Twenty-Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time

There is an old story about a little boy who was playing on a dock and leaned over too far, lost his balance, and fell into the lake. He could not swim – a man nearby saw what happened, kicked off his shoes and dove in. A few tense second but he pulled the boy up coughing and sputtering – but alive. A few minutes later the boy’s mother came running, out of breath and in tears. She hugged her son tightly, then turned to the man and said, “oh thank you – you saved my son. “The man smiled and said, “I’m just glad he is safe.” Then the mother looked at her son from head to toe and said, “Wait a minute…. where’s his hat?”

It is a funny story, but it hits home.  Sometimes we do the same thing with God. We receive blessings, grace, forgiveness, healing – and then we look around and say, “But Lord…what about that other thing? Where is my hat?”

In today’s gospel, Jesus heals ten lepers. Ten! Yet only one comes back to say thank you. And notice, Jesus does not say, “You are welcome.” He says, “Where are the other nine?” He is not angry – he is saddened. Because gratitude is the natural language of faith. It is how love recognizes love. Ten were blessed but only one was truly changed. Gratitude did not just clean his skin; it changed his heart.

His body was cured, but his heart was awakened. Gratitude made him see the bigger picture: not just what he got, but who gave it. Gratitude opens our eyes to see that life is not something we earn, but something we receive. Every breath, every sunrise, every act of kindness is a gift.

We live in a world that has trained us to notice what is missing. The news tells us what is wrong, commercials tell us what we lack, and social media shows us what we do not have. And before long, we start to live like that mother – blessed beyond all measure yet focused on the missing hat.

But gratitude flips that script. Gratitude turns our eyes from what is wrong to what is right. It makes us aware of the quiet miracles we often overlook – the people who love us, the meals on our tables, the breath in our lungs, the gift of faith that brings us here today. As one writer said, “Gratitude turns what we have into enough – and more.”

So maybe today’s Gospel is inviting us to stop searching for the missing hat and start noticing the saving grace. To thank God for not only for what God has given – but for what God spared us from. To see that every moment of life is a gift that deserves a “thank you.”

And when we learn to live with grateful hearts, we stop keeping score, stop comparing, and start rejoicing. Because the grateful person does not have more things – the grateful person simply sees more blessings.  

So here is your homework for the next week: find one person you have never thanked before – and thank them. It could be the person at the checkout, the neighbor who takes in your trash bins, or the friend who always listens. You might be surprised how those two simple words can change someone’s day – and maybe even their life.

“Thank you.” Two small words that heal, that bless, that make the world a little kinder. And maybe when we stand before God someday, the first words we will want to say will not be a long explanation or a list of excuses – but simply, “Thank you, Lord.”

Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

A little boy once asked his mom:

“Why do we have nighttime?

Why can’t it just be day all the time?”

His mom smiled and said:
“If it were always day, we’d never see the bright moon and the stars.”

That is true of life, as well.
Without darkness, we would never notice the light.

In just a few weeks, when we set our clocks back to Standard Time, we will notice how quickly darkness falls. And we will also notice how much brighter the stars seem against the night sky. That brings us right to today’s readings.

The prophet Habakkuk could have written his words today. The prophet sounds like he just watched David Muir’s ABC News!

He cries out:
“O Lord, how long shall I cry for help, and you do not listen?
I see violence, ruin, misery, destruction, strife, and discord.”

Sound familiar?

Just turn on the evening news.
We see armed guards outside malls, schools, synagogues, and churches.
We hear about terrorism and assassinations. People are shooting into places meant to be safe.
We watch tornadoes, floods, and hurricanes destroy lives and homes.

We see sickness, pain, suffering, and death all around us.

Habakkuk’s Old Testament words could be our own.

But here is the good news:

God answered Habakkuk —

and God answers us.

He tells the prophet:
“Write down the vision.”

 God tells Habakkuk,

“The just one, because of his faith, shall live.”

In other words: Hold on. Do not give up.

Faith is what carries us through our dark days.

Saint Paul tells Timothy:
“Stir into flame the gift of God.”
Do not let your faith sit there like an old souvenir on a shelf. Faith is meant to be alive. It is meant to grow.

And Jesus adds something surprising:
We do not need a mountain of faith.

Even faith as small as a mustard seed can move mountains…
Or uproot mulberry trees…
or help us forgive again.

So, when the world feels dark, remember that little boy’s question.

Nighttime exists so we can see the stars. Faith is the light that shines in that darkness. We may not control the night. But we can choose trust, to hope, to have faith. Faith is the greatest power in the world. That is what Jesus meant when he said, “If you have faith the size of a mustard seed” – this is a striking way of saying that with faith what looks impossible becomes possible.  Gandi said, “Those with a grain of faith never lose hope, because they believe in the ultimate triumph of truth.”

In the darkness, let us keep our eyes focused on the light - - and that light is Jesus Christ. And Jesus Christ, my friends, is more than enough to keep us going.

Twenty-Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time

“And lying at his gate was a poor man named Lazarus.”  We all know about gates, don’t we? Gates are everywhere. Gated communities, “members only” clubs, fences, railroad tracks, border walls – even that invisible line in town that says” this side is for the haves, that side for the have-nots.”

Today’s gospel is no different. Jesus gives us the parable of the rich man and poor Lazarus. On one side of the gate: the rich man, dressed in purple and eating fine meals. On the other side: Lazurus, covered in sores and dogs licking his wounds.

Now, before we get too smug, let me remind you: the government has defined poverty as making less than $11, 880 a year. By that math, most of us here are “rich.” That makes me a little twitchy because we just heard what happens to the rich man! But let me put you at ease – it is not about a magic dollar amount. Otherwise, the solution would be easy. Just drop your income to $11,879 and you are safe! But Jesus is not giving us a tax code or an IRS bracket. He is giving us a heart check.

See, the rich man’s problem was not his wardrobe or his menu. His problem was his gate. He had walled himself off from compassion. He never even noticed Lazarus right at his doorstep!

Look at all the ways we set gates between ourselves and others: between rich and poor, the powerful and the powerless, black and white, gay and straight, Muslim and Christian, immigrant and citizen, neighbor and enemy, or any other categories you might add to this list. Those gates are not circumstances or categories – they are a condition of the human heart. They do not just shut others out. They trap us inside. Today’s gates become tomorrow’s chasms.

That is the warning. But there is also good news. Lazarus’ name means “God helps.” The knock at our gate is not just a beggar, it is an invitation. God helps us when we open up.

What if we open the gates of compassion and concern for others, generosity and sharing, forgiveness and reconciliation, justice and peace? What would that take? Let’s look at our lives and our world. What are the closed gates in our life today? What gates are separating us from one another? It might be fear, anger, resentment, jealousy, indifference, guilt, grief, loneliness, cynicism or a thousand other things. Take a moment and listen. Listen deeply. Our gates are being rattled. Every day our gates are being rattled. Lazarus is knocking, rattling your gate and my gate. When we open our gates – through compassion, generosity, forgiveness, love – we don’t just help Lazarus in front of us. We discover our own freedom. Our own healing. Our own joy.

So today, if you hear a little rattling at the gate of your heart, don’t call security. Open it! Lazarus is knocking. And remember what his name means: “God helps.”

Twenty-Fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Today’s gospel is one of the strangest parables Jesus tells. A dishonest employee, caught squandering his master’s property, is suddenly praised for his actions. That is not how we want the world to be. It does not make sense to us. Why would Jesus hold up such a man?

I think one of the key lines in this parable is found in the master’s demand, “Prepare a full account of your stewardship.” We have all heard those words in one way or another. The IRS may want to see our numbers…did you ever get called to the principal’s office? …the boss says she wants to see you…a spouse says, “We need to talk.” Each Sunday we begin Mass acknowledging our sins and opening our lives before God. In each case, an accounting is demanded. “What have I done?”

And let’s be honest – no one likes that. To account for our life means opening the books of our life that we would rather keep closed. Sometimes we do not want others to see the balance – sometimes we do not even want to see it ourselves.

But today’s parable tells us accounting is not really about numbers. It is about life. What are we doing with the gifts entrusted to us? Our time, money, talents, dreams and hopes, relationships, forgiveness, compassion, love. What do our ledgers say about the kind of people we are – and the master we truly serve?

And this is not only personal. Nations, societies, Churches, parishes, even the whole world must give an account. Jesus is blunt: “You cannot serve two masters.” We cannot serve both God and wealth, both love and self-interest, both compassion and cruelty. Yet, if we were honest, our world, and often our own hearts, are caught in that tug-of-war.

The steward in the parable faced ruin. But in that crisis, he saw an opportunity. The demand for an accounting became the start of a new direction, new relationships, a new life. Grace was hiding in the very thing that should have destroyed him.

And maybe that is why Jesus praises him. Not because of dishonesty, but because he seized the moment. He looked at his life, saw where it was headed, and chose differently. He turned a reckoning into a resurrection.

That is the invitation for us. The accounting God asks of us is not about punishment. It is about grace. It is about re-orienting our lives so that we invest our treasures – our time, our love, our gifts – in ways that lead to life.

So, hear the master’s words spoken to you today, “Prepare a full account of your stewardship.” What are you doing with your life? At the end of our life, God will not ask, “How much did you earn?” but “Whom did you serve?”  Who are you serving? And most importantly, where is God’s grace calling you to begin again?

Exaltation of the Holy Cross

A few years ago, I read about a hiker who was bitten by a rattlesnake. In that moment of panic, he had two choices: either try to run from the problem – or admit he needed help. The article explained something fascinating: the antivenom that saved his life actually came from the venom itself. Scientists take the poison, introduce it in small doses, and develop the cure from it. The very thing that bites you becomes the source of your healing.

In our first reading from the Book of Numbers, the Israelites were hurting. They were tired of wandering in the desert, frustrated with God, and critical of Moses. Their complaining only made things worse. And then, the snakes came – poisonous serpents that bit them. When they finally cried out for help, God told Moses to lift up a bronze serpent, and anyone who looked at it was healed. Healing did not come from their own efforts, but by turning their eyes upward to God’s saving action.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus reminds us of that story. “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up.” He is speaking about the cross. Sin is like venom in the human heart – it weakens us, poisons our relationships, and robs us of joy. On the cross, Jesus takes all the venom of sin, death, and human cruelty into himself. And instead of letting it destroy us, he transforms it into healing and life.

Think again of that rattlesnake antivenom: the poison itself transformed becomes the cure. In the same way, the cross – an instrument of death – becomes the instrument of life. Jesus absorbs all the venom so that we might be set free.

Healing begins when we admit the bite. The Israelites had to look up at the serpent to live – they had to acknowledge their faults. We must look up at the cross to find life. Jesus puts it plainly: “Those who want to save their life will lose it, but those who lose their life for my sake will find it.”

So, what are the serpents that bite you? What are the “snaky places” in your life? Resentment, jealousy, anger, addiction, sin. We know those times when our choices, our words, our actions are going to come back to bite us. It is Newton’s third law in spiritual terms, for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. If we act with selfishness, it comes back, if we act with bitterness, it coils around us. The serpents are real.

Then in the gospel comes the verse we all know so well. “God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him may not perish but may have eternal life.” That is the beating heart of the Gospel. God loves us, not in theory, but in action. God gave His Son.

The Israelites were saved not because they were strong or clever, but because they trusted God’s promise. We are saved not by our own strength, but by lifting our eyes to Christ. The cross is not just a reminder of suffering it is a sign of love.

So, here is the challenge. It is easy to look down – at our failures, our sins, our disappointments – or to look around at the brokenness of the world and lose hope. Today’s readings invite us to look up. Look at the cross and see there not condemnation, but mercy. Not despair, but hope. Not death, but life.

So, this week, every time you see a cross – whether in church, on a rosary, or hanging around someone’s neck – pause and say quietly, “God so loved the world…God so loved me.” Let the truth heal whatever venom is in your heart.

Because the cure is not in us – it is in Christ, lifted high on the cross.