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.

Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time

At the heart of today’s Gospel teaching is God’s upside-down vision of the Kingdom. In a world that rewards status, power, and wealth, Jesus invites us to think instead about humility, hospitality, and generosity.

Let’s set the scene. Jesus is at a banquet. He notices how people rush to take the places of honor, and He reminds them, “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet…go and sit in the lowest place…for everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” Then he challenges the host not to invite only friends, relatives, and the wealthy, but also the poor, the crippled, the lame, and the blind – those who cannot repay. The message Jesus is giving us:

The true measure of our faith is not how we treat those who can give us something in return, but how we welcome those who have little or nothing to give.

This gospel speaks directly to the way we approach immigration and the border issues in our country. People arrive at our borders not because life is easy, but because it has become unbearable – because of poverty, violence, or persecution. They come seeking the same things we want for ourselves and our children: safety, dignity, a chance to work, and hope for the future.

But often, instead of welcome, they encounter suspicion, hostility, or indifference. We are tempted to think of them as problems to be solved rather than people to be embraced. Yet Jesus says, “When you hold a banquet, invited the poor.” In other words, open your life, your community, your nation to those on the margins. For in them we encounter Christ Himself, who said, “I was a stranger, and you welcomed me.”

This does not mean that borders do not matter – they do - or that laws are unimportant – they are. But as Christians we must approach immigration not first as a political issue, but as a Gospel issue. It is about how we see the human dignity of our brothers and sisters.

Imagine for a moment if we truly lived out today’s Gospel – if our first instinct was not to protect our place at the table but to make sure that others have a place at all. The Church teaches that nations have a right to secure their borders, yes, but also that every human being has the right to life, food, shelter, and safety. Justice and mercy must go hand in hand.

So perhaps Jesus’ challenge to us today is this: Instead of asking, “How can we keep people out?” we might begin by asking, “How can we make more room at the table?” If we humble ourselves, if we welcome the stranger, if we choose compassion over fear, then we will not only honor our brothers and sisters at the border, but we will honor Christ Himself.

And on the day when God gathers us all to His heavenly banquet, we may hear God say, “Friend, move up higher…come to the place I have prepared for you.”  

Twenty-First Sunday in Ordinary Time

‘LORD, WILL ONLY A FEW PEOPLE BE SAVED?”   Isn’t that classic – aren’t we always hedging our bets – what are the odds we will be saved? And typical of Jesus, he does not satisfy our curiosity. He calls us to conversion. The real question is not, “How many will be saved?” but rather, “Am I walking the path of salvation?”

Not long ago I was in an airport, going through security. You know the drill – you can’t carry anything through. You must take off your belt, shoes, empty your pockets, even leave behind your water bottles. The doorway is narrow, and you can’t get through with your luggage.

That is exactly the image Jesus gives us today:  “Strive to enter through the narrow door.” The doorway to God’s Kingdom is open, but it is narrow. And the question is – what are we willing to let go of in order to enter?

The narrow door is not about God making heaven hard to reach. It is about us. Pride will not fit through. Selfishness is too bulky. Greed and resentment and grudges make us too wide to squeeze in. To pass through, we need to travel light – with humility, mercy, and love.

Jesus does not say, “Stroll through the door.” He says, “Strive.” That means effort and commitment. The Christian life is not a casual stroll; it is a daily effort. Faith is not a label or a tradition – it is a relationship with Jesus Christ lived out in daily choices: forgiving when it is hard, serving when it costs, staying faithful when it is not popular.

In the parable, some are left outside even though they say, “We ate and drank with you; you taught in our streets.” But the master replies, “I do not know you.”

That is a wake-up call. It is not enough to be loosely connected to Jesus, or to say, “I grew up Catholic.” What matters is: does Christ truly know me? Do I spend time in prayer? Do I live His teaching? Do I love my neighbor? You might be aware that we will be having a Parish Mission in early September. This will be one of those “graced moments” in our lives – a time to look closely at our relationship with God…I would strongly encourage you to come to these three days. In your pew – half sheet of paper – every one of us knows someone who would benefit from being part of this “Mission Experience” – We are looking for some names and if possible an address so that an invitation can be extended to participate – sometimes that is all that it takes – a little nudge (time)

The narrow door is not meant to scare us, but to focus us. We cannot carry everything through – we need to let go of what does not belong to God. So how do we walk through the narrow door? By forgiving someone who hurt us. By letting go of grudges that weigh us down. By putting prayer before busyness. By serving those in need without looking for reward. By choosing humility instead of pride. Each act of love makes us a little freer, a little more ready to step through the doorway. And with God’s help, one day we will hear God say, “Come in – you belong to Me.”