Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Dedication of the Lateran Basilica – November 9, 2025 Rf.: Ez. 47:1–2, 8–9, 12 • Cor. 3:9c–11, 16–17 • Jn. 2:13–22 Dcn. Bill Kenney My wife and I were recently blessed, along with a million other pilgrims from around the world, to walk through the Holy Doors of the Basilica of St. John Lateran during this Jubilee Year. Why today are we celebrating the anniversary of the dedication of a church an ocean away? And why this particular church in Rome, rather than St. Peter’s Basilica, which is far more grandiose and familiar? The answer lies in the mystery of what it means to be members that make up the Church. The Basilica of St. John, built on the Lateran Hill, was dedicated in 324 A.D. after Emperor Constantine legalized Christianity. It is the mother church of all Roman Catholic churches and is the cathedral of the Bishop of Rome, the Pope. So when we celebrate the dedication of this church, we are not honoring just an ancient piece of architecture, but a living symbol of our identity and unity as Catholics. Besides a structure for protecting us from the elements, buildings express values. They communicate who we are and how we want to be seen. Consider your own home, for example. This is also true for a church building. The Lateran Basilica reflects what we believe about ourselves as members of the Body of Christ led by the Holy Father, and how we want the world to see us: united, rooted in the Gospel, and as a pilgrim people heading to our salvation in Christ. Spiritually, the Church is not defined by its architecture and artistic beauty. Think of the early Christians worshiping in house churches or even underground catacombs. Think of our brothers and sisters today who, because of persecution, have to celebrate Mass in secret, in barns, in refugee camps, in open space under a tree, or in prison cells. They are no less Church than those who gather under the soaring arches and artistic beauty of a cathedral. As a faithful, baptized People of God, we are the bricks and mortar of the Church anywhere we gather in the world. And yet, having a sacred space matters. A physical church provides a place of encounter and reverence for the divine. It creates an environment that shapes us, that tells us: here is where we belong. God is present with us and God is calling us to a higher place, to His very self. Ezekiel describes in today’s first reading: a temple overflowing with living water, where people come to drink deeply of God’s grace. That is why Jesus was so passionate about cleansing the temple. In the Gospel, he drives out the merchants and money changers because they had turned a holy place into a marketplace. For Jesus, the temple was not about profit or prestige; it was a meeting place between God and humanity. Our churches must always remain faithful to that purpose. Every parish, every chapel, every cathedral — from St. John Lateran to our own St. Agnes parish — is called to be a house of prayer, a fountain of living water, a place where there’s an unending flow of God’s mercy and grace offered and received, especially in the sacrament of the Eucharist. But the Lateran Basilica reminds us of something more. It is a sign of Christ’s presence and the visible unity of the Catholic Church. As Roman Catholics, we are tied not only to our parish or diocese but to Rome itself, and through Rome to Catholics throughout the world. That unity extends across time and dimension. Just last week, on All Saints Day and All Souls Day, we celebrated the invisible communion that binds the Church militant on earth, the Church suffering in purgatory, and the Church triumphant in heaven. Today’s feast complements that mystery by reminding us of the visible communion that binds us together: the sacraments, the apostolic faith, the leadership of the bishop of Rome, and the real structures of church community such as charity, service, and fellowship, all of which unite us as a People of God. St. Paul reminds us that we ourselves are “God’s building”, a holy temple. The Spirit dwells not only in cathedrals and basilicas but in the baptized. We are the living stones of God’s temple, being built together into a dwelling place for the Lord. That is why the feast of the Lateran Basilica is not just about a magnificent church. It is also about us. So what does this mean for us, practically speaking? It means asking how we can help our parish be what it is meant to be: a house of prayer, a font of living water, a place where God dwells. For some, that means offering time or talent to support ministries. For others, it may mean maintaining the building and grounds, welcoming the stranger at the door, or teaching the faith to OCIA catechumen. For all of us, it means praying here with open hearts and intention and then carrying that spirit into the world, announcing the Gospel of the Lord, and bringing souls to Christ. Churches and monuments are man-made temporal structures that through earthquakes, fires, and deterioration will eventually go back to the earth. I’m thinking of the Cathedral of Notre Dame and the Coliseum. They require living stones — us — to keep them alive. If the Lateran Basilica is the “mother of all churches,” then our own St. Agnes parish is a daughter in that same family. Both require care, prayer, and commitment. Today’s feast is not really about an old Roman basilica. It is about the mystery of the Church herself. It is about unity of all the baptized — across the world, across time, across every imperfection. It is about making our parish a true fountain of living water, where Christ continues to meet and bless his people. May God give us the grace to love his Church — in all her glory and all her flaws — and to build her up by our faith, our service, and our unity in Christ, for the glory of God.

Today is a tough day for many of you. I know that. Not all of you of course. But for those of you who are still grieving the loss of someone (especially if it’s been a recent death) you are probably well aware that we are here for All Souls Day. On the surface, All Souls Day may appear to be a really sad day, a depressing day, a day to shed many tears. After all, the loss of those we loved in this life is a difficult thing, a painful thing. It hurts. And not just a little. A lot. It often makes us feel really empty, and broken, and incomplete. And we don’t just grieve for the person. It’s more than that. We also grieve because we know that things can’t go back to the way they used to be. We can’t simply undo what has happened. We can’t just wake up from the bad dream we are having, no matter how much we wish that was so. And that’s a really hard reality to face. But actually, All Souls Day is not just about being sad. It’s also about being grateful. Truly grateful. Deeply grateful. Grateful for the men and women we remember who made a real difference in our lives, made our lives better, made our lives more complete. Grateful for the people who loved us (and who we tried our best to love in return). For the care and comfort they showed us. The compassion. The mercy. The fun times. The ordinary times. The companionship. The challenges and tough times faced together. The friendship. Put simply --- we are grateful for the gift they were to us. And All Souls Day is also about being connected. Our faith teaches us that the bonds we forged in this life, the relationships, have not ended. They continue. They remain meaningful. They endure. And so we continue to love those who have gone before us by praying for them --- praying that God will take care of them, embrace them, forgive them, and welcome them home for all eternity. And, just as importantly, we ask them to pray for us, to help us on our journey. It’s really a beautiful thing when you stop and think about it. We loved one another in this life. And we continue to love one another even though things have changed --- a kind of two-way street that remains that way even if they seem to have gone away, seem to be absent. And of course, today is also about being hopeful --- a day to trust that what we say we believe is actually how it is. We’re hopeful because our loved ones are in the safest, most incredible “place” they could be --- with the God who made them, with the God who sustained them and guided them, with the God who forgave them --- that is, with the God who loves them more than we do. Imagine that. It doesn’t seem like that could be true, but it is. God’s love for our loved ones is actually stronger than ours, even though that seems impossible. And we are hopeful because we believe that where they have gone, we will someday go too. And while most of us don’t want that day to come sooner than it needs to, we do get some comfort in knowing that our separation from our loved ones will be no more. The Lord Jesus died to make it so. And nothing can undo that, nothing can reverse that, nothing can undermine that. The victory has been won --- for our loved ones and for us too. Of course, believing in all the good things this day represents does not take the pain away, does not magically make everything better. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way. It’s a process that actually takes a lifetime, a continual replacing of the sorrow we feel with the joy and peace that only God can give. And so we pray for that day --- pray for a little bit of ability to accept, a little bit of comfort, a little bit of happiness in knowing that our loved ones are happier than they have ever been. And if you are one of those people who aren’t currently mourning someone dear to you, today is a reminder to reach out to those who are, to be that companion, that shoulder to cry on, that attentive ear, that compassionate presence. It is during these times that we need each other more than ever. And while no one can ever “replace” anyone in the life of anyone else, we certainly can make one another realize that we don’t have to go through the painful times in life alone. We’re all in this together. A perfect description of what we are celebrating today. We are all in this together --- the living and those who are living out of view --- but not out of reach. So let’s continue to reach out in love, to those who have gone before us, those in our families and workplaces, and neighborhoods, and even those sitting next to us. It might just make a painful time a little less so. Thank you, God, for loving all the people each of us have loved. 

New parents seem to love naming their children. Yet, it also seems to be a lot of work, not nearly as easy as it used to be. And the reason is simple --- there are a gazillion names to choose from these days --- books and books full of them. And if you can’t find one you like you can always create a new one and no one will bat an eye. In fact, creativity in naming children has become quite a thing. But it’s not that easy, and sometimes takes several days after the birth of a child before a name is settled on. But in the old days, it was much easier --- particularly for Catholic parents. As many of you know, the Church used to require (for the most part) that a child’s baptismal name be a “Catholic/Christian/Biblical” name. And what that meant in practice was that the boy or girl would be named for a Saint with a capital “S”. In other words, the list of acceptable baby names was the list of those names of people officially canonized by the Church (and some variations of those names). Often a child was named for some family member who also had a Saint’s name, but that wasn’t always the case. In fact, some parents would look at the Church calendar and pick the name of a Saint whose memorial was that same day. Yes, even the naming of children was a very Catholic thing for Catholic parents. And there were a few reasons for this. One, was the Church rule itself --- something that the Church felt was important to keep Catholic culture, faith and practice alive. Another was to promote a kind of identity --- helping individuals go through life always mindful of their connection to and participation in the Catholic faith community. One other reason was for a kind of divine protection, an appeal to that Saint for his or her prayers for that child. But maybe the most important reason was the idea that by naming a child for a Saint, the boy or girl might actually aspire to being one. Is that true? Is it? If not, then what exactly do we aspire to? Do we aspire to be poor in spirit? Or do we aspire to grab all we can in this life? Do we aspire to mourn? Or do we aspire to harden our hearts and feel little? Do we aspire to be meek? Or do we aspire to always get our way, always be in charge? Do we aspire to hunger and thirst for righteousness? Or is “what works for me” my creed? Do we aspire to be merciful? Or do we aspire to get even? Do we aspire to be clean of heart? Or do we aspire to always have an angle? Do we aspire to be peacemakers? Or do we aspire to never forgive? In other words, do we aspire to be holy? Or do we aspire to be something else? The Saints were not perfect. But they were committed. They did aspire to something more than themselves. And that wasn’t a “something” at all. It was actually a “someone”. And for the Saints, that someone was not someone to simply be admired from afar. He was someone to imitate, someone to be “put on” (as Paul says), someone to embody. The Lord Jesus. And, as you know, in the past two thousand years the Church has canonized hundreds and hundreds of Saints --- and not as some sort of favor to them (in heaven) or to their families or friends --- but to us, the Catholic faithful across the whole world. And this favor is two-fold. First, we have our friends in heaven to call on for their prayers, an unbroken bond between us and those who have gone before us. And so we turn to them --- starting with Mary and continuing through the centuries. They are our friends, our fellow believers, our family. And they pray for us --- unceasingly. But secondly, by actually identifying these people for us, the Church has given us countless examples of what holiness truly looks like, people to get strength from and identify with, and yes, people to imitate. You see, no two Saints are alike. And that means that holiness comes in many forms, in every type of person living in every type of life-situation. And that means, we too can be Saints. Seriously. We too can pattern our lives on the person of Jesus --- the Lord Jesus who was made visible in these holy men and women through the ages. And it won’t take perfection from us. That’s not possible. And it doesn’t have to be achieved through grandiose sorts of things. It just requires that we do our best to love --- as Jesus loved --- and as the Saints loved --- exactly as all of them love us each and every second of each and every day. But it won’t happen by accident. It can only happen if . . . we aspire to be saints. All holy men and women, pray for us. 

30th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Oct. 26, 2025 Dcn. Bill Rf.: Sirach 35:12–14, 16–18 • 2 Tim. 4:6–8, 16–18 • Luke 18:9–14 Pride and humility are two major themes in our Scripture readings today. The evil of pride is created through an individual's choice to express it; while the virtue of humility is borne in the silence of self-reflection. In our first reading, Sirach tells us, “The one who serves God willingly is heard; his petition reaches the heavens.” The widow, the orphan- the Lord indeed hears the cry of the poor. These are humble servants of the Lord, pure of heart; those seeking righteousness in their lives; those who recognize the one Source to fulfill their true needs. Note the order: serve God willingly, then your prayers will be heard. We are to serve not in reluctance or out of a sense of duty, but in a spirit of humility and obedience. It is only by being in right relationship with the Lord, seeking, knowing, and doing his will, that we will be close to him. We can then share our prayers in confidence and trust that they will be heard and answered. This is precisely the image we have of St. Paul in our second reading. Paul tells Timothy he has served the Lord well, finished the race to spread the Gospel, and his days on earth were coming to an end. Paul proclaims his accomplishments, not in a spirit of pride but in humility and gratitude giving all glory and praise to the Father. Paul’s is a prayer of confidence in the benevolence of the Father to reward him with the crown of eternal life. This account is a type of the Paschal Mystery: the passion, death, and resurrection of our Lord Jesus. Jesus' blood was poured out like a libation; he was deserted by his apostles at the cross, save John. He forgave those who knew not what they were doing. His Father was with him, giving him strength to endure the physical and emotional agonies of his passion. Jesus and Paul, in great humility and obedience, served the Father’s will and were rescued and exalted unto heaven. In our Gospel reading from Luke, Jesus once again draws from the deep well of abundant Pharisee shortcomings. The Pharisee is quick to spew out his qualities of leading a faithful life. He observes Temple law, he fasts, tithes, and obeys the Commandments. So close. He’s almost there! His prayer, however, is self-righteous. He takes credit for his own virtues. He doesn’t need anything from God and receives nothing. His thanks to God is for not being a sinner like the tax collector. He lacks humility. The sin of pride fills his heart. St. Josemaria Escriva stated that one of many ways you lack humility is when you “[Think] that what you do or say is better than what others do or say”. His complete thoughts on humility are worth a careful read. The tax collector, in all humility, repents and acknowledges his sin to God and asks for mercy. He cries, “O God, be merciful to me a sinner.”- from which is derived the contemplative “Jesus Prayer”: “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” Pray it often. The tax collector is an example to us all- that God heals and forgives us, especially when we take care to approach God with humility and contrition in the sacrament of reconciliation. The tax collector is justified. His prayers are answered and so will ours be answered. Can we relate our lives and our faith to the Pharisee or the tax collector, or both? We worship at Mass every Sunday and Holy Day of Obligation, we tithe, fast, donate to charity, work the Fish Fry, pray the Rosary, etc… Isn’t that enough? No, it is not. · We are all sinners in need of God’s mercy and forgiveness. In all humility that truth must never escape our prayer. Pray the Litany of Humility reflecting upon the ego’s surrender to the humility of Christ. · Pray to seek, know, and fulfill the Father’s will in your life utilizing the gifts he’s given you. · Ask yourself: How can I sacrifice my will for that of the Father? This is the way to be a faithful servant whose prayers are answered without delay. The Gospel ends with a divine reversal- a summary lesson statement for us to guide our values and standards. “…whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted."- much like the reversal, “… the first shall be last and the last shall be first.” Jesus is our model of humility in his obedience to serve the Father’s will. Paul followed suit. Both were exalted to the glory of heaven. We too are called to follow their example in the practice of our faith and in our reception of the Holy Eucharist. May we always maintain a spirit of humility to love and serve the Lord and each other, for our salvation and for the glory of God.

We all know people who love to get their own way. Maybe at times we enjoy that ourselves. For example, we all know people who are great at talking to customer service reps --- people who somehow get off the phone with their problem solved (and maybe some additional perks on top of it). Or parents who get the coach to play their son or daughter more (even though the opposite should probably happen). Or people who get the date after they were turned down time and time and again. Or people who get their bank fees waved, or who talk themselves out of speeding tickets, or who get people to donate money for a charitable cause, or who seem to be great at rounding up volunteers. The powers of persuasion can be a very useful thing. Does it work with God? It’s easy to come away from today’s Gospel passage thinking that very thing. After all, the dishonest judge eventually gives in to the widow who bothered him over and over and over again. We can almost picture it --- the judge rolling his eyes and saying, “Fine. You can have it your way. Just be gone.” Is that supposed to be God, supposed to be how this “prayer” thing works? Nag, nag, nag, and eventually get our way? I think you know the answer. That would be true if the Gospel passage ended a few verses earlier. Yet Jesus wants to make sure his disciples don’t misconstrue what he’s teaching them in the parable --- and so he basically tells them that God is not like that at all, contrasting the “dishonest” judge with God who considers us his “chosen ones”. In other words, if we can sometimes get uncooperative people to cooperate with us, imagine how much more cooperation we will get from our God who made us, and sustains, and forgives and loves us. So what is the comparison between the judge and God? Well, there is no comparison. And that should give us great comfort. In fact, God is more like the people we know who can’t be manipulated, can’t be tricked, can’t be persuaded to do anything they don’t want to do, or don’t feel is right. These are the kinds of people who can see through all the tricks and false flattery and “spin.” God is probably more like the parent whose son or daughter has just offered, out of the blue, to help with the housework and says to their son or daughter, “Nice try. What are you up to? What do you want?” We can’t “trick” God. We can’t get him to do something he doesn’t want to do, or that isn’t good for us, or that is contrary to who he is. All those things should sound absurd to us. Yet, there often is a little part of us that wants to try anyway --- wants to bargain with God, or do something good and then feel that God somehow owes us, or will pay more attention to us. God doesn’t “work” that way. And that should be obvious. But then there’s that little bit added to one particular verse. You might have missed it. Jesus says to them, “Will not God secure the rights of his chosen ones who call out to him day and night?” . . . who call out to him day and night. You see, Jesus doesn’t just say that God is going to do whatever God is going to do so there’s no point in asking. Rather, he’s essentially saying the opposite --- that we should continually make our needs, thoughts, hopes and fears known to our loving God (who actually knows them already). It’s not unlike Moses in today’s First Reading from Exodus, raising his arms and the staff of God unceasingly to secure God’s favor. Moses’ persistence made some sort of difference in the way things were turning out. And maybe ours does too. Not because we make God different. That seems to be a kind of impossibility. Rather, our persistence makes US different. We remain aware of our total dependence on God. We remain aware that our God is the only one who has our complete interests at heart, the only one who loves us completely, the only one who knows what’s best for us (and can actually do something about it.) Our prayers of petition keep us in right relationship with our God (and most likely, with each other too). And it is this sort of persistence, this continual mindfulness, this constant focus toward the source of every good thing that will help infuse ourselves and the world around us with every good thing, a world utterly transformed by people pleading (and working) to make it so. It is our persistence (and a humble, faithful heart) that helps open ourselves up to every good thing God wants for us. And so we ask. Not because we understand. Not because we think we can force God to do what we want. Not out of superstition. Not out of selfishness. But because this is who we are --- people who understand that only God can bring about the changes in us and the world that we (and God) desperately want. And then we wait --- patiently --- for whatever beautiful thing God has in store for us, whatever grace is around the corner. 

Where does good come from? Maybe you never really thought about that question in a such a direct way. And if you think the “answer” is simple, well, it is and it isn’t. Of course, the quickest answer everyone here wants to respond with is, “God”. That is the easy part. But why do we believe God is “good”? And what do we even mean by the word “good”? And could each of God’s commandments have been the exact opposite from what they are if God had chosen to make them so? And if there were no God, could anything even be called “good”? (And what would that even mean?) Feel free to argue about those things around the dinner table. People have been asking those questions and wrestling with them from the dawn of time. I won’t be going into all of that in this homily. Yet the question (and more importantly the answer) is still one we must always cling to, embrace, acknowledge, be aware of --- believe --- if we truly want to be people of faith. Where does good come from? Easy --- God. In fact, that’s essentially how we define “good”. God’s very essence is what we mean by good --- it’s who he is --- his will, his actions, his mercy and compassion and generosity and grace, and even his judgment --- his complete identity (if I can use such a word). If it’s of God, it’s good. If it reflects who God is, it’s good. If it is a God-thing, a God-attribute, it is good. And none of it starts with us. And that’s the part we often get so wrong. We want the credit of course, but never the blame. A person stumbles into a really good job and automatically presumes that it’s because they are “better” than those who didn’t get the job (failing to realize the many variables that figure into these things). Or someone has a really good marriage and figures that other people whose marriages failed must have had poor judgment in picking a spouse. Or someone excels at schoolwork from a very young age and is under the impression that people who do bad in school are “lazy”. Or people who avoid addictions through life are convinced that people with addictions are “weak”. You get the idea. Once we start thinking that way, start accepting credit for every good thing we experience - we will find ourselves in a dangerous place spiritually, the place in which we find it nearly impossible to be truly grateful. We just heard two stories about gratitude. And while they are not identical, they do have a common element --- both people who were healed knew that God had something to do with it. God deserved the credit. God somehow made it possible, and God was at work through the people who healed them. And that’s something that’s so easy to forget, or so easy for us to be unwilling to admit. Sometimes we don’t want to acknowledge God’s part in some good thing that has come our way because we don’t want to have to respond in kind. I’m reminded of the joke about a guy circling a full parking lot, late for a meeting and unable to find a spot. In his panic he prays to God to help him find a parking space, and promises that, if God does find him a spot, he will start going to church more. Suddenly, a parking space up front becomes available. The man immediately says to God, “Never mind. I found one!” Yes, sometimes it’s hard to admit (or maybe even see) the hand of God in every good thing we experience. (He’s also in the difficult stuff too, but that’s a different homily!) A grateful heart is a faithful heart. A grateful heart is one that rejoices in every good thing, one that is grateful for the person or people who helped bring it about ---- but also one that never forgets where it came from in the first place. But we must be careful. Just because every good thing comes from God doesn’t mean that our sorrows or tragedies or disappointments (or those of others) indicate some kind of disappointment or punishment from God. Often (but not always) they are connected to the choices of a combination of people, choices mixed in with our own choices. And so, when things get bad we should take an honest look at the situation, but not necessarily presume we have incurred God’s disfavor. Sometimes we are the source of some bad thing, sometimes others bring it upon us, and sometimes it just happens. (Or any combination of the above!) And that leads us to another truth about God’s goodness, God’s blessings, God’s grace. Everything that is good does indeed have its origin in God. Yet, it isn’t always that that blessing, that “good” thing, finds its target in a straight line, goes directly from God to the one he wants to receive it. You see, ours is a God who invites us to cooperate with him and with all the good he wants to accomplish. There are lots of good things God wants for the world (and for particular individuals) that will not happen unless we help make it happen, unless we become channels of every good thing God shares with us. And the reason we get to share in this holy work, share in showering the world with God’s blessings, share in spreading good things everywhere we go, is because WE share in the goodness of God. Our origin is in God. He made us. And that means that at our core each of us is good. Not a little bit good. Not kind of good. Essentially good, deeply good, God-like good. Sometimes we hide it. Sometimes we deny it. Sometimes it gets buried under our bad choices, our egos, our sin. But it’s there. Waiting to change the world.

“. . . bear your share of hardship for the gospel with the strength that comes from God.” Life is full of hardships --- at least for most of us. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that. Each of us has probably experienced plenty of them for ourselves. Hardships arising from difficult relationships. Hardships brought about by money troubles. Hardships regarding health. Or employment. Or mental and emotional issues. Or involving school. Or consequences of bad decisions, or poor judgment, or even sin. Yes, life is often filled with all sorts of hardships --- disappointments and burdens and tragedies --- large and small. So why would we want another one? “. . . bear your share of hardship for the gospel with the strength that comes from God.” That’s not the part of faith that attracts me. I like embracing a life of faith because it brings me comfort. And it gives my life meaning. And it rings true in a very real sense, that is, seems to match and often brings understanding to my life experiences. And it makes me happy to gather for worship. And it helps me feel part of something bigger than myself. And it helps me feel close to God (especially through the Sacraments). And it helps me fear death a little less. That’s what attracts me to faith, what I “like” about faith. All the good stuff. But hardship? That doesn’t sound so great to me. Have I chosen the wrong faith? Well, maybe. That probably sounds strange coming from a member of the clergy (or from any one of you who is here week after week worshipping in this holy place). Now, I certainly don’t mean I wish I was part of a different faith community, a different faith tradition. Nothing could be further from the truth. But what I AM saying is this. If I’m not willing to embrace the tough parts of walking a journey of faith, not willing to embrace the “work” involved, the sacrifices, the challenges, the self-emptying, the crosses --- then I can’t really say that I am “all in”, can’t say that I’m as committed as I should be. In a certain sense, when I acknowledge that I only want the “good stuff” when it comes to faith, I’m actually saying that what I really want is a kind of Christianity-lite, a Christianity that doesn’t demand much, a stream of Easter mornings without a single Good Friday. In other words, I don’t want things in my life that make me want to shout like the prophet Habakkuk in today’s First Reading, “How long, O Lord? I cry for help but you do not listen!” How many of us wonder about that very thing? How many of us, when faced with some sort of sorrow or disappointment or painful situation, wonder if God is listening, if God is paying attention, if God truly cares? Yet, God does provide us with a kind of “answer”. The problem is, the “answer” he provides is one we don’t really like, or really don’t accept, or often can’t get past --- an answer most perfectly on display on Calvary --- an answer we just heard in response to the cries of Habakkuk. “If it delays, wait for it, it will surely come . . .” Wait for it . . . . And that’s not easy to do. We want the “good stuff” NOW. We want the blessings of God now. We want the pain to go away now, the problem to be solved now, the worries to go away now, the heartache to go away now. We don’t really want to wait. (And who can blame us?) Yet, that’s part of what lies at the heart of the Paschal Mystery. Everything unfolds in God’s time, on God’s “schedule”. It took three days for that first Easter --- a period of waiting and wondering and hoping and confusion and sorrow and every kind of human emotion. But it came. The resurrection came. Salvation came. The Holy Spirit came. All in God’s time and in the way God saw fit. I’ll never say that any of this is easy, never say it’s easy to hold onto hope in the face of life’s struggles, never say it’s easy to trust even though we can’t see what’s coming next, never say it’s easy to embrace the idea that God’s way is always the best way. All of those things take faith --- deep and authentic faith, persistent and relentless faith, humble and sincere faith. So what’s a person to do? What’s a person to do in the face of life’s hardships? The simple answer is, the most faithful answer is, to simply forge ahead, simply continue to do all we have been commanded to do, simply do our duty, fulfill our responsibilities, and honor our promises --- to God, and by extension, to each other. That’s what it means to walk by faith and not by sight. God just wants us to love, to be kind, to be generous, to be merciful --- regardless of whether our lives are going smoothly or are in turmoil, regardless of whether we are in a period of joy or a period of great disappointment. And God will be our strength, our companion, our comfort, through all of it. “. . . but the just one, because of his faith will live.” That goes for every Easter we pray for in the midst of every Good Friday. But we’re going to have to wait for it. In hope. In faith. With trust. And God will not disappoint. 

I’m sure that many of you can remember your favorite meals when you were growing up ----- those dishes that made you really happy each time your mom (or dad!) prepared them. And for those of us who were fortunate enough to have parents who loved to cook and were good at it, these meals provided us not only with tasty nourishment, but also with fond memories we took with us as we grew into adulthood. And, as a result, many adults try to recreate for their spouses and children and friends some of the best meals they cherished as kids. Oh, if only it were that easy. If you’ve ever tried to cook a meal that was first cooked for you by someone else, you know that replicating it can be more than a little tricky. Three potential problems quickly come to mind. One --- Sometimes we don’t have any sort of recipe to go by and we are forced to try to remember or imagine what ingredients and/or steps were used in the making of the dish. Two --- Sometimes mistakes have been made in the writing and rewriting of the recipe as it is handed down. This can be infuriating as we take the time to follow the recipe to a T, but somehow can’t quite get the meal to taste like it’s supposed to. And three --- Sometimes (I know you will be shocked!) the original cook will deliberately leave out some important step or some critical ingredient, not wanting anyone to make it as well as they do. In each of these three cases, it becomes obvious that (when it comes to cooking) the little things matter, small things that (on the surface) shouldn’t change the taste of the food, but in reality do. Little things matter not just in cooking, of course, but in many areas of life. Authors struggle with every word and sentence, knowing that it’s not simply enough to have a good plot or interesting characters. Artists will tinker with a canvas for months, doing all they can to make sure each dot of paint is exactly the way they want it. People giving presentations or speeches will work and re-work the text, and then rehearse and rehearse and rehearse some more, knowing that even a stumble or two could change how their words will be received. And most sports teams will continually work on the “fundamentals”, knowing that raw talent isn’t enough to ensure success over the course of a whole season. Put simply, often in life if we want the “big picture” to come out a certain way, if we want a particular outcome, the only way to make it possible or likely is to pay close attention to the (seemingly insignificant) little things. Today’s Gospel passage from Luke is a somewhat difficult one --- not in what is specifically being said by Jesus, but what he means by what he is saying. There is almost a kind of “riddle” quality to his words. First - we have the story about the dishonest steward and then we get a series of statements from Jesus about dishonest wealth vs. true wealth, very small matters vs. great ones, and God vs. mammon. What is our Lord driving at? I’m not going to try to unpack all the levels of meaning in these verses. Even scholars aren’t all in agreement. But I would like to try to summarize as best I can. If we start with the last line first, “You cannot serve both God and mammon” Jesus seems to be saying that we can’t have it both ways, that we can’t on one hand say (and maybe even believe) that we are serving God when the choices in our lives clearly show that we are simply serving ourselves --- indulging our own needs, wants, and earthly desires. And if that’s the case, then how do we really know if we are serving God? How can we be sure that we’re not trying to serve both God and mammon? All of us in one way or another want to serve God. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t. We want to please him and be with him for all eternity when our earthly lives have ended. We all want the same “big picture”, the same outcome. We all want for God to see us in a good light and for him to know that we sincerely love him. We all want a seat at the banquet that lasts forever. And yet, wanting those things is not enough --- not if our focus is so far down the road that we fail to see what God is calling us to this very day, in this very moment. If we want the big picture to look a certain way, if we want to be confident that our lives are pleasing to God, we must pay attention to the little things, pay attention to the day-to-day opportunities to love, forgive, serve, teach the Truth and be generous. These are the ingredients that make a beautiful, meaningful, faithful life. May we get the recipe right and do countless little God-like things each and every day. 

Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross – September 14, 2025 Readings ref.: Num. 21:4b–9 • Jn 3:13–17 Dcn. Bill Kenney We exalt the cross of Christ In our daily lives, what kinds of people, places or things do we exalt? What do we place high above other things? - put on a pedestal to stand out as prized assets or relations in our lives? Is it a famous quarterback, or a sports car, an expensive dog breed? A college diploma? A trip to Grand Camen is just heavenly. What do these things have in common? They are all of this world and are passing. To exalt something in a spiritual sense is to elevate it to the highest level of adoration, glorification, and praise for all eternity. The Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross is celebrated today. It is also celebrated in the liturgy of Good Friday. Such a major theme of our faith is worthy of recalling, even as we do at every Mass. Recall also, at the foot of the cross is our Blessed Mother, Mary, the prime exultant and model of humility and grace. Today we commemorate the recovery of Christ’s actual cross by St. Helen, Emperor Constantine’s mother. We exalt the everlasting, saving power it represents in our lives. At the Presentation of Jesus in the temple, Simeon prophesizes that the infant Jesus is destined for the fall and rise of many in Israel. He would be a sign that will be contradicted. Simeon’s prophesy is fulfilled in our readings. In the Book of Numbers, the ungrateful, complaining people of God, were punished with venomous serpents. They repent and ask for mercy. From the Lord’s instruction, Moses fashions a pole with the seraph serpent figure on it, the same serpent sent to bite and kill them was now to be looked upon for healing. Certainly, a sign of contradiction. But why this sign? In this case, it served as a reminder of the punishment they paid and could perhaps pay again for their ungratefulness and disobedience to the Lord. It also reminds them and us of God’s endless mercy if we repent. Moreover, this account is a type of the redemption and salvation we receive from Jesus Christ exalted on the cross. Our gospel reading from John is the famous 3:16 verse made popular by the saints and Christian sports fans as a definitive tenet of our faith. Jesus tells Nicodemus of his original domicile, heaven. He continues by explaining a comparison of the Son of Man being lifted up as was the serpent pole lifted up, or exalted, by Moses. Instead of the wrath of God sent down to all mankind from heaven, God sends his only begotten Son to take the wrath for us and save us from our sin. Those who look upon the seraph are healed; those who not only look upon the cross but also BELIEVE in our Savior Jesus Christ might not perish but might have eternal life. Just as the disobedient, ungrateful People of God in Numbers, we too, because of our sin, deserve condemnation. It is only through the mercy, sacrifice, and redemptive love of our Savior that we are saved. What do you see when you look upon the crucifix? Sadness, perplexity, love? It should be an extra-sensory experience, lifting you up with the exalted Christ to a life of awe, peace, and love for our Lord, for all he did and still does for us. As Catholics we see not only the cross but also a bloodied corpus and recall his great passion and death. Some Christian sects prefer to remember the divine power of Christ with an empty cross symbolizing his victory over death and his resurrection. The cross is a sign of contradiction. Each of us may have a unique realization of the cross in our lives. This instrument of torture and death leads to our eternal life. Think about that: death gives life. This great mystery is a matter of faith, belief, and trust- not unlike the mystery of Christ’s true presence in the Eucharist. The sacrifice of Christ on the cross is made present on the altar in the Eucharist. He gives us his body and blood to strengthen us to bear our own crosses and together become one body in him. Jesus, the Light and Life of the World, is the true source of our eternal salvation and we can come to him by looking at him lifted up in the tragedy and triumph of the cross. Jesus conquered sin through his atoning death and resurrection. Through the Father’s infinite love for each of us, when we sin, we need only to turn back to him with contrite, humble hearts in the sacrament of reconciliation. O God, who willed that your only begotten son should be condemned to the cross to save the human race, grant we pray that we who contemplate his mystery on earth may merit the grace of his redemption in heaven, for our salvation and the glory of God.