The Power of These Readings
The message today is very simple.
When preparing a homily, the first step is to read the readings. Before you come to Mass, read them. Sit with them. Something will capture your attention.
In the first reading, Peter stood up, raised his voice, and said: “Repent and be baptized.” In the second reading: “By his wounds, we have been healed.” And then this: “We have gone astray like sheep and have now returned to the shepherd.”
In the gospel, there is one verse that stands out. “A thief comes only to steal and slaughter and destroy. I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.”
It is almost as if Jesus is saying: I will also take something from you. But what I take, I replace with something far greater. Life. Abundance. More than what you had before.
You read those passages, you sit with them, and then things start happening throughout the week that bring them alive.
Hiding at Worship
On Wednesday, an invitation came to me to join a family for praise and worship. It turned out to be a little charismatic. Tapping a foot was about the extent of my participation. And to make things more interesting, they were live streaming. When I arrived, they sent me straight to the front. Everyone around me had arms up, open, and my hands were covering my face.
I may not be invited back.
But they sang a song called “Abide.” The verse goes: For my waking breath, for my daily bread, I depend on you.
It is a beautiful song. Sitting there, I began asked myself honestly: how do I depend on God?
I started thinking negatively.
“I depend on God to make me feel good. I depend on God for my popularity. I depend on God for my power. I am the pastor. I’m the boss. If I say something, people do it. Not really, but that’s the theory.”
And there it was. Not dependence. Something closer to use. Using God as a prop for status, for authority, for comfort. Invoking God’s name to justify decisions rather than being in genuine union with God.
But then came a different thought. A harder one.
“I depend on God to crush me.”
There is no verse in that song about being crushed. No line about being knocked down, rebuilt, and lifted back up. But that is exactly what the readings were describing all along. Repentance. Wounds. Sheep gone astray. The thief who destroys so that life can come through.
At Our Weakest
Nobody wants to be crushed. Nobody signs up for that. But here is the proof that it works.
Every time my father was ill, before he died, the man was the nicest he ever was. Kind. Considerate. Patient. Gentle.
And how did you know he was better? When he started raising his voice again. When he began to complain, to argue and belittle people. That was the sign he had returned to full health.
It is almost funny. But it is also true. It’s true for me to. I have the same genetics.
In your weakest moments, have you ever noticed that you become more courteous? More vulnerable? More willing to ask for help and to offer it? The illness, the fear, the crisis strips away the armor and leaves something more human underneath.
The problem is that we do not stay there. We want to feel better. And the moment we do, we go right back to our old selves. The same genetics, the same habits, the same patterns. Taking everything for granted again.
Grace & Politicians (I Know!)
After a reception following the parish’s first communions and confirmations, getting back into the car around 10 PM, I turned the radio on. There had been a shooting scare at the White House Correspondents’ Dinner.
Reporters in the dining hall had ducked for cover. People ran. The first lady’s face showed real fear. Even Wolf Blitzer from CNN said openly: “I was scared. I was terrified.”
And then something unexpected happened.
CBS reporter Weijia Jiang, who is always clashing with President Trump, asked him a question. But before that, Trump told her she looked lovely. He thanked her for organizing the dinner. He said she had done a beautiful job and that he felt terrible the evening had been disrupted.
She thanked him. Warmly.
Then she asked: “Mr. President, when all of this was happening, what was going on in your heart and your mind?”
And he said: “What a wonderful question. What an amazing question.”
That exchange had to be rewound to be believed.
Two people who are usually combative with each other, softened in an instant by a shared moment of fear. Humility showed up. Kindness showed up. Because something happened that reminded everyone in that room that they are human, that life is fragile, and that none of it is guaranteed.
When You Were Small
You pray to God that maybe we do not forget. That the fear and the vulnerability leave something behind.
If you are feeling high and mighty right now, think of a moment when you were scared. When you were weak. When you needed someone and you knew it.
Hold onto that moment. Keep it close.
Because that feeling, as uncomfortable as it is, is the thing that makes you more courteous, more kind, more dependent on something greater than yourself. It is the beginning of real growth.
The lesson is this:
There is no Christ without the cross.
There is no shortcut to heaven.
There is no conversion without repentance.
There is no first without being last.
And there is no greatest without first feeling the lowest.
That is it. That is the whole message.
Amen?
Amen.
