

There, the priest Ezra presents the newly recovered scroll of the Law of Moses, which had been lost to whole generations of Israelites as they were in exile in Babylon.  Now, back in Jerusalem and tasked with rebuilding the city and, specifically, the Temple, the Israelites need some inspiration. Thus, Ezra calls the people together to read to them from the Torah (probably the book of Deuteronomy).  As he does, the people weep.  Scholars say that they wept both for joy and sorrow. Joy, because this word of God is filled with wisdom: wisdom that they had never heard in their lives and which they are now happy to receive (wisdom being such an sought after gift to the peoples of those times).  Sorrow, because they remembered the sins of their ancestors that caused them to be taken into exile and because they recognized the sins under which they, themselves, had been living.

As I went through this pilgrimage, I, too, experienced joy and sorrow.  Joy, as the truth of the Gospel that “brings glad tidings to the poor” pierced my heart: wounding me with its beauty.  Sorrow, as I recognized the sins of generations past that have assaulted that beauty (and continue to do so today) as well as my own sins of ignorance, indifference, and inaction.  As we heard story after story of injustices perpetrated against the poor my sadness grew.  Then, I had a realization: I realized that there would be no happy ending to this pilgrimage.  In other words, there would be no end to this story in which all of these negative scenes would be wrapped up into some positive conclusion, and this increased my sorrow.

Early this past week, however, I found words of consolation: words that helped me to see that there can be a “happy ending”.  In the Office of Readings for the feast of Saint Vincent, Deacon and Martyr, these words of Saint Augustine were provided for reflection: “Against Christ’s army the world arrays a twofold battleline.  It offers temptation to lead us astray; it strikes terror into us to break our spirit.  Hence if our personal pleasures do not hold us captive, and if we are not frightened by brutality, then the world is overcome.”  I think that Saint Augustine nailed it right on the head: What holds me back from acting on behalf of the poor except my fear of becoming poor myself or of what others might do to me if I do?  Thus, if I can overcome my captivity to personal pleasures (and, thus, risk becoming poor) and if I can overcome my fear of reprisals (verbal and/or physical), then I can act with full freedom and release the full power of the Gospel and, thus, do something to bring about the “happy ending” for which I am looking.

Looking at today’s Gospel reading, we see that this is precisely the example that our Lord Jesus has given to us.  There, he comes into the synagogue at Nazareth and solemnly declares that he is the one to fulfill the prophesies of Isaiah of the one who would come to liberate God’s people and inaugurate the kingdom of God.  In doing so, he turned his back on personal pleasures and turned his life towards that of being a poor, itinerant preacher; and he overcame every fear of reprisal: reprisals that, ultimately, would lead to his death.

His death (an unjust death, by the way, driven by the fear of the religious elite) led to his resurrection and the chance for every person to find reconciliation with God and eternal life with him.  Our work, as Christians—that is, followers of Christ—is to continue Christ’s work of proclaiming this Good News by helping people break free from their captivity to their personal pleasures and to overcome their fear of the brutality that the world can inflict upon them; and, thus, work to bring forth God’s kingdom: a kingdom in which the poor hear glad tidings, liberty is proclaimed to captives, sight is restored to the blind, and the oppressed are set free.  Friends, if this is not our aim in life, then we are shirking the responsibilities given to us.

Saint Paul, in our second reading, makes this point even more clear.  There he says that, as members of Christ’s Body, we are all one; and that no member of the body, regardless of how important it may seem, is any more important than any other.  In fact, he says, those members of the body that seem to be least important are “all the more necessary” and are “surrounded with greater honor”.  Thus, the question comes to us: Do the poor have an honored place among us?  Or do we keep them at “arm’s length" so as not to make us too uncomfortable?  Do we allow them to show us what a just kingdom might look like?  Or do we condescend and try to instruct them, instead?

Friends, there are members of Christ’s Body, the Church, all over the world, right here in Lafayette, and, probably, right here in our church, who are suffering right now.  Are we suffering with them?  Some of us, yes.  Many of us, however, no.  Probably most of us, not enough.  And so, if these words cut to your heart, good.  Be sober about this reality and examine your conscience.  Ask God to show you the ways that you might better work to bring forth God’s kingdom of justice and to grow in solidarity with the poor and marginalized in our society.  Then risk becoming poor yourself and the reprisals of those who benefit from keeping the poor in their poverty by working to realize the ideals of justice and solidarity with which God has inspired you.  In this way you will truly suffer with the members who are suffering and be honored with those members who are honored.

Yes, friends, be sober about this reality, but try not to be sad: because the victory over sin and injustice has already been won in Jesus.  Rejoice, therefore, for in Christ we have overcome the world; and justice for every person—from conception to natural death, each created in the supreme dignity of the image of God—can be realized when we allow God’s Spirit to work in and through us.  Yes, rejoice and give thanks today for Christ’s victory; and then choose to make the fruits of Christ’s victory—that is, the fullness of God’s kingdom—present among us.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN – January 26^th & 27^th, 2019

Faith makes our stewardship reasonable

Homily: 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle B

In the film, “Good Morning Vietnam”, Robin Williams plays the role of Adrian Cronauer, a rogue radio broadcaster for the military radio network who had just been sent to Vietnam during the armed conflict there.  The film is one that mixes comedy and drama.  One of the more humorous (although irreverent) parts of the film occurs when Adrian “substitute teaches” an English class for some local people.  In it he is trying to teach them how to use English curse words.  He suggests a situation to one man that ought to get up his ire—that a waitress just spilled hot soup over his nicest suit—and asks the man how he would respond.  The man, however, responds politely.  Adrian tries harder and suggests that this waitress is now beginning to push him and insult not only him, but also his family.  Still, the man responds politely, saying that he will “remain reticent”.  Finally, Adrian works up into a fury, claiming that the waitress has now brought spoons and knives from the kitchen is doing horrible things to him, like stabbing him and gouging out his eyes, and he asks the man in the class, “What are you going to say!?”  The man leans in and responds, “Well, I’m waiting to die.”

This exchange highlights certain differences in cultural biases between Americans and Vietnamese, so much so that for Adrian, this man’s response to being attacked made absolutely no sense to him.  Adrian did not have this man’s frame of reference (one that values respect for another even when that respect isn’t being shown to you) and so could not make sense of this man’s unwillingness to defend himself from this abuse.

In the Gospel reading, we encounter another similar kind of exchange.  We all know this story, of course, because we’ve heard it a hundred times and a hundred times we’ve heard the “moral” of the story: “The widow gave everything, so we, too, should give everything.”  We’ve heard it so often that we are no longer sensitive to the fact that what she did was, in truth, unreasonable.  I mean, how many people suffering in poverty do you know who go around giving up all that they have left to some religious institution.  These days, if we heard of someone asking people to give up all of their life savings for some vague promise of benevolence from God, we’d call that person either a scam artist or a cult leader.  And the people that follow their lead we call gullible and naïve.  Yet here is this poor widow, dropping her last two cents into the temple treasury.  She’s nuts, right?  And what’s even more nuts is that Jesus commends her for it!

Perhaps, however, since this story is included in the Gospel and since I think that it’s a safe bet that most of us here believe that the Bible is God’s words to us and that Jesus wasn’t a madman… perhaps we can give them the benefit of the doubt and try to understand what makes this poor widow’s act—and Jesus’ commendation of her act—reasonable.

First, let’s look at the widow’s situation.  She’s a widow, thus she no longer has the financial support of a household and so she most assuredly is poor.  The Gospel doesn’t say that she’s old, but I think that it is safe to assume that she is advanced in years.  Thus, with no income and being advanced in years (and no retirement plan or Social Security to pull from), she was probably reaching the end of whatever financial means that she had at her disposal.  I can imagine this woman taking a hard look at her situation and saying to herself, “When this is gone, I’m going to die.” /// She had a choice to make: would she cling to those last two coins, trying to make as much use out of them as she could and thus extending her life to the maximum possible limit, or would she turn it over to God, abandoning her whole life to his promise, made so often in the Psalms, to care for the poor and the widow.  Simply stated, if God didn’t exist, her act would be an act of lunacy, almost suicidal.  She dropped those coins into the treasury, though, didn’t she?  And why?  Because of her faith.  And so it seems that faith has the power to correct our reason.

My brothers and sisters, the reality of our lives is that we are all like that poor widow.  In spite of whatever worldly riches we might enjoy in this world, we are nonetheless poor in the eyes of God.  None of us can know when we are going to die and so death, too, remains always before us.  Therefore, the question that faces us is the same question that faced the poor widow: will we use what we have for ourselves in an attempt to extend our lives for as long as possible, or will we turn it over to God, abandoning ourselves to him because of his promise to care for us?

Many years ago, before I was a seminarian, I was searching for authenticity in my life.  I had just rediscovered the Faith and was striving to learn how to live it.  I came across this quote from Cardinal Emmanuel Suhard and was moved by it.  I cut it out and taped it to the inside of my bible so I wouldn’t forget it.  Cardinal Suhard said that “Every Christian, especially the Christian priest, must be a witness.  To be a witness consists in being a living mystery.  It means to live in such a way that one’s life would not make sense if God didn’t exist.”   Little did I know at that time that I would be a Christian priest.  Nonetheless, his words put before me today the same question as they did when I first encountered it: Would the way that I live my life still make sense if God didn’t exist?

My brothers and sisters, the world is trying to convince us that God doesn’t exist and thus that to follow Christ is completely unreasonable.  Like Adrian Cronauer’s cultural blindness in that English class in Vietnam, however, the world cannot see the thing that makes our lives reasonable: our faith.  My brothers and sisters, it is because God lives that the widow’s offering is not only reasonable, but commendable, and it is God’s existence that makes our faith, and thus our acts of abandonment to him, also reasonable.

Over the past couple of weeks, you’ve had the chance to discern how God is calling you to serve both our parish and our community.  Today, I am asking you to exercise your stewardship by making a commitment of your time and talent to serve in our parish and community.  Hopefully you brought your Time and Talent pledge forms with you and have them completed.  If not, there are some extra forms in the pews.  Please mark if you’re “I - Interested” in knowing more about a ministry, “C – to Continue” in a ministry, or “R – to Remove” from a ministry (and if a ministry isn’t listed, feel free to write it in).  Also, please be sure to fill out your personal information on the back of the form.  Finally, please note that these are not life-long commitments, but simply a sign that you’re ready to step deeper into the ways that God is calling you to serve.

I’ll give you a few moments to fill them out before the ushers come forward to collect them.  Like our financial stewardship, stewardship of our time and talent is a way that we demonstrate our faith to the world.  Therefore, my brothers and sisters, be bold and thus give witness to the great mystery of God’s presence among us.

Given at Saint Mary’s Cathedral: Lafayette, IN

November 10th & 11th, 2018

Stewardship is loving God and neighbor

          This month we've been focusing a lot on stewardship: that is, how we use our time, talent, and treasure; and this weekend we held our "Stewardship Drive" to invite our parishioners either to "re-up" their commitment or to make a new commitment to put their gifts at the service of God and the Church.  This year, we decided to have the parishioners fill out the forms in Mass (or before Mass, if they preferred) and invited them to place their commitments in the offering as a sign that this isn't just "not-for-profit" volunteer work, but truly a sacrifice that we make for God.  This is the homily that I gave at all of the Masses this weekend just before everyone was given the chance to make their commitment.

Homily: 30^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          Friends, it’s true that we know that someone loves us because of what they do as much as by what they say.  For example, we know that grandma loves us, not just because she says so, but because of her incessant hugs and kisses, because she bakes us cookies, because she takes care of us when mom and dad are away, because she gives us fun and thoughtful gifts for birthdays and for Christmas, and because she celebrates all of the special occasions in life with us.  In other words, we know she loves us because she not only tells us that she loves us, but because she demonstrates her love in actions; and we know that it is in these actions that the love that she professes is, in a sense, authenticated.

          We also know that someone loves us when they, too, come to love the things that we love, right?  For example, perhaps you’re not a baseball fan, but you become a fan of your spouse’s favorite team; or, you learn to love reading books so that you can share the experience of reading a good book with your best friend; or, you open yourself to liking your significant other’s dog or cat (even if you aren’t a “dog” or “cat” person) so that your significant other doesn’t feel divided between the two.  In this case, we demonstrate love for the person by going beyond words and by demonstrating love for the things that our beloved loves.

          In our Gospel reading today, Jesus is challenged to declare his opinion about the “greatest commandment”.  The Pharisees were thinking of the 613 precepts of the Jewish law and were hoping to expose him as a fraud if he tripped up and picked a less important precept as the greatest.  Jesus answers, however, with the obvious: that the greatest commandment is the most important thing that we could possibly do in life (and he quotes the most fundamental prayer of the Jewish people, the shema): that is, to love God (the Almighty) with your whole being.  Notice, Jesus says with your whole being. In other words, don't just say it: put your whole life towards demonstrating it.  This, Jesus replies, is the greatest commandment.

          Then Jesus adds to his response: stating that the second greatest commandment comes in the form of the second sense of demonstrating love (that is, loving what God loves).  In the first reading we heard how God declared his love for all people, especially for the poor and destitute: saying that the alien, widow, and orphan who cried out to him would be especially heard by him.  And so, when we love our neighbor, especially those most in need among us, by serving their needs, we demonstrate our love for that which God loves; and, in doing so, we demonstrate our love for God, once again.

          From this, we can come to a right understanding of stewardship.  Stewardship, my brothers and sisters, is not a burden of guilt that the Church imposes on us.  Rather, it is a response: it is a response of gratitude from one who acknowledges the undeserved gifts he/she has received from God.  It is a response of love from one who acknowledges that he/she was, indeed, first loved by God.  Stewardship, therefore, is “loving God back”.    By giving of ourselves to serve his Church, we demonstrate our gratitude, and, thus, our love, to God.  By serving those less-fortunate than us, we emphasize our love by loving those whom God loves.

          Over the last week's we've asked you to consider how you are "loving God back" by your stewardship.  Today, I am asking you either to renew your commitment to the ways to which you've already committed or to make a new commitment—perhaps a “first-time” commitment—to serve in our parish and in our community.  The ushers will now begin to pass out the "Time and Talent" forms.  Please be generous in what you mark.  It's not a life-long commitment.  Just an acknowledgement that this might be a way in which God is calling you to “love him back”.

          After you've completed the forms, please fold them and place them in the collection basket along with your monetary contribution (if you have one to make).  These will then be presented with the gifts as our demonstration of gratitude and love for our Good God, who has loved us by giving us so much.  Thank you.  And may God bless you for your generosity.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – October 28^th & 29^th, 2017

Sometimes forgotten sins of omission

Homily: 26^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          One of the blessed parts of the ministry with which I have been entrusted here is to hear confessions.  Blessed because I get to be God’s instrument of healing for your souls when, because of sin, they have been hurt.  It’s not always the most pleasant experience, however.  In fact, sometimes it can be downright frustrating!  One of the frustrating things that happens more than it should is when a person comes in and forgets whose sins it is that he or she is supposed to be confessing.  If you’re one of those people, please let me make it clear for you now: when you come to confession, you are to confess only YOUR sins, not somebody else’s!  Generally speaking, however, folks do focus on their own sins: those things that they have done which they acknowledge have offended God and hurt their neighbor in some way.

          Nonetheless, in recent months, I've begun to notice that there seems to be something missing in the majority of confessions that I hear.  You see, most of the sins that people confess to me are for things that they have done: that is, for offenses that they have committed.  What I’ve noticed, however, is that I rarely hear people confess the sin of not doing something that they should have done.  In other words, not a lot of people are confessing sins of omission.

          Sins of omission are good things that we fail to do when it was in our power to do them.  If we take a look at our world, we quickly realize that, yes, there are a lot of people committing grave sins every day.  Certainly, however, we can also acknowledge that there are a lot of people failing to do the good that they are capable of doing.  This, I would argue, creates a vacuum—an empty space—in which more sinful acts can be committed.  Thus, the fact that I rarely hear people confessing sins of omission means that there isn't a strong awareness among people that these are, in fact, sins (or offenses against God) and , thus, that these are "confessional material".

          Our scriptures today remind us, however, that it isn't enough simply to avoid evil, but rather that we also must actively pursue the good.  In the first reading from the prophet Amos, we hear him declare “woe to the complacent in Zion”, meaning that very dreadful things were about to take place for the people of the southern kingdom of Judah because of the extravagance with which they dine at their banquets, even while their kinsmen (the people of the northern kingdom of Israel) are suffering from the disintegration of their society.  He tells them that, because they have ignored their kinsmen in need, even though they had the resources to do something, they, in fact, will be the first to suffer when the king of Babylon comes to force them into exile.

          Then in the Gospel Jesus tells a parable that describes a similar situation, only in more concrete detail.  A rich man dresses extravagantly and dines sumptuously every day, while a poor man, Lazarus, suffers at his gate, hoping that the rich man will have enough kindness to give him some of the leftovers from his meal.  After both of their deaths their roles will be reversed and the rich man will be the one who suffers.  Nevertheless, this man’s ignorance is further on display when he asks Abraham to send Lazarus to help relieve his suffering.  Can you imagine?  He ignored Lazarus in his need and now he expects Lazarus to help him in his suffering?  How conceited!

          Notice, however, that neither Amos nor Jesus condemn the sin of overindulgence in food and drink (i.e. gluttony)—even though they certainly could have condemned them for it.  Rather, both condemn overindulgence at the expense of the poor one in their midst—the sin of omission in which they failed to act for the good of the suffering ones among them, even though (and especially though) it was in their power to do so.

          Because she was recently canonized, Saint Teresa of Calcutta has gotten a lot of press lately.  Because of this I have been able to learn a little more about this saint and her work.  One of the new insights that I have gained about her life is that she was as much a prophet as she was a charity worker.  Of course we all know her for her dedication to the “poorest of the poor” in the streets of Calcutta, India.  These works of charity that she and the religious order that she started performed brought plenty of attention to her.  She never desired that kind of attention, however.  Nonetheless, she accepted it, because of the opportunity that it gave her to bring the plight of the poor to the attention of those who had the resources do something about it.  In other words, when the spotlight came to her, she used it to help people who were rich to see the poor and, thus, to invite the rich to help them.  In this way, she was much more than a charity worker: she was a prophet.  A prophet who called out the rich and powerful in the world for their sins of omission against the poor.  A prophet whose words are still very relevant today.

          The famous Irish statesman, Edmund Burke, once said that “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”  My brothers and sisters, our inaction in the face of poverty and need is a sin of omission of the same order that our scriptures speak of today.  And so, what do we do?  First, we need to pray.  We need to learn how to examine our consciousness and our consciences so as to see the poor in our midst and to acknowledge when we have failed to respond to them.  Then, we need to act.  Once we see where we have failed to act, we must begin to fill the void that was created by our inaction with the acts that we have failed to do.  In other words, we need to be good men who do something so that evil will not triumph in the world; and (perhaps, more importantly) so that we won’t suffer the same fate as the rich man in Jesus’ parable.  Finally, we need to repeat the first two steps constantly.  Elsewhere in the Gospel, Jesus said that the poor will always be with us.  Therefore, once we've acted to fill one void, then we must begin again and pray to discern the next void that God is calling us to fill and then act to fill it.

          Saint Mother Teresa never thought that she could eliminate poverty by herself.  She was simply trying to do her part by loving Jesus whom she encountered most profoundly in the poor.  If each of us would do the same, that is, if each of us would acknowledge the concrete way that God is calling us to act and then commit ourselves to acting out of love for Jesus, then our world would definitely begin to change for the better.  My brothers and sisters, as we approach this altar to give thanks to God for all of the good that he has given to us, especially for the strength that we receive when we receive the very life of God in Holy Communion, let us commit ourselves to this good work so that God’s kingdom may truly be realized in our midst.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – September 25^th, 2016

Good King Wenceslaus

          King Saint Wenceslaus' commemoration was last Saturday.  When I pondered the readings for Mass I couldn't help but think of the old song Good King Wenceslaus.  It actually fit quite well, so I went with it.  

          This week I'll return to Joliet to celebrate my aunt and uncle's 50th wedding anniversary!  Then, following this weekend, the priests of the Lafayette diocese will be on retreat.

          Happy Saint Terese of Liseux feast day!

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Homily: 26^th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          King Saint Wenceslaus was born in the early 10^th century near Prague to a Christian father and a pagan mother.  This was a time of instability and unrest in the area of Europe known as Bohemia.  On account of his grandmother, Saint Ludmilla, Wenceslaus received a good Christian upbringing.  After his father died, his mother became regent and began to implement many anti-Christian policies.  Thanks, again, to his saintly grandmother, Wenceslaus was encouraged by the people to take reign of the government from his mother and even though his grandmother Ludmilla was murdered for her efforts to promote her grandson, Wenceslaus eventually did become king.

          As king, Wenceslaus worked for unity and peace throughout the region.  He strenuously promoted Christianity, even bringing priests from neighboring Germany when there were not enough native-born priests in Bohemia.  All of his work, however, only increased the fervor of the anti-Christian population in Bohemia.  This faction even recruited his brother, Boleslaus.  In September of 929 Boleslaus invited Wenceslaus to the town of Alt Bunglou to celebrate the feast of Saints Cosmas and Damian with the intention of murdering the king.  On the morning of the feast, as Wenceslaus was making his way to the cathedral for mass, Boleslaus and a band of others ambushed him on the front steps of the church and murdered him.  Thus, the Church celebrates King Wenceslaus as a martyr and his feast day falls just two days after those great martyrs of the Early Church, Cosmas and Damian.

          Of course, to be such a virtuous leader, Wenceslaus must also have been a virtuous man; and that he was.  His legend recounts how he paid particular attention to the poor.  Perhaps he had read the prophesy of the prophet Amos that we read today and knew that he could not allow himself to become complacent in the comforts that being king afforded him.  Or perhaps his saintly grandmother had read him Jesus’ parable about the rich man and Lazarus, which we heard in our Gospel reading today.  And perhaps that reading awakened in him a holy fear of suffering the same, sad end of the rich man.  Either way, Wenceslaus knew that if he had, indeed, been trusted with much, that it was not for his comfort alone, but rather that he might serve the common good of the people over whom he ruled.

          Many of you, at this point, might be remembering the traditional Christmas carol entitled “Good King Wenceslaus”, which is good, because that is exactly who we are talking about.  And you know it’s really not a Christmas song at all, but since the story it recounts takes place on Saint Stephen’s feast day, which is December 26^th, it is traditionally sung during Christmastime.  The story is of how the king, seeing a peasant man gathering sticks in the snow to make a fire in his home, loads up his own sled with wood for a fire and food for cooking and walks with his page through a winter storm to provide this peasant man and his family a feast, literally fit for a king, for it was eaten with his king, and it shows us plainly how this saintly king remained a humble servant of the people over whom he ruled.

          So, was it for virtue alone that Wenceslaus did all of these things?  I would venture to say “no”.  Rather, I believe Wenceslaus could see in his own state of life an image of Jesus, who, though he was lacking in nothing as the Second Person of the Holy Trinity, nonetheless was not complacent in his “comfort” and, when he saw us languishing in sin, responded to the prompting of the Father and left off his comfort to come among us—amidst the winter storms—to bring us warmth and nourishment.  No, I think Wenceslaus knew that this was the way that God had called him to be united with Jesus—and not just Jesus, but Jesus crucified—as the particular way that he could “lay hold of eternal life”, in those great words from Saint Paul that we heard in our second reading today.  “But you, man of God, pursue righteousness … compete well for the faith … lay hold to eternal life, to which you were called…”  No, Wenceslaus didn’t do it because he wanted to be better than all the other kings in Europe; but rather because he saw the special opportunity to draw closer to the “King of all kings”, our Lord Jesus Christ, and so he left the comfort of his palace to serve the poor man so that he might not feel alone. ///

          Yesterday I heard the confession of a young person that impacted me.  In it, this young man confessed having not reached out to some students at his school who seemed to be marginalized.  Once I heard that I thought, “Man, this kid gets it.”  He gets right to the heart of what this week’s readings are talking about.  In fact, he gets right to the heart of what Pope Francis has been talking about in his first six months as pope: that we need to go out to the margins of our communities—that is, out from our “comfortable spaces”—in order to draw in those whom we find there.  Why?  Because that is exactly what Jesus did for us.  And that is exactly where we will find Jesus. 

          The last phrase of the carol “Good King Wenceslaus" sums this up beautifully.  It says:

Therefore, Christian men, be sure

Wealth or rank possessing

Ye who now will bless the poor

Shall yourselves find blessing.

          Let us, then, my brothers and sisters, heed the words of that beloved carol and, strengthened by this Eucharist, let us “seek the Lord where he may be found”: in our brothers and sisters who long to feel that sense of belonging; and we, too, will find that, in bringing the love of Christ to others, we will receive that love in return.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – September 29^th, 2013

The Feast of the Archangels Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael

You're invited...

...to a great wedding feast!  It's called the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.  Come, see what you've been missing.

You can see Amy's story (which I mention in my homily) here.

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Homily: 22^nd Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle C

          I remember fondly, back in the day when I was a kid in Joliet, how my brother and my sisters and I always used to fight for the front seat of the car on whatever kind of trip we were taking.  It could have been an out of town excursion up to Gurnee to see my aunt and uncle or just around the corner to the grocery store, but if there was more than one of us going along there was bound to be a battle for the coveted “front seat”.  Sometimes those battles were short and victory was decided quickly when one of us would grasp the advantage of foresight and yell “front seat!” as soon as mom or dad announced the trip.  Other times the battles were drawn out, the “calling” of the front seat happening almost simultaneously, usually resulting in a mad rush to the car door knowing that the unspoken rule was that if there was a tie in calling it, whoever got there first could claim victory.

          Sometimes, however, that victory would be short-lived.  Depending on where we were going, we might pick up my grandma or one of my aunts, thus deposing the victor of his or her throne and relegating him or her to the back (sometimes even to the “way-back” if we were driving the old station wagon with the rearward facing back seat).  If the victory had been hard-won, this move to the back was a disgraceful moment and the other siblings who tasted the bitterness of the loss had no sympathy for the now deposed victor: often forcing him or her to sit on the “hump seat” in the middle and thus serving him or her a healthy serving of “humble pie”.

          (By the way, since kids these days practically have to be driving themselves before they can even approach the front seat of a car, I feel justified in labeling my experience “back in the day”, even though I am still quite young.)

          I don’t think that it is much of a stretch to say that Jesus is teaching a similar lesson today.  In a way he is saying that if you try to take prestige and honor (thus exalting yourself) you will likely fall from it when one who is more deserving arrives.  His lesson is that we should instead learn humility and practice it before we are humiliated for having stepped beyond our station in life.  For my brother and sisters and I, we witnessed this when, after grandma or auntie was dropped off, my mother would choose someone to sit in the front seat for the return home.  Needless to say, it almost never was the one who fought tooth and nail to win the right to sit there in the first place.  Speaking of my experience alone, I remember being happier about having the front seat in those moments than if I had won the position outright.  Thus, practicing humility in this way reminds us of something: that all that we have is gift. ///

          Recently I encountered the story of Amy; a mom probably in her late 30’s or early 40’s who has three children.   She relates how she and her husband, not long after getting married, decided to move from their suburban home to a more rural setting.  The move was a very smooth one and both Amy and her husband found jobs right away making everything seem like it had worked out just fine.  After a couple of years, however, when the economy tanked, both Amy and her husband lost their jobs.  Obviously this was a big blow to the young family.  Amy relates that, while she never lost faith in the statement “God will provide”, she did start to question how exactly he would provide.  “Maybe God’s providence won’t include health insurance or a job or lights next week” she thought to herself.  In that she came to a realization that she said changed her whole perspective: that if all of these things that we claim to be our own in this world—our houses, our jobs, our insurance, even our family members and friends—can be lost or taken away from us, then none of it was ever really ours to begin with; and that, thus, everything must be gift.  Everything. ///

          In the reading from the book of Sirach today, it states “conduct your affairs with humility…” and “…into things beyond your strength, search not.”  For Amy and her family, this meant accepting that the gifts they had been given had been taken away and that to claim somehow that they were entitled to restitution was a false notion.  For Amy this acceptance was a freeing experience; for she knew that she no longer had to scratch and claw to keep what she had, but rather could remain detached from it: receiving it with joy as a gift when it came and letting it go to others whose need appeared to be greater.  And in doing so she learned something about God’s generosity with us.

          In the second half of the Gospel reading, Jesus exhorts the host of the dinner to consider who he invites to his dinner parties.  Instead of inviting his friends and relatives or wealthy benefactors, Jesus tells him to invite the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind, because these would never be able to repay his kindness and thus he would find favor in the eyes of God.  In making this statement, Jesus is teaching us God-like generosity.  God gives abundantly to us, even though we have no way to possibly repay him.  Therefore, we must do the same.

          Many families are in the same position as Amy’s family was.  They’ve worked to build a secure home for their families only to find that their jobs had been cut because of the recession.  Our Scriptures today, however, show us how to cope with this kind of loss.  If we can see that all that we had was a gift—i.e. that it wasn’t something that we were necessarily entitled to—then we can give thanks, even though we no longer enjoy the gift.  And if we can see what we still have as a gift, then we can give thanks for it, too; and we will be open to sharing that gift generously with others, especially those who may have no means to repay us.  By doing so, we humble ourselves and thus make ourselves available to be exalted by God’s generosity to us.

          This weekend our nation celebrates our labor by taking a national day of rest.  I’m sure many of you will either host or participate in cookouts or other celebrations.  Perhaps in light of Jesus’ words today we should ask ourselves two questions: “Who have we invited?” and “Who have we left out?”  My brothers and sisters, as God has invited us—who are poor, crippled, lame, and blind—here to this banquet of grace—a banquet that we could never hope to reciprocate—we, too, must invite those who are far from us—those on the margins of society, as Pope Francis calls them—to enjoy the many gifts that have been bestowed upon us: most especially this gift of the Holy Eucharist.  Let us set ourselves to this good work, then, and let us invoke the help of the humble Virgin Mary, who always comes to the aid of her poor children, so that we, too, may know God’s favor now and eternal blessedness in heaven.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – August 31^st and September 1^st, 2013

A Passionate Week

Even though it won't look good on a t-shirt... I love my Argentinian Shepherd! :D

What a blessing to be entering my first Holy Week as a priest (and I'm already exhausted)!  I'm looking forward to many blessings this week.  May God bless you with a very "passionate week" as we focus on Christ's Passion and his Passover from death to life!

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Homily: Palm Sunday – Cycle C

It’s been a week and a half now and I have to say that I am totally enamored with Pope Francis.  Don’t get me wrong, I love and miss Pope Emeritus, Benedict XVI.  After Benedict’s election, I was one of the first to buy and wear the “I love my German Shepherd” t-shirts.  Pope Francis, however, has this wonderful “Latin affability” about him that, in a positive way, contrasts him with Pope Emeritus Benedict’s deep German sincerity.  I’ve been eating up everything that Pope Francis has been saying and watching as many videos of him as I can find and I can say that I am really enjoying getting to know our new Holy Father.  One of the things that struck me as I was reflecting on the readings for today was just how much some of our new Holy Father’s actions reflect much of what we learn about Christ in these readings.

One of the primary things that we learn about Christ from these readings is that he is our self-emptying savior.  You know, Christ did not come with a great military force to overthrow all of the powers of the world in order to save us from sin and death.  Rather, it was his supreme humility that saved us.  Though he was God, he came to be like us: and not just any one of us, but he came to be the one who would be the most despised among us; so much so that he even got to the point of despair that he had been completely abandoned by everyone, including God the Father.

Pope Francis, from what I’ve read about him so far, never let his “exalted” status as the Cardinal Archbishop of Buenos Aires keep him from meeting people wherever they were at.  He eschewed the espiscopal residence in favor of a simple apartment and walked past the car and driver that awaited him to take public transportation.  He remained known as “Fr. Jorge” the whole time, yet he never backed down from speaking frankly to political leaders who proposed laws that were contrary to the teachings of the Church.  For this he was persecuted at times in the Argentinean media and was even accused of complicity in human rights violations during a military dictatorship there.  In other words, though he was the Cardinal Archbishop, a prince of the Church, he nevertheless always chose to serve among his people, not above his people.

Another thing that we learn about Christ from these readings is that he is also our highly exalted savior.  Again, Jesus did not win this great name for himself—the name at which every knee must bend—by putting down all of his enemies (which, by the way, he could have easily done since he was God).  Rather, he allowed himself to be put down.  In doing so, he showed us how we are to live: standing always for truth, in obedience to the Father who alone has the power to exalt us.

When the conclave started, Cardinal Bergoglio (as he was known at the time) wasn’t on anybody’s radar as being a contender for being elected.  Everybody seemed to know that he had garnered the second highest number of votes in the conclave that elected our now retired pope, Benedict XVI, but no one thought that he had much of a chance of getting a large number of votes this time around.  Yet, his brother cardinals recognized him in his “lowliness” and decided to “raise him up” to be exalted among them—that is, to give him a name above all of their names: that of “Bishop of Rome”.  In other words, our new Holy Father didn’t go out and make a name for himself, rather he received it simply by being obedient to the service he had been given.

The final broad theme that we learn about Christ from today’s readings is that Christ is an example for us.  From the Old Testament prophecy of Isaiah, to the New Testament testimony of Saint Paul, to our recounting of the Passion narrative from the Gospel of Luke, we see how Christ offered himself for us and for our salvation.  Yet, it is precisely through these same Scriptures that Christ continues to offer himself to us as an example that we are to follow: calling us to empty ourselves for others just as he emptied himself for us.

From the moment that he first stepped out onto the Loggia, Pope Francis has also been offering himself to us as an example to follow.  From eschewing the papal limousine to ride the bus back to the hotel with the other cardinals, to descending from the pope-mobile during the procession after his installation mass to greet (and tenderly kiss) a severely handicapped person, to committing to celebrate Holy Thursday Mass at a juvenal correctional facility, Pope Francis has been showing us that he takes his title as “servant of the servants of God” quite literally.  Like Christ, our Holy Father promotes conversion not by demanding change in forceful speech or by coercion, but rather by providing a “lived example” for others to follow.  I suspect that this “lived example” is going to challenge each and every of us (if it hasn’t done so already).

My brothers and sisters, we recall Christ’s Passion at the head of this the most holy of weeks of the year in order to remind us of his self-emptying and that his self-emptying calls us to our own self-emptying.  Our new Holy Father, following this example, intends to empty himself by spending time with the poor this week so as to enter more intimately into Christ’s Passion.  Each of us ought to meditate on Christ’s Passion this week and thus seek our own way to empty ourselves for others.  Maybe we could be like the women from Galilee who stood by Christ in his suffering and make a visit to a nursing home or the hospital.  Or perhaps we could feel the compunction of the Good Thief and do a little “spring cleaning” in our homes, sharing what we don’t need with those who go without through the Salvation Army, the Saint Vincent de Paul store, or the Emmaus Mission.  Maybe we are like Simon of Cyrene and we see a friend, family member, co-worker, or neighbor who is carrying a heavy cross—perhaps the recent death of a loved one, a broken family, or the loss of a job—and we decide to take it up for them and with them.

Whatever it is, seek to enter into Christ’s Passion this week by opening your heart to be emptied for others, because when we empty ourselves for others like Christ did, we open ourselves to be exalted as he was.  More than that, however, when we empty ourselves like Christ did, we also open ourselves to discover him: Jesus Christ who suffers both in the poor and with the poor.  Thus emptied of ourselves, we become truly ready to experience the joy of the Resurrection: the joy that awaits us on Easter Sunday.

Given at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – March 23rd & 24th, 2013

Palm Sunday of the Passion of Our Lord