Sol. of Christ the King

“You will even be handed over by parents, brothers, relatives, and friends, and they will put some of you to death.” OK, now when exactly did I sign up for that? Seriously. When did I give the ok for those things to happen? Well, for most of us it was a long, long time ago. And we can’t fault ourselves for not remembering. In fact, for the vast majority of us our “ok” was given by others --- and initially, we didn’t even get a say in the matter. When was this? When did we sign on for all this “dying” stuff? Well, I think you know. It was at our baptism. This is obvious when we hear the words from the current baptismal rite at the point in the ritual when the priest or deacon prays over the water to be used for baptism. He says, “May all who are buried with Christ in death, through baptism, rise also with him to newness of life.” Buried with Christ in death . . . . It’s an easy thing to forget. All the “new life” stuff is the easy part. Who wouldn’t want that? Re-birth. Newness of life. Resurrection. Eternal life. New creations. Children of God. That’s all pretty great stuff, life-changing stuff, meaningful stuff. But would we be willing to die for it? Today’s Gospel passage from Luke is a difficult one, a scary one. Jesus paints a pretty awful picture --- even though he concludes by telling the people, “. . . but not a hair on your head will be destroyed.” What’s Jesus driving at? It seems like he’s talking out both sides of his mouth --- in one breath saying that they will be put to death, and in the next breath saying they will be ok. What gives? Sometimes we confuse the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus as somehow cleansing the world of all the bad stuff, particularly when it comes to followers of Jesus. In a certain sense, we often hope that Jesus suffered so that we don’t have to, hope that Jesus was persecuted so we don’t have to be, hope that Jesus was misunderstood and rejected and mocked so that we don’t have to be and most importantly, hope that Jesus died so we don’t have to. Isn’t that what Jesus’ victory guaranteed? Hardly. The victory does not assure us that the bad things in life will disappear. Rather, it assures us that those things don’t win, that those things don’t get the last say, that those things will not last into eternity. The cross and resurrection of Jesus shows us the power of love, the power of faithfulness, the power of putting the will of God above our own. But it doesn’t show us that the crosses will go away, doesn’t show us that we don’t have to die. It actually shows us that death is a kind of doorway, part of the process, the means through which we rise to new life. That’s why when we were baptized we were told that what we were being baptized into was Jesus’ death --- not as some kind of end, but as the beginning, the seed of something more beautiful, more lasting, more meaningful. In other words, no Easters without Good Fridays. These “deaths” come in all forms --- from the seemingly insignificant moments to the our physical deaths and everything in-between. The scenario Jesus describes shows some of the consequences for following Him. Sometimes people will respond harshly to what we believe and what we stand for. They won’t like our message. The martyrs are a powerful example of just how far some people will go to silence what they don’t like, believe, or maybe even understand. But there are all sorts of other “deaths” too --- which may feel as if they have power over us, but are no match for the power of Jesus’ death and resurrection. Broken relationships. Serious illnesses. Major financial trouble. Loneliness. Loss of friendships. Family strife. You name it. All sorts of things we wish would never happen to us, things we wish we could always avoid. But then life happens. And each of these things can feel like a kind of death, a suffering of mind and spirit and body that is hard to face. In the moment it might seem impossible that anything good can be brought forth from these events and wounds. But with God, nothing is impossible. It might not happen on our timetable, but something beautiful will eventually grow in the space these deaths have carved out. But there are other deaths we need to be aware of. But these deaths are not assured. In fact, they won’t come about unless we give our ok, unless we invite them to happen. I’m talking about the deaths WE need to bring upon ourselves, deaths we need to embrace in order to be more than we were yesterday, in order to be the beautiful disciples we were created to be and Jesus died to make possible. Dying to our selfishness…our pride…our sense of entitlement. Dying to being late to Mass or leaving before the final hymn is completely over. Dying to our greed…our hatred…our cynicism, judgment self-righteousness and every other sin that keeps us from being “truly alive”, keeps us from being the people God calls us to be. Yes, some will “put us to death”. And sometimes we need to let some part of us die. In either case, by doing so, we are uniting ourselves to Jesus, uniting ourselves to the template of every Christian life --- the pattern that leads us to a life beyond our wildest imagination --- a newness of life that starts today and continues into eternity. Are we willing to die for it? I sure hope so.

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. 

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Yr. C 9- 28- 2025 Dcn. Bill Kenney Ref.-Luke 16:19–31 Reflection on Charity and Justice in our lives. Are we persuaded to repent and become more charitable people by the model given us in the passion, death and resurrection of Jesus? Charity is love for others and acting with generosity and self-sacrifice. It is a spiritual gift and fruit of the Holy Spirit to give out of great love as Christ did for us- up to and including his death on the cross. St. Catherine of Siena said, "Consider God's charity. Where else have we ever seen someone who has been offended voluntarily paying out his life for those who have offended him?” Together with faith and hope, charity is one of the Theological virtues that grow our relationship with the Father and each other. In our Gospel reading from Luke, we learn a lesson in charity and justice. We hear of the anonymous rich man and the poor man, Lazarus. They led vastly different earthly lives and eternal lives. They did share one thing in common and that is, death- the great equalizer. In the parable, there’s really no sign of charity on either parties’ behalf. No crumbs from the rich man’s table would feed Lazarus’ hunger; not even a drop of water was given to cool the rich man’s thirst. These are both so over-the-top and appalling that it might give us pause to think, “Do I, to some degree, resemble either of these people in my daily life?” The justice served each player is just as eye-opening and thought provoking. These are certainly outcomes deserving of our interior reflection and conversion of heart. This is a parable Jesus addresses to the Pharisees who were well-off middle-class people. They had their every need met while imposing strict, oppressive temple laws on the common Jews. They believed in the resurrection and the afterlife but did not put two and two together to realize their shortcomings; to recognize and inherit their salvation standing before them. Jesus loved them as God’s creation and wants them, and us, to understand the errors of our ways to save our souls. We provide an identity to the anonymous rich man in our sinfulness and lack of charity for others in our lives. We can sometimes be a type of the Pharisees needing to be woken up and enlightened to our uncharitable ways. How do we become more charitable? It starts with clarity of mind, heart, and will for the unconditional well-being of others. St. Teresa of Calcutta, a.k.a. St. Mother Teresa, is a model of charity. Her religious order is called, The Missionaries of Charity, giving meaning and identity to their cause. She dedicated her life and devotion to the Lord to serve the poorest of the poor in India and beyond- the Lazarus’s of our time. She said, “Every work of love done with a full heart brings people closer to God.” In addition to giving money or material support, giving of ourselves with a full heart builds communion with the Father and each other, which is a far greater act of charity. There are many other charitable organizations doing God’s work to love and care for others. In our own Parish we have access to the Knights of Columbus, Christian Service, Mary’s Refuge, Torch 180, Loaves and Fishes, Family Impact Center, and many others. I recently conferred God’s blessings upon the Pregnancy Help Clinic facility and its Staff members. The Holy Spirit is indeed moving and working through their cause. They and all these charitable organizations are gathering crumbs and dipping their fingers to serve, refresh, and give dignity to the needy among us. As a sign of your gift of charity consider giving your time, talent, and treasure and your full heart to help these and other organizations meet the needs of others. Our OCIA Catechumen and Candidates [ 4:30 -will be welcomed tomorrow] [ 8:30 - will be welcomed today] [ 11am - are welcomed here today] in their journey of faith. They need your crumbs and drops of prayer to inspire them to a greater love of Christ and his Church. Prayer cards for them are out in the Gathering Space. There’s no time like the present to express and take charitable actions for others. Give and don’t keep score. Life and God’s justice are fleeting and swift. We will be asked one day to account for the charity we provided to others, starting with our families. Unlike the rich man, may we serve our needy brothers and sisters in Christ. May charity and love prevail from the fullness of our hearts, for our salvation and for the glory of God.