Homily: 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

[Note: a video of this homily is available online at this link: Homily: 29 Sunday-A]

Readings: Is 45: 1,4-6; Ps 96; 1 Thes 1:1-5; Mt 22:15-21

About 40 years ago I developed a friendship with an archaeologist. We taught at neighboring colleges. He went on to be a big-time archaeologist working in the Middle East. But way back then, he gave me a gift, an old coin, a 1^st-century Roman denarius, found in Israel near Jerusalem. I think it was worth about $40 back then. I’ve been told it might be worth $1,000 now, but I’ll never sell it, although one of my kids probably will.

You can still make out the image of Tiberius Caesar, and an inscription declaring him the “son of the divine Augustus,” the son of God. I’ve always wondered: Could it be the very coin the Pharisees handed to Jesus as He confronted them in today’s Gospel passage? There were probably tens of thousands of those coins floating around the Holy Land in the 1^st century, so I suppose it’s highly unlikely. But not impossible so I’ve always assumed it was that very coin. Hard to prove a negative, isn’t it?

Of course, the emperors weren’t fools – well, most of them weren’t – so they placed their images on their coinage…It was great advertising. When the people held a coin in their hands, they saw the emperor’s face, projecting an image of power, stability, peace, and prosperity. Roman Emperors, like politicians of every age, believed image was politically important.

The prophet Isaiah, however, knew that human image was just a small piece of human power, that God allows men to wield earthly power. Isaiah reminded Cyrus, the great Persian Emperor, that God alone empowered him to overthrow the Chaldeans, those pesky Babylonians, and free God’s people from their captivity in 539 BC. Cyrus is told: “I have called you by name. I am the Lord…there is no God besides me.” [Is 45:4-5] Yes, indeed, God calls each of us by name, too, because we’re created in the image of the One Who anoints us and calls us “beloved.”

Sadly, the Pharisees were blind to this truth. God stood in their midst, and they failed to recognize Him, failed to see His image within them. Oh, but they had images all right, such different images…

So intent on projecting their image as religious leaders, they forgot what it meant to be holy.

So intent on projecting an image of obedience to the Law, they never considered why God gave them the Law in the first place.

So pleased with themselves, they ignored God’s call to bring His Presence and love to others, especially to the poor.

Have you ever seen yourself in the Pharisees?  Know I have, perhaps too often. Like the Pharisees, I can find myself so weighed down by externals, all the stuff of my life, that I fail to internalize the radical command to love God and neighbor. Usually, though, through God’s grace, I snap out of it and realize how blessed I am that God created me in His image.

But the Pharisees…well, they do the unthinkable. They scheme and plot to entrap the eternal Word of God, joining forces with those they despise, the Herodians…yes, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. Oh, they conjure up that clever question, don’t they? The one with only a lose-lose answer. They turn to Jesus, flattering Him with words they don’t believe, then ask: “Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?”

If Jesus says, “Yes, it’s lawful,” the Pharisees can condemn Him to the people as a friend of the despised Romans. If He says, “No,” then the Herodians, who happily served the Romans, can bring charges against Him for telling the people not to pay their taxes.

But once again, Jesus ruins their schemes. He holds that Roman denarius (the one I have at home) and asks, “Whose image is this and whose inscription?” the Pharisees reply, “Ceasar’s.” Our Lord then offers His famous command: “Render to Caesar what belongs to Caesar, and to God what belongs to God."

Now a lot of folks focus on the first part of that command – the rendering to Caesar part – but how many of us consider the second part? We pay our taxes and today’s elected Caesars use them for all kinds of wondrous things, and a few not-so-wondrous things. Their images, too, are on our coins and our paper currency. And now we’re now in election season, but I won’t tell you for whom to vote. You’re Catholic Christians and can figure that out for yourselves. Just realize, that since the days of Isaiah and Cyrus, and really since the days of Adam and the serpent, we’re in the midst of spiritual warfare.

So, what should we render to God? Can we render anything to God? Does God need anything? No, but it’s not what He needs, but what He wants from us.

You see, like Tiberius and Isaiah, Jesus tells the Pharisees that image is important, but He’s referring to a different sort of image. Since we’re created in God’s image, we’re called to give Him all that we are, all our being! By giving ourselves to God, we render to Him His image. For Jesus, the question isn’t “How much do you owe me in taxes?” But rather, “Who do you look like, and who are you called to be?” When we realize who we truly are, that we are created in His image, we can then begin to recognize Him in the faces of those around us.

I remember how it struck me one day, probably 20 years ago, at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen. As I served a plate of my wife, Diane’s, wonderful cooking and handed it to the woman standing before me, I suddenly realized I was staring into the face and image of God. Even if she didn’t believe in God – and she did – I could still see in her the image of God. It was one of those amazing mini-revelations in the midst of daily life: to realize that God reveals Himself to us through others.

When the Samaritan found that wounded man on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho, what did he see but the image of God beaten, bloodied, disfigured – a foreshadowing of Jesus’ passion. What did he use to ensure the innkeeper would care for the man until he returned? He used money, two denarii, each with an image of Caesar. He didn’t misuse money as Judas did when he sold Jesus for 30 pieces of silver, thus betraying the image of God made man.

Money is simply a means. Yes, we need to have some, but when we have a lot of it, we run the risk of using most of it for selfish ends, believing we can create a little piece of our own paradise here on earth. How fitting that our nation’s currency bears the words, “In God we trust” – reminding us that by placing our trust in money, we worship a false god. Much better to use the wealth God has given you to help your neighbor, seeing in him the image of God!

You see, sisters and brothers, at some point we will be judged. We won’t be asked how many holy hours we’ve made, or how many Rosaries we’ve said. Those are good things, very good things, because they’re prayerful. They build our faith and keep our minds and hearts tuned and turned to God. But how do we live our faith?

We all know what we’ll be asked. It’s one of the clearest texts in the Gospels, Matthew 25. Jesus, our judge, will tell us:

“I was hungry. I was thirsty. I was sick and in pain. I was in prison,” then He’ll ask. “Did you see me in all of those? What did you do? You should have known that I hide, not only within the poor, but within sinners as well. You know, those people you avoid like the plague. Did you miss me, day after day, every day. Oh, you handed me your spare change, or a few bucks, and sometimes you even wrote big check. But why? Was it only to ease your conscience…? Yes, I took your money, but I hoped you’d offer yourself. I wanted you to offer your time, to shower others with your love, with My love.”

When God says all this to us, will you and I will stand there sputtering:

“Lord, do you mean to say You were that guy I sometimes played golf with, the one I heard was in hospice. The one who died alone. But I didn’t have time.”

“…or that irritating woman, in front of Walmart, always looking for a handout? She was You too?”

“…or that neighbor who loves to complain about all his troubles, boring us all to tears? That’s you?”

Yes, you and I are here today at Mass, worshiping the One who suffered and was abandoned and uncared for, whose best friends left Him alone. The one whom no one thought of comforting, and whose passion can bring tears to our eyes. Then, we’ll all leave, through those doors. But when we meet Him later, will we recognize Him?

We used to call it a sin of omission, but I prefer to call it a sin of indifference. Our indifference to others offends God far more than the mistakes we make on this journey of ours. St. Paul, in our 2^nd reading, reminds us that “Loved by God…you were chosen. For the Gospel didn’t come to you in word alone, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit.”

But how often do you and I call on the power of the Holy Spirit? In the Creed, we call the Holy Spirit, “the Lord and Giver of life.” To refuse God’s gift of the Holy Spirit is to refuse life. The life God gives us is His own, His Eucharistic life, a life of loving with an active love. For us to reject God’s life is to reject the gift of eternal life.

As Mass ends today, Father will extend God’s blessing to us all; then you’ll hear me say¸ “Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.” With our lives filled with God’s life, the Eucharistic gift of Jesus, we can carry the Gospel, carry His love, to all we encounter.

If we accept the challenge, if we carry God’s love into the world, the Holy Spirit will come and teach us all things. He’ll change us, if we want Him to, if we welcome Him, if we stop resisting Him, and if we look to Him for everything.

If we render to him all that is His…our very being.

 

Homily: 25th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year A)

Readings: Is 55:6-9; Psalm 145; Phil 1:20c-24, 27a; Mt 20: 1-16a

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Have you ever been treated unfairly? I guess most of us have, especially when we were kids, even if it weren’t true.

I was the younger of two sons. My brother, Jeff, was four years older, the smarter, better-looking son. He got a lot of attention, far more than I. But I’m not complaining, because for me the benefits far outweighed the disadvantages. You see, because everyone focused so much on Jeff, they kind of left me alone. The poor boy was constantly measured and examined, under the family microscope, while I had a lot of freedom, probably too much.

For me, though, it was a good life. But one day, when I was 17, a high school senior, I totaled my father’s car. It was a nice car, a very nice car, a French car. Approaching an uncontrolled intersection, I had assumed the cross street had a stop sign. It didn’t; and I plowed into the side of a taxicab.

As you might imagine, when Dad got home from work, he was upset. “Your brother would never have done that! You’re grounded for a month, and that’s just the start.”

I was tempted to reveal some of Jeff’s secrets, but instead appealed to my father’s higher instincts. Every Saturday morning Dad, an Army Reserve colonel, led a family “staff meeting”, that included reading and discussing the Sunday Gospel. Recalling the Gospel of the previous week, I said, “You never would have grounded Jeff. You told us to treat everyone alike, to be merciful like that landowner in the Gospel.” Big mistake. He just said, “Two months,” and left.

Now don’t get me wrong. My folks loved us both and were wonderful parents. And I deserved a lot more punishment than I was given. But that little episode also convinced me that, indeed, our ways are not God’s ways.

We hear it first from Isaiah, who assumes the role of opening act for Jesus, sharing God’s message, and foreshadowing Jesus’ words:

“…my thoughts are not your thoughts, nor are your ways my ways.”

Jesus takes this a new level in His Sermon on the Mount when He commands us: “be perfect, just as your heavenly Father is perfect.” Imperfect as I am. I turned to Jesus in a kind of prayer and told Him: “Look, Jesus, you’re the Son of God, I’m just the son of John McCarthy, who got mad because I wrecked his neat car. Aren’t you asking way too much of me, of all of us?” And His response? "My Father sent me to redeem you, but I became one of you so you could see first-hand how you should live the gift of your life."

I would think all of us here hope to enter God’s Kingdom, right? After all, we're here, so that should mean something. But Jesus seems to be telling us to become more like Him, more God-like, to think, see, and live as He does. Even though perfection is beyond us, at least in this life, God wants us to strive, to be open to His Word, His gifts of grace, trying to see and treat each other as God does.

Today’s Gospel parable shows us the difference between God and us about as clearly as any. It’s all about mercy; about striving for the holiness God wants for us; about entering a relationship with our Lord Jesus.

First, it’s a parable; it’s not a mini-seminar on labor-management relations. Any employer today who did as the landowner did would go bankrupt because of his high labor costs. He’d also be accused of unfair labor practices and likely face a shutdown strike. Of course, this just highlights the point that Jesus makes: God is different. God is so very different. So different that if we acted as He acts, the people around us wouldn’t know what to make of us.

That’s what saints do. They go against the grain of the world and upset a lot of people. Yes, they’re always scraping their fingernails on the world’s blackboard driving people crazy. Yes, saints and martyrs follow Jesus. It’s because they’re so different they make a difference. Because God continually raises them up among us and places them in our midst, we’ll never be at a loss for saints and martyrs.

But let’s get back to our parable...

For all of us who spent a lifetime working hard preparing for our retirement, it’s easy to get caught up with the literal, human side of the parable. It’s easy to sympathize with the workers who’d spent a long, hard day in the vineyard. Even though they were paid the wages they agreed to…well, it just doesn’t seem fair, does it? For the others, though, who waited all day to be hired, the landowner’s a savior, a most kind and generous man. It all depends on our point of view, doesn’t it?

But we can put all that aside because this parable isn’t about agriculture or farm workers. It’s about the Kingdom of Heaven, offering us just a tiny glimpse into what it’s like, and what God’s like. You see, God -- Father, Son, and Holy Spirit -- is out there looking for us, calling to us, and He’ll does it early and late and in-between. We need only respond in faith: “Yes, I’ll be your disciple, tell me what to do.” The reward, the wages, are the same: salvation and eternal happiness.

It’s interesting, isn’t it? The early workers suggest the landowner is unjust, not because he’s broken their agreement, but because he’s gone beyond it and been overly generous to all who come to him. By saying “Yes” all the workers agreed to His terms, and by saying, “Yes” to God, we do the same. 

You see, God’s terms are very straightforward. He likes to keep things simple; we’re the ones who complicate everything, making our lives far more difficult than they need be.

Not long after this, after Jesus entered Jerusalem, Matthew tells us how our Lord summed it all up, going back to Deuteronomy and Leviticus, and repeating what God had revealed to Moses:

You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength. And you shall love your neighbor as yourself.

Sounds simple, doesn’t it? If everyone did that, just imagine what our world would be like. And yet it’s not like that because we’re all sinners. But for a pack of sinners, we should be overjoyed that the rules of divine grace are not the same as human rules, that God’s justice is so far beyond our human justice. You see, God’s capacity for forgiveness gloriously exceeds any human potential.

We hear the early workers’ complaint: You have made them equal to us! Satan tries to convince us that God plays a zero-sum game, that it’s impossible for all to win, that God simply doesn’t have enough grace, enough love for everyone. As always, the father of lies is wrong. Jesus’ teaching on discipleship reflects the loving equality within the Kingdom, and the freedom of its King to shed His grace as He sees fit, beyond our understanding. Of course, given our competitiveness and the calculating nature of our self-driven sense of justice, too often we respond to God's goodness with resentment.

Brothers and sisters, God loves outrageously and asks us to do the same. Doing so, He scandalizes many who seem to be just, good, and worthy. We see this in so many of Jesus' parables…

Recall the merciful father when the repentant prodigal returns seeking forgiveness. Who’s scandalized by this? The elder son, the one who had done everything well but failed to understand both the mercy and joy of his father.

Yes, our God flaunts His love and mercy, and dares us to be as generous, as selfless, as merciful. Like the Good Shepherd who celebrates when he finds the lost sheep, Jesus turns our attention to the sheer delight that should accompany conversion, the joyful fruit of selfless love.

Conversion isn’t just some one-time experience as some Christians believe. No, conversion’s a life-long process. I think St. Paul said it best when he told the Philippians to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling.” (Phil 2:12) Yeah, it ain’t easy, and we have to work it out with God's help.

God knows we struggle and He doesn’t forget faithfulness, whether it’s early or late. After all, if we’re truly faithful, we’re out in the vineyard doing His work; bringing others to Him. That’s right. You do know that we are all called to evangelize, that evangelization is the primary mission, the work of the Church. Where do we evangelize? In our families, our friendships, our neighborhoods, in our own little slice of God’s world sharing His unconditional love with the others He places in our lives. God never forgets the faithful. But He also rejoices and celebrates the arrival of those who might have been a little late in joining them.

God, you see, is the ultimate landowner. It’s good to remember that. You and I own nothing; all of creation, every speck of it is His. Our little temporary share is pure gift. It’s certainly nothing we earn. Once we let that really sink in and abandon ourselves to God’s love and mercy, once we allow our lives to be motivated by thanksgiving for God’s generosity, we can get over our fussy little comparisons between ourselves and others.

We can avoid the individual, even the international hatreds, the nasty and foolish rivalries that lead only to envious resentment and sin.

We can forgive fathers and brothers, mothers and sisters, and daughters and sons. Yes, we can forgive all, forgive as God forgives.

What do you and I pray every day, using the words Jesus gave us? “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Failing to forgive is no way to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.

I’m the only one left in that family that raised me. I forgave them long ago of those little slights, and pray that they forgave me for much greater ones.

As a recent birthday reminded me, a lot of us here on in God’s vestibule. But one of my favorites, St. John of the Cross, said it best: “In the evening of life, we shall be judged by love.”

Yes, indeed, judged both by a God who is love and by ourselves by how much we have loved.

God love you.

 

Deacon Dan Pallo - Funeral Homily

Yesterday our pastor, Fr. Kenny, joined by three priest concelebrants -- Fr. Tom Connery, Fr. John McCracken, and Fr. Glen Baptiste -- conducted the funeral of Deacon Dan Pallo. Our priests were joined by the parish deacons as we all asked our Lord to take Deacon Dan into His loving and eternal embrace. 

Here's perhaps my favorite photo of Dan and his wife, Eleanor, taken at our home back in 2008.

I was blessed that Dan asked me to preach at his funeral, and I trust my words were both fitting and proper, and also provided some solace to Dan's extended family. My homily follows:

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Readings: Lamentations 3:26,28-29b,31,41,58; Psalm 23; Romans 14:7-9,10c-12; Matthew 11:25-30

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Oh, how we will miss this good man, this brother deacon, this servant of God.

But no one will miss Dan as much as this wonderfully extended family that he cherished so very much. To you, Dee and Karry and Amy, and to Dan’s stepchildren, whom he loved as his own – Rita, Tom, John, Randy, Kim, and Kurt – and to the grandchildren and great-grandchildren…so many names, my aging brain can't hold them all. Yes, to all of you, my brother deacons and I join with Fathers Kenny, Tom, John, and Glen, as well as the other priests who gladly help our parish, and extend our heartfelt condolences, as you mourn the loss of this remarkable man who played such an important role in your lives.

I first met Dan at a meeting the day he arrived here at St. Vincent de Paul. Our pastor at the time, Father Peter Sagorski, had invited Dan to attend the meeting and in walked this large man. Asked to tell us about himself, he quietly and humbly revealed his life in about three sentences. Oh, yes, he also mentioned his wife, Eleanor.

My first thought? “I’ve got to get to know this guy.”

Yes, we became friends. We even worked together at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen for many years. But we weren’t – how can I put this? – we weren't buddy friends. We didn’t get together for a beer or golf. No, our personal friendship was different, because the two of us were so very different. I guess you could call us spiritual friends. When we talked or got together, we inevitably found ourselves talking of our ministry as deacons.

Too often I would get all wrapped up in the “stuff” of ministry – what we do and how we do it. But Dan tended to focus on the “who” of our ministry. And, yes, we helped each other, but in truth, Dan was the greater helper. He’d likely disagree, but he’d be wrong. You see, Dan helped me relearn that being a deacon was to be a servant, to be like Jesus, to serve everyone God placed in my life.

I chose the readings we just heard because they often came up in our conversations and also helped me recall Dan as a deacon and friend. Indeed, those words we heard from Matthew 11 described him so well:

“Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourself” (Mt 11:29-30).

In so many ways, these words of Our Lord defined Dan’s ministry and his life.

Joined with the Lord, throughout much of his life Dan carried half of that yoke on his broad shoulders – raising those three girls on his own, often overwhelmed, but always being the father they needed. He did so without complaint, for he, too, had learned meekness – and know that meekness is not weakness, far from it. God’s call to be meek is really a call to strength – to turn from oneself, to look to the other in need, and then to act.

Note, too, that Jesus joins meekness and humility. I’ve always believed humility is our foundational virtue. For without humility, the other virtues become what today is called “virtue signaling” – simply a means to let others see how very good we are. Dan didn’t signal his virtues. In his humility he just lived them, quietly and consistently. For humility is merely acceptance of the reality of who we are. And Dan understood that.

That was how he lived his life and how he approached his death: “and you will find rest for yourself.” Dan’s death was one of pure acceptance, happily accepting the gift God now offered him. How many of us could face death with such acceptance? How many of us, when it comes to our own lives, can believe so completely the words we utter daily?

 “…Thy will be done, one earth as it is in heaven” (Mt 6:10). 

Yes, when it comes to our own lives, so often we like to place our will above God’s.

Dan’s daughter, Karry, collected over 5 pages of family thoughts on her father – from kids and step-kids and grandkids – words that revealed so much about who Dan was. And yet, everything I read, all the wonderful family stories, merely reinforced what I already knew.

One thing stood out: how Dan quietly taught his family – and taught me as well – not so much by his words but by his actions. Let me give you an example. In our 2^nd reading Paul admonished the Romans:

“Why then do you judge your brother? Or you, why do you look down on your brother? For we shall all stand before the judgment seat of God” (Romans 14:10).

One day, some years ago, Dan reminded me of the meaning of those words. I often assisted him with the Catholics Returning Home program he had introduced to the parish. 

Dan got to know the participants well, while I would just come in occasionally and conduct a session. One day, as I was speaking on the Eucharist, one of the participants continued asking very negative questions. I answered each question with a smile, but found myself thinking, “Why does this guy want to return to the Church? He doesn’t seem to like it very much.”

After everyone had left, while Dan and I were talking about the group, I said something to the effect, “Yes, a nice bunch of folks…except maybe for the grumpy old man with all the negative questions.”

Dan just smiled and said, “How did St. Paul put it? ‘Why do you judge and look down on your brother?’” 

As you might expect, I had no answer. So, Dan waited a moment, let it sink in, then told me:

“Yeah, during the first session with this group, I felt the same about him, grumpy and negative. So, I asked him to stay a moment to tell me his story.

“He was treated badly by a pastor years ago, and it drove him from the Church. His wife, a devout Catholic, prayed for him constantly.

“She died recently, and the last thing she asked of him was to come back to the faith. That’s where he is now, coming back, asking questions no one had ever answered before. Thank you for answering them so well.”

Did you notice how Dan handled me? It took me a while to recognize what he'd done. First he chewed me out, then he taught me, and finally he thanked me. And that, brothers and sisters, was one of Dan’s strengths. 

I like to think I helped him as well. Once, while discussing aspects of our ministry, he said to me, “I know I’m not a very good preacher…”

I interrupted him: “Dan, we’re called to be servants, to preach, to teach, and to heal; and believe me, you teach a lot of folks how to serve, how to live the Christian life, leading them to God’s healing grace. Those are God’s gifts to you. Be thankful for them,” 

Yes, we taught each other.

Then there’s our first reading, from the Book of Lamentations. I think I can take credit for introducing Dan to that little book. Lamentations is not very popular because it’s filled with anguish over the destruction of Jerusalem in 587 BC. Long attributed to Jeremiah, modern scholars argue about that. But modern scholars seem to argue about everything.

Anyway, each of its five chapters is a poem or hymn, and the suffering man described in our reading from chapter 3 is often seen as a kind of foreshadowing of the passion and death of Our Lord. The message? If in our worldly sufferings, we recognize and confess our sins we can then rejoice and share in the glory of Jesus’s Resurrection. 

As I thought of Dan’s life, and especially his final days, the words of chapter 3 came to mind, God’s Word filed with hope for Dan and us.  Listen again:

“It is good to hope in silence for the LORD’s deliverance, for Him to save…when its weight lies heavy…yet there is hope.”

I was reminded of the loving care Dan provided for Eleanor during her long illness. Yes, “the weight of life often lies heavy, yet there is hope." Dan's loving care for Eleanor taught me a lot about caregiving, something I'm involved in today. And yes, we accept the gift of hope, reminding us that the virtue of hope is merely our certainty that God always fulfills His promises.

Those words were followed by a word to each of us:

“…though grief comes to us, He takes pity, according to the abundance of His mercy.”

Yes, we grieve, but God’s mercy, His love, knows no bounds. And because of God's mercy our grief can be touched with joy.

Then, finally, despite the hatreds and divisions we encounter in our world today, we’re told how to share God’s love in the midst of it all:

“Let us lift up our hearts as well as our hands toward God in heaven! You pleaded my case, Lord, you redeemed my life.”

Yes, indeed, we can lift up our hearts and hands today, thanking God for the life of this good man, this servant who loved God and His people. And so, we praise God for Deacon Daniel Pallo, and for each of you, and for me…for we have been redeemed.

Thanks be to God.

Homily: 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

Readings Gn 18:1-10a; Ps 15; Col 1:24-28; Lk 10:38-42

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Over 21 years ago, shortly after we moved to The Villages, my wife, Diane, decided it would be good to help out at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen. And like a good deacon’s wife, she volunteered me along with herself. Yes, I was volunteered.

We ended up serving there for well over 15 years, with Diane as the Thursday cook and I doing whatever she told me. I also stumbled onto the board of directors where I served for a bunch of years. But with the onset of COVID, abetted by some physical issues and limitations, Diane and I decided to step away from the Soup Kitchen and let others continue running this ministry.

I used to say, only partly in jest, that on Monday I could lose all 200 of those who served at the Soup Kitchen and replace them all by Friday -- perhaps an exaggeration, but barely.

The Soup Kitchen is really a wonderful ministry, a true ecumenical ministry in which those in real need are served by dozens of volunteers representing upwards of 30 local churches.

Among the many things I learned from this experience is that people serve there for all kinds of reasons. I’d occasionally ask them: "Why are you here?" and was amazed by the variety of answers.

Some just loved being in the kitchen, and the opportunity to help cook a few hundred meals. While others were bored in all the free time retirement brought, and came just to stay busy.

Some were lonely. The soup kitchen was a kind of social event, a chance to form friendships. And a few felt guilty. Their affluence was a burden to them, and they hoped to ease that burden by helping those in need.

Some simply want to serve others, and the soup kitchen is a wonderful way to satisfy that need. They’d inevitably say, "It makes me feel good." 

But there were always some who told me they served out of love. They saw Jesus Christ in every person who walked in the door and were overwhelmed by a love for God and neighbor. These are the folks who follow the Gospel mandate to feed the hungry and welcome the stranger. Indeed, that was our guiding principle at the soup kitchen: 

“We don’t serve meals; we serve Jesus Christ.”

When it comes right down to it, it’s really a ministry of hospitality; and yet those who exercise this ministry are driven by so many different motives, often by multiple motives.

I couldn’t help but think of all this as I reread today’s Gospel passage from Luke. Jesus Christ, Son of God and Son of Man, the fullness of life and truth, walked into the home of a pair of sisters named Martha and Mary.

Both women immediately recognized the privilege of having Jesus in their home and set to work fulfilling the sacred duty of hospitality. But the two sisters had conflicting ideas of what that duty entailed.

Martha’s response is very recognizable, typical of how most of us would probably react. Open the best wine, the expensive stuff, or brew some good coffee. Get out the good china and silver. Use whatever food you have in the pantry to whip up your best assortment of hot and cold dishes. And pray He won’t want a dessert.

My mother’s name was Martha. When I was about 16, I asked her if she’d be like Martha in the Gospel if Jesus came to our house for dinner. Without a moment’s hesitation, she said, “Oh, no, I’d call a caterer.”

But while Martha was busying herself in the kitchen, Mary took a different approach to hospitality. For her, the greatest compliment she could pay, greater even than the best of foods, was to give Jesus her full attention. 

It’s interesting that we hear nothing from Mary in this passage, but we sense she somehow knew that Jesus, the fullness of truth, had come to her home to nourish, enlighten, and transform her. She saw Jesus as a gift, and not to receive and unwrap this wonderful gift was an insult to the giver.

And so, Mary listened.

She listened to the Word as He spoke the Word. Mary became to Jesus what no rabbi at the time would probably let any woman become…Mary became His disciple. 

This was pretty radical stuff back then. Women were expected to prepare and serve the meals, and wouldn’t be encouraged to take part in the discussions. But Luke, throughout his Gospel, stresses that Jesus takes women seriously, that He came for everyone, men and women, and that salvation comes to all who listen to His Word and act on it.

Luke doesn’t relate this incident to endorse laziness, just as Martha isn’t criticized because she simply did what was expected. In our first reading from Genesis, when God, in the form of three travelers, visits Abraham, it’s considered good that Abraham and Sara spare no expense serving them.

No, Martha’s hospitality isn’t the problem. The problem? She placed physical hospitality above discipleship. Her attempts at hospitality became an end in itself, a distraction. It turned Martha into what my mom would have called a fussbudget, so much so she actually got angry because her sister hadn’t joined her.

You can almost feel the tension and pressure building up until it boils over and Martha vents her frustration…but notice she vents it on the wrong person. Martha doesn’t attack Mary; she attacks Jesus Himself:

“Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to serve alone…”

How authentically human of Martha – to work out her frustrations on the wrong person, what Freud would have called displaced aggression.

Now, had I been in Jesus’ place, I probably would have said, “Hey, Martha, why are you blaming me?” But not Jesus. He turns to her, and repeating her name -- “Martha, Martha…” – and He calms her down. Then He quietly reminded her that she was “anxious and worried about many things.”

Jesus didn't rebuke Martha her for serving Him – not at all. He simply tells her there’s something better. He turns her to the truth: those who hear the Word of God and keep it are blessed.

I’m suspect more than a few of you out there have a history with the old Baltimore Catechism. Do you remember the answer to the question, “Why did God make you?”

Remember? “God made me to know Him, to love Him, and to serve Him in this world, and to be happy with Him forever in heaven.”

It’s still a very good answer. Before we can serve God, we must first know Him and love Him. After all, how can you love someone you don’t even know? If our lives are spent solely in activity – only in the serving – we can’t take the time to know our God through prayer and attentiveness to His Word.

It’s through prayer, listening to His Word, and through the grace of the sacraments, that we can come to know God, and develop the kind of personal relationship Jesus wants with us. Only through that relationship can we continue to deepen our love for God.

How did St. Paul put it in our second reading?

"It is Christ in you, the hope for glory" (Col 1:27).

You see, it’s through Christ in us that we come to see Him in others, and can accept the call to serve Him by serving them.

Our service, then, must be grounded in love; for it is love, and only love, that calls the Christian to serve others:

"…whatever you did for one of these least brothers of mine, you did for me" (Mt 25:40)

For Christians, then, the two great commandments – loving God and loving our neighbor – merge into one, a single, inseparable commandment of love. Yes, hearing and reflecting on the Word of God in prayer is a condition for the selfless, loving service of the Body of Christ.

Of course, Martha didn’t appreciate this…at least, not at first. And like so many of us, she worried. How human and how easy it is for you and me, just as it was for Martha, to become obsessed with busyness, to move those things – those accidental parts of our lives – to move them to the center of our lives. And in doing so to send the true center to the sidelines.

Brothers and sisters, this just cannot be.

The fullness of truth, the fullness of life, the fullness of grace deserves our full attention. Jesus can’t be merely a part of our lives. He must be the focus, always at the very center. 

In our excessively busy lives today, too often, like Martha, “we are anxious and worried about many things,” and ignore the quiet call of Our Lord. Every day He knocks on your door and my door, calling us to Himself through the lives of others.

Recall how Abraham pleaded with God Himself: “Please do not go on, past your servant.” In the same way, we must not let these others just pass by unserved.

We must let them into our lives, so that Christ too will be in us, and as St. Paul promised, give us “the hope for glory.”

Healing Service Homily: Tuesday, 15th Week in Ordinary Time

Readings: Ex 2:1-15a; Ps: 69; Mt 11:20-24

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Good evening, everyone…and praise God – praise Father, Son and Holy Spirit. It’s wonderful to see so many here tonight; all of you, open to God’s healing presence in your lives. Praise God, too, for this.

We’re gathered here in Jesus’ name, so we know He’s with us. Present not only in our presence, but here especially in His Eucharistic Presence. And where Jesus is, so too is the Father, for they are One, One with the Holy Spirit.

When we turn to Scripture, we find the Holy Spirit inspiring, revealing, anointing, and counseling. He does it all. As we proclaim in the Creed: He’s the “Lord and giver of life.” He is the fount of Truth and Wisdom, the sanctifier, the source of sacramental grace, the manifestation of God’s power in the world.

When Jesus rejoiced, He rejoiced in the Spirit. When He prayed, He prayed filled with the Spirit. And when he healed, the Spirit acted through Him. And so, tonight, confident that the Holy Spirit is here among us, present in His power and glory, we turn to Him, the Divine Healer, for healing is among the Spirit’s greatest works.

God knows how much we all need healing – healing of body, mind, and spirit; so He sends His Spirit into the world to heal all who come to Him.

Sacred Scripture, especially in the Gospels and the Acts of the Apostles, is filled with healings, but they’re all so very different. All kinds of people come to Jesus – men and women; young and old; Jews and Gentiles – all seeking His healing touch. He heals them all. Some come on their own, some are brought to Him by others, by family or friends, and some are healed at a distance. But for all of them it was through the power of the Holy Spirit that Jesus healed.

St. Peter confirmed this when preaching to the centurion Cornelius and his household, he said:

“God anointed Jesus of Nazareth with the Holy Spirit and power. He went about doing good and healing all…” (Acts 10:38)

Where Jesus is, so too is the Holy Spirit. And together they heal us all. What does this mean to us? Does Jesus offer healing to all of us? Well, yes, He does. But we must understand He offers us multiple kinds of healing.

We humans are pretty complex creatures. God gave us bodies, but as many of us here have figured out, these bodies just don’t last that long. So, He also gave us an immortal soul, that divine piece of our humanity that goes on forever, and carries us into eternity.

And from that we have an intellect and a will, so we can learn what God wants for us and of us, why we’re here, and then decide what to do about it.

It’s all pretty fantastic, isn’t it? Well, yes, it is, except when we decide to misuse our intellects by ignoring all that He teaches us; or misuse our wills by making incredibly wrong decisions. It’s really what Jesus faced in our passage from Matthew’s Gospel. Our Lord uses some pretty harsh words, doesn’t He?

“Woe to you, Chorazin! Woe to you, Bethsaida!”

Yes, indeed, Jesus was upset! There’s no mistaking it – Jesus was definitely upset. You see, is wasn’t some impersonal, detached judgment on Jesus’ part. In fact, I think it was truly personal.

Matthew, writing this Gospel, uses the Greek word for “woe.” It’s an interesting word. In Greek it’s one of those onomatopoeic words – words like bark, or cough, or hiss – that sound like the things they mean. The Greek word for “woe” is οὐαί, a word that sounds like a lament, a cry of sorrow. And that was intentional. Matthew uses this word to show us that Jesus, in His humanity, is speaking out of grief.

Chorazin! Bethsaida! Capernaum! These were places Jesus had stayed, places He’d visited, where He’s ministered to their people – where He healed, taught, loved – and still, the people didn’t respond.

Yes, Jesus is divine, but He’s also human, and that kind of rejection surely hurt. It’s hard not to feel the sting of it all – how Jesus must have felt.

Of course, our initial reaction is to recall times when it’s happened to us – when we spoke the truth but were summarily rejected.

I’ll tell you a story. Years ago, I was director of customer satisfaction and focus for a high-tech firm. It was an engineering-driven firm, and at a key meeting, the product engineers introduced a major change to a major product. I realized immediately that our customers would not be happy. But I was unable to convince our management. One sales engineer had the courage to agree with me, but his concerns were also rejected. I’ll never forget what the head of engineering said, “Our customers will like it because we like it.” Of course, the customers hated it. But no one ever said, “You know, you were right.” No, they just dug in deeper trying to show our customers how wrong they were. It didn’t have a happy ending.

About that time, I decided retirement at 59 sounded pretty good, so Diane and I soon headed south to The Villages.

Did you notice, the example that came to my mind was a situation where I’d been rejected. I never even considered the times I’d rejected others, or worse, rejected God Himself. The Gospel should lead us to wonder about ourselves, about our actions, our thoughts and words, and their impact on others.

Today I find myself asking: Where has Christ already been present in my own life, and yet I’ve failed even to notice, or perhaps worse, I noticed but failed to respond? You know that our God does that. He places others, those in need, in our path, or inserts little slices of grace into our lives, begging us to recognize and respond.

And when I didn’t respond…maybe in someone I overlooked – just didn’t consider them all that important, or worthy of my time? Or perhaps it was a moment of grace I was too busy to recognize, too self-absorbed, too worried about my own problems, my own suffering, my own need for healing?

How often and why do we fail even to notice these Godly gifts? Usually we’re just too busy, so tightly wrapped up in our own human issues, that we pay little attention to others and what God is calling us to do. In the grip of suffering, and in our humanity, we turn inward, toward our suffering, hoping, somehow, for healing and relief.

And so we hear this Gospel passage, and mistakenly think it’s all about judgment. But it’s about much more than that. You see, in truth, it’s really an invitation. Jesus, in that paradoxical, counter-intuitive way of His calls us to turn outward, to look beyond ourselves, to turn to Him in faith and to others in love.

Remember the four men in Capernaum who carried the paralytic to Jesus and lowered him through the roof…You can read about it in Mark, chapter 2. How did Mark put it?

“When Jesus saw their faith, he said to the paralytic, ‘Child, your sins are forgiven.’” [Mk 2:5]

Throughout the entire event, he paralytic never said a word. And after healing the young man’s soul, Jesus goes on to heal his paralysis, all because of the faith of others.

And so, to those here tonight who brought someone you love for healing, believe me, God thanks and blesses you. Your faith may well lead to healing. Take a moment. Look to the person sitting in front of you, beside you, behind you – they’re all here for healing too. Have you looked to them? Have you prayed for them? After all, if the power of prayer is so great; should we not be praying for each other, and not simply for ourselves?

Remember, the faithlessness and selfishness of so many people in those three cities didn’t stop Jesus. He continued His work, in the Gospel, throughout the ages, and He continues it here today. He still shows up, doesn’t He? He’s still present in our lives, in our work, in our families, in our conversations – yes, even in our sinfulness. He’s present in all those moments of chaos and fear…and in the moments of stillness, the moments when we open our minds and hearts to Him.

God knows exactly what we need, but do we know? What kind of healing do you need? What do I need? We’re so sure we know, aren’t we?

But like the young paralytic, we likely need spiritual healing first. So, seek the Lord and His amazing grace in the sacraments. Let your soul be healed in Reconciliation, receive the gift of salvation through the Eucharist.

Or as St. Paul said, “It is Christ in you, the hope for glory.” (Col 1:27)

Homily: Funeral Mass for Deacon Byron Otradovec, T.O.C.

Note: Early Easter Sunday morning our parish community lost a holy man, Deacon Byron Otradovec, 92, a man I often called my BFF (Best Florida Friend). Byron had spent the past six years in a local extended care facility, part of that time with his wonderful wife, Mary Ann, who died in 2019. 

30 years ago, Byron was the first deacon assigned to St. Vincent de Paul, at the time a mission of St. Lawrence Parsh in Bushnell, Florida. I joined him eight years later as the second deacon, and found a dear friend, an older, wiser brother, and a teacher. A man devoted to serving all, especially those struggling through difficult circumstances, Byron recognized the presence of God in everyone he met. 

I was blessed to be asked to preach at Byron's funeral yesterday. My homily follows...

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Readings: Wis 3:1-6,9; Ps 23; 2 Cor 5:1,6-10; Mt 5:1-12a

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Bishop Noonan, on behalf of Marcia, John, and the Otradovec family, I thank you for being here today to celebrate this funeral mass for one of our own, for our beloved Deacon Byron.

And to you, Marcia and John, I know Bishop Noonan, Fathers Kenny and John, and all my brother deacons join me in extending our loving condolences to you and to Byron’s entire family. 

This has been a sorrowful time for you all, and I know, too, that words are never enough. Indeed, my words here today will soon be forgotten, but not God’s Word, for it never perishes. It remains to nourish us, to heal us, strengthen us, to give us hope. And so today, present here in our midst, Our Lord Jesus offers His peace and divine love.

I can only imagine how much you miss your dad and grandfather, but if you let Him, God will fill this emptiness in the very heart of your family. He'll fill it with His grace, bringing with it His peace and His enduring love. Today I, too, am in need of it, for I loved Byron. He was my friend, my slightly older big brother.

When I arrived here 21 years ago, Byron had already been ministering at St. Vincent de Paul for 8 or 9 years. Of course, back then we were a mission, part of St. Lawrence Parish in Bushnell.

Byron was really the first person I encountered here. Diane and I saw this deacon greeting people after Mass. Just seeing his kindliness, his smile, his warmth…well, we knew we were home. The next day, after meeting with Father Peter Sagorski, Byron and I met officially.

As you might expect, he began by giving me one of his entrapping hugs. I think he was just happy to welcome another deacon. Then he looked at me seriously and said:

“There’s a lot to do here…a lot of good. Will you work with me and do it?”

How could anyone turn down a request like that?

And so, with the blessing of our bishop, I joined Deacon Byron and Father Peter here at St. Vincent de Paul.

It didn’t take long before Byron and I learned a lot about each other. He’d served in the Army for 42 years – oh and coincidentally (or maybe not), he also served 42 years as a deacon. He enlisted during the Korean War, working his way up through the ranks, then to OCS, and ultimately retiring as a LTCOL. Yes, quite a span, serving during Korea, Vietnam, and Desert Storm.

I told him I’d spent 27 years in a Navy uniform and retired as a Captain. And then jokingly remarked, “Of course, that means I outrank you.” Without missing a beat, he said, “Not here you don’t.” And then added, “Here, we’re all rank-less; we’re all just servants.”

Yes, Byron was always teaching me.

I also learned he was a very active Third Order Carmelite, and involved too with Food for the Poor. He and Mary Ann often spend weeks in the Caribbean – Haiti, Jamaica… serving the poor and those too often forgotten by the rest of us.

One day I asked him about opportunities to minister in the local community, beyond the parish walls. He thought for a moment and suggested: “You might try the soup kitchen in Wildwood.”

I really didn’t think much of it until I got home that afternoon. Diane greeted me by saying: “Oh, I signed us up to volunteer at the Wildwood Soup Kitchen.” Assuming she and Byron had conspired, I asked her, “Where’d you hear about that?” Her response: “There was a notice in the parish bulletin asking for volunteers.”

Yes, indeed, the Holy Spirit works in remarkable ways, doesn’t He? And thanks to my friend, Byron, and my wife, Diane, I began to love and learn from those in need. We cooked and fed and ministered there for 16 years.

It didn’t take me long to discover that Byron had a way of teaching you what you thought you already knew. He’d bring it to life simply by doing it and showing you what it really meant. For he was a man always looking to others, one who recognized the seeds of holiness in them, encouraging and loving them.

MaryAnn was the perfect companion. For 64 years, they prayed together, ministered together, and served the Church and the People of God…together. Of course, as Byron aged, and especially after the death of MaryAnn in 2019, his earthly dwelling, that tent, as Paul called it, began to weaken. He lost a leg, but with his prosthesis did his daily physical therapy…and never complained. But few were as ready as Byron to return to the Father. I got the sense that, like Paul, he “would rather leave the body and go home to the Lord.”

I think he spent six years at Cypress Care, a year together with MaryAnn and five more after she died.

I tried to visit him frequently, because he always wanted to know what was happening in the parish. But if I were home, enjoying a good book and maybe a glass of cabernet, and thinking, I suppose I should visit Byron soon, inevitably the phone would ring.

His timing was truly amazing: “When are you coming by?” he’d ask, “Oh, and bring me the Eucharist. It’s been a few days since I’ve received Our Lord.”

Yes, Deacon Byron was always teaching me.

Every few weeks I’d raid my library and take him another book, something I knew he’d enjoy. The next time I’d visit, he’d want to talk about it, share his thoughts, and listen to mine. Then he’d ask, “What are you doing now in your BibIe Study.” I’d tell him, and he’d just serve up some of the most remarkable insights about whatever book we were studying.

But in a lot of ways, Byron was a true blue-collar deacon. He was like the Apostles – a tax collector and a collection of fisherman, not a philosopher among them. Like Byron, they were men of the people, men who sat at Jesus’ feet and listened as He preached the Beatitudes to the crowd, a crowd made up of folks just like them.

Years ago, while we were sharing some of our military experiences, I said something like, “Byron, I guess we we're both peacemakers.” He laughed and said, “I suppose so. But that’s just one slice of what it means to be a Christian. We have to let it all change us."

I then saw the look, and knew I was in for a mini-homily. Later, I jotted down some of what he said.

“To be poor in spirit is to turn from ourselves and comfort those in need, those who mourn, who’ve been overcome by the sorrows and tragedies of their lives.

“We deacons must be meek, yet strong enough to resist the world, strong enough to help others do the same.

“So many hunger and thirst today, so many seek mercy from those who care nothing about them. We must care, and do whatever needs to be done.

“Can we cleanse our hearts so we can worthily serve others, even when it hurts.

“Can we accept the persecutions, and help others through them, the persecutions that are here now and those that are coming?”

In those words, and perhaps a few more, Byron presented the Beatitudes as something very personal and diaconal, making them acts of service.

Yes, Byron was always teaching me.

He and Pope Francis shared more than their return to the Father this Easter. For both understood the call to service, service to the poor, the hungry, the world’s forgotten.

Byron and I prayed together during my visits, always calling on the Holy Spirit to shower us with His gifts. We would usually conclude with Byron recalling Paul’s famous words from Romans 8:

“We know that all things work for good for those who love God, who are called according to His purpose.”

Indeed, life in all its joys and sorrows is a gift, just as Byron’s life was a gift to all of us who knew him.

Don’t get me wrong, though. Like you and I, Deacon Byron wasn’t perfect. But those imperfections we carry around with us …most aren’t horrible things; they’re just human things. As we discover in the Gospel, Jesus, our judge, is remarkably tolerant of them. Yes, those imperfections we notice in others are really the things in our lives that call for forgiveness and acts of love.

And so, this funeral Mass is less a celebration of Byron’s life as it is an act of worship, an act of Eucharistic worship in the form of thanksgiving. 

Today we turn to our loving and merciful God and thank Him for the gift of this dear man’s unique, unrepeatable life, a life we were blessed to both witness and share. But even more important, as Christians, whenever we gather in prayer, we thank our God for the gift of His Son, Who gave His life for us.

For without that gift, we would have no hope…no hope of forgiveness, no hope of mercy, no hope of salvation, no hope of eternal life.

It’s because of this gift that we can gather here today and not be consumed by grief.

Because of this gift we don’t despair.

Because of this gift we can go on…We can continue with our own lives knowing that Byron, and you and I have been redeemed by our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Yes, sisters and brothers, Byron’s was a life well lived. He savored that life, that gift, and accepted its challenges and joys, and the pain and suffering that accompanied his final years. How did the Book of Wisdom put it? 

God tried Byron and found him worthy...

Today we ask our Lord Jesus to take Deacon Byron, his “good and faithful servant,” into His loving embrace. We ask Him to take away the pain, to wipe away the tears, and give him the first taste of that eternal joy we all hope to share.