A Hotel not a Home

Seeing how God sends us on a missionary journey

09/24/2025

Luke 9:1-6 Jesus summoned the Twelve and gave them power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases, and he sent them to proclaim the Kingdom of God and to heal the sick. He said to them, “Take nothing for the journey, neither walking stick, nor sack, nor food, nor money, and let no one take a second tunic. Whatever house you enter, stay there and leave from there. And as for those who do not welcome you, when you leave that town, shake the dust from your feet in testimony against them.” Then they set out and went from village to village proclaiming the good news and curing diseases everywhere.

People often ask me why I got a dog in the first place. I guess they are surprised by my decision, and to be honest, I was rather surprised, too. But I felt something fundamental had changed in my time here as pastor. For the first 26 years as a priest, I had been transferred from one parish to another quite frequently. I never stayed in one parish more than 5 years.

People must have thought I couldn’t hold down a steady job. But in 2022, I realized I had stayed at I.C. for 9 years and I felt the bishop most likely was not going to move me again. I would leave this parish “feet first”, carried out in a casket. Msgr. William Galvin had served as pastor of I.C. for 30 years, from 1966 to 1996. And maybe I will be here 30 years, too, which would be till 2043.

And so in order to see this parish as more a “home” and not as a “hotel” I decided to get a dog, settle down, and raise a family. In other words, the basic posture of a diocesan priest is that of an itinerant preacher who is constantly moving from place to place. And our itinerary is set by the bishop, who sends us to each parish with a mission.

Now, however, perhaps my life has changed from being an itinerant to be an institution, and Apollo symbolized my settling down. But Apollo’s unexpected and sudden passing has reminded me that our whole life is a mission. How so? Well, whether we are here for 30 years like Galvin or only 3 years like Apollo, our true mission mandate is bestowed on us by God.

When he creates us, God sends us on a mission, not just to a particular parish but to this particular planet, to share his goodness, grace, and glory with others. That is, being a “missionary disciple” – as Pope Francis often characterized Christianity – is not only a priestly posture, but the fundamental Christian posture.

Indeed, being a missionary is the overarching posture of all creation. God never intended anyone or anything to be institutions but always itinerants. This world was not meant to be our home but only a hotel. Can you catch the irony in my getting a dog? I got Apollo because I though I was finally settling down. But God sent Apollo to me to remind me, we are not here to settle down.

In the gospel this morning we hear the first of two missionary journeys in Luke. First, in chapter 9, Jesus sends out his 12 apostles to preach, teach, to heal the sick, and to expel demons. Then in chapter 10, Jesus sends out 72 disciples on a similar missionary journey to preach, teach, heal, and drive out demons.

And you know that Pope St. John Paul II, who added the Luminous Mysteries of the rosary, titled the 3rd mystery: “The Proclamation of the Kingdom of God.” In other words, just as Jesus is sent from God the Father to live on earth as a hotel not as a home, so his Church, from top to bottom, from apostle to disciple, from pastor to pet, must maintain a missionary posture.

Sometimes people build their “forever home,” like I want to look at I.C. as my “forever parish.” But that would be a big blunder. Today’s gospel and the 3rd Luminous Mystery remind the Church the same lesson that Apollo taught me: we are not long for this world. God did not send any of us here to settle down, but to preach and teach, to heal the sick, and to expel demons.

I remember when I adopted Apollo from the shelter. The lady asked me with a very serious look on her face: “Are you ready to accept the responsibility of this dog for the next 13-15 years?” And I answered, “Sure, how hard can this be?” Famous last words, “Sure, how hard can this be?” That’s probably what a lot of newly wed couples say, too.

But whether we have our own dogs for 13 years or only 3 years, we eventually have to say goodbye to them as they return their forever home in heaven. Their mission has been accomplished, which was to remind us that we are on a mission, too. That is, we are living in a hotel, not our forever home.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

We Do Live in Arkansas

Understanding literal and symbolic meaning in the Bible

09/23/2025

Luke 8:19-21 The mother of Jesus and his brothers came to him but were unable to join him because of the crowd. He was told, "Your mother and your brothers are standing outside and they wish to see you." He said to them in reply, "My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and act on it."

Now, I don’t plan to mention Apollo in every homily going forward, but you might hear about him for a little while. Sorry about that – not really. But one way people describe the closeness between a person and a pet is by using familial language. Have you noticed that? For example, people sometimes referred to Apollo as “my son.” And in turn they would call me “Apollo’s dad.”

Those descriptors are terms of endearment to express the ties of emotional love between a person and a pet. Hopefully people know enough biology that they do not take those terms literally and think I gave birth to Apollo. In other words, we can use language with a literal meaning , but also a symbolic meaning. But if you do not carefully distinguish, you might be carelessly duped.

In the gospel today we see a similar symbolic use of familial terms that, at least for us Catholic Christians, helps us to understand the meaning more accurately. We read: “The mother of Jesus and his brothers came to him but were unable to join him because of the crowd.” Now, if you take that passage literally, you might think that Jesus had biological siblings, and therefore Mary and Joseph had other offspring.

And I believe many Protestants interpret that passage literally. Roman Catholics, on the other hand, understand those familial terms symbolically, that is, kind of like how people refer to me and Apollo as “father” and “son.” Why those different interpretation? Well, there are two basic reasons. First, in other cultures, like in first century Judaism, familial terms like brother and sister were applied to people who were not biologically your siblings.

That is, they could be used to mean your cousins. Family members were not defined and distinguished as tightly and cleanly as we tend do to in modern American culture with our nuclear families. In my home country of India, and other cultures, multiple families often live and grow up in the same house. So, grandparents, children and their spouses, and their children were technically cousins but practically practically siblings.

So, we Indians use terms like “cousin-brother” or in Spanish they say “primo-hermano” to talk about relatives who were biologically “cousins” but symbolically called “brothers.” Maybe the American equivalent to symbolic language would be “kissing cousins,” meaning cousins you know so well you greet them with a kiss. Or, here in Arkansas you might marry them!

You know, when I prepare couples for marriage, one of the questions I ask is: “Are you related to each other?” And then we laugh, but I add, “Well, we do live here in Arkansas.” Language in different cultures often carries this dual meaning, and if you don’t carefully distinguish you might be carelessly duped into marrying your cousin.

The second reason Catholics interpret this passage symbolically rather than literally is because of the Church’s faith in the perpetual virginity of Mary. Now, the perpetual virginity of Mary sometimes even surprises Catholics who do not know our faith as well as we should. Put simply, Mary was always (perpetually) a virgin.

To be more blunt: she never had sexual relations with St. Joseph, and therefore she never bore any other children besides Jesus. Jesus is not only God’s only-begotten Son; he is Mary’s only-begotten Son. Mary’s perpetual virginity also highlights a key difference between most Protestants and Catholics. How so?

Catholics want to maximize Mary’s importance salvation history and we feel her perpetual virginity reinforces that theological point. Being a virgin makes Mary special. Protestants, by contrast, seek to minimize Mary’s place and see her as a mother with children besides Jesus (and having sexual relations with St. Joseph), which serves the Protestant narrative. Having sex makes Mary ordinary.

People interpret Scripture not only by what it says, but also according to what they want it to say. Protestants interpret “Jesus’ brothers” literally because of their belief about Mary being like other women. And we Catholics understand “Jesus’ brothers” symbolically because of what we believe about Mary, being like no woman (or man) who's ever lived.

And by the way, those divergent interpretations also subtly say something about sex and virginity – that is, which is more important. Did you catch that? When you sit down to read the Bible, if you don’t make careful distinctions, you might be carelessly duped, like kissing cousins who end up marrying each other. I mean, we do live in Arkansas.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

A Grief Observed

Taking time to grieve and not rushing to find peace

09/22/2025

Luke 8:16-18 Jesus said to the crowd: "No one who lights a lamp conceals it with a vessel or sets it under a bed; rather, he places it on a lampstand so that those who enter may see the light. For there is nothing hidden that will not become visible, and nothing secret that will not be known and come to light. Take care, then, how you hear. To anyone who has, more will be given, and from the one who has not, even what he seems to have will be taken away."

Jesus’ parable today of hiding a lamp under a bed seems like a silly and unnecessary teaching. After all, who lights a lamp only to conceal its warm glow from the world? Well, one time we might feel so tempted is when we go through some grief due to loss, like when someone dies, or when your dog dies.

Now, most of the time I am on the outside looking at the grief of others and counseling or comforting them. I help them not to hide their lamp under a bed. But lately I find myself on the inside of grief looking out, ever since Apollo died last week. And I certainly don’t feel like letting my light shine lately.

This past week I found myself feeling the four predictable stages of grief outlined by Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross: anger and blame, sadness and depression, bargaining with God, and right now I feel a marathon way from acceptance and peace. A lot of people have urged me to be open to getting another dog. But that feels like the last thing I can to do.

What I really want to do is hide my lamp of faith under my bed of pain, crawl under the covers, and cry into the pillows of grief and loss into which I bury my head. And if there’s one thing I have learned by walking with people going through grief it is there are no short-cuts. It is a long, slow, miserable slog through the cold, rain, and mud.

And as you can easily imagine, it is nearly impossible to carry a candle and keep it from going out in the  rain. Sorry for returning to the previous metaphor, but I just feel like going back to bed, pulling the covers over my head and listening to endless Adele songs, whose lyrics always sound so melancholy and mournful.

One of the most unusual books of the Old Testament is called Lamentations. Have you ever read it, or even heard of it? It never made the New York Times Bestseller list because it recounts the excruciating and demoralizing experiences of the Jews in exile in Babylon. Lamentations is the quintessential book about grief and loss in the Bible, perhaps second only to Job.

Lamentations does not hide the stages of grief: anger, sorrow, depression, regret, desperate bargaining, etc. But the fact that the book is included in the inspired canon of Scripture means God is somehow mysteriously present in our grief, too. In other words, his light continues to shine in his Word, even when we don’t feel like letting his light shine through us.

Another tremendous book about raw and unadulterated loss is C. S. Lewis’ little known book called “A Grief Observed.” Lewis shares how the pain of losing his beloved wife, Joy, nearly caused him to lose his faith. And that is saying a lot if you are familiar with what a towering theological giant Lewis was at Oxford and throughout the Christian world. In a sense, that book is all about the moment Lewis wanted to hide his lamp of faith under his bed of grief, sorrow, and loss.

And by the way, if you are more into movies rather than reading books, I highly recommend the John Wick series of movies starring Keanu Reeves. Yes, it is about a mobster and hitman who ruthlessly murders people left and right, while heart-pounding music fills the screen and your senses.

But do you know what triggers John Wick to return from retirement? Someone kills his dog, a beagle named Daisy, which was a gift from his late wife, Helen. In other words, John Wick hides his light under a bed of pain from the loss of his puppy. I feel I could have starred in the John Wick movies right now.

What is my point in this homily, besides sounding like I’m trying to undermine the point of Jesus’ parable? I guess it is just to say we cannot rush our grief and there are no short-cuts to find peace. The Old Testament book of Ecclesiastes says there is a “time” for every affair under heaven.

And then it adds, among other noteworthy times and moments: “There is a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance” (Eccl 3:4). And for me right now, it is a time to listen to Adele and watch John Wick. I’ll bring my lamp of faith out from under my bed tomorrow. And that is why Jesus has to remind us to let our light shine: so we don’t stay in bed forever.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

A War on Two Fronts

Dealing with death by thinking about earthly and heavenly life

09/21/2025

Luke 16:10-13 Jesus said to his disciples: "The person who is trustworthy in very small matters is also trustworthy in great ones; and the person who is dishonest in very small matters is also dishonest in great ones. If, therefore, you are not trustworthy with dishonest wealth, who will trust you with true wealth? If you are not trustworthy with what belongs to another, who will give you what is yours? No servant can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and mammon."

You have probably heard by now that my dog, Apollo, passed away this past week. He had been struggling with pneumonia, and while he was being treated for that, we learned he had an enlarged heart. Apollo was, in effect, fighting a war on two fronts – in his lungs, and in his heart – which the Germans during World War II could have warned Apollo was not a winning strategy.

On Tuesday night, I took him to the Emergency Animal Hospital as his condition was worsening. But by midnight his blood oxygen level had dropped to 60 – it should be around 90 – and Dr. Stepmiller felt soon his organs would start shutting down. I was able to be with him and hold him as she first gave him a sedative. And after a few minutes, a second shot to stop his heart. And I felt like my heart stopped, too.

The only peace I could find was knowing I had been with Apollo when he passed, and that he is no longer suffering. I am reminded of the memorable lines of Admiral Kirk in the movie “Star Trek II: the Wrath of Khan.” He said to Lieutenant Savvik: “How we deal with death is as important as how we deal with life.” If you’ve seen the movie, you know how Kirk’s words would come back to haunt him. Kirk would have to deal with the death of his close friend Spock. And Savvik could have repeated Kirk’s words back to him.

If Apollo could speak, and by the way, he could say a lot with his eyes, he said the same thing to me Tuesday at midnight: “How we deal with death is as important as how we deal with life.” And I think the best way to deal with death is first by focusing on the earthly life we got to live. And second by thinking about the heavenly life we will get to live. In other words, when we make death fight a war on these two fronts, we can defeat death.

On Wednesday morning I drove to Springdale to tell my parents about Apollo’s passing in person. Now, to be clear, they love Apollo more than they love me. And up until that point I had been strong enough that I didn’t cry when telling people. But when my mom broke down in tears, I could not hold back and sobbed like a baby. We celebrated Mass at their home and let the Eucharist comfort us. And over lunch we talked about Apollo’s earthly life.

My mom told me very wisely, “Instead of wishing for 10 more years with Apollo, we should be grateful for the 3 good years we got to have with him.” So now I think of how much Apollo loved greeting the school children arriving in the morning, how he chased those intolerable squirrels – whom the children have named “Taco” and “Burrito” – how he sat serenely in the back seat watching the world go by as we drove to NWA. He was a great shot-gun driver. When I feel gratitude for the good life Apollo got to live on earth, I can deal with death.

The second front to wage war with death is to think about the heavenly life that Apollo will get to live. Now, I know some people don’t believe that dogs go to heaven. But I find rather strong scriptural support for that hope. Rv 21:1 declares, “There will be a new heavens and a new earth.” Put differently, there will be a whole new creation, not just full of a redeemed humanity, but also filled with a restored cosmos, full of God’s beautiful creatures, especially dogs. Now, I’m not sure 100% sure about cats, but I am sure about dogs.

And what will Apollo do in heaven? Dr. Katie Hall, our school principal, told me in heaven Apollo will have wings and so he will be able to fly up and catch those squirrely squirrels. I mentioned that Apollo will be able to fly at school Mass on Thursday, and Dr. Hall’s son, Lenox, in kindergarten, came up to me after Mass. He asked: “But won’t the squirrels have wings in heaven too?” Now we know why Dr. Hall is so smart: her children teach her. Thus when I think about Apollo’s heavenly life I can deal with death.

I will never forget when Fr. Savio arrived here this past summer and I introduced him to Apollo. I wasn’t sure if he was a dog person. But he said something very prophetic, observing: “When a dog dies, it will be one of the hardest things you will ever go through.” He shared that he had a German Shepherd named Rinto who lived 14 years. He said he never got another dog because of the pain of that loss. He is definitely a dog person. In other words, Fr. Savio was saying to me: “How we deal with death is as important as how we deal with life.”

I hope you don’t mind me spending a whole homily to talk about my dog’s passing. But here is the reason I did. People often say that our dogs help us to be better human beings, and that is true. But I believe our dogs can also help us to be better Catholic Christians. How so? Well, Apollo taught me you cannot fight a war on two fronts. And even though Apollo may have lost the battle last Tuesday, he can help us to win the war. How? Because thinking about Apollo’s life on earth and in heaven, we make death fight a war on two fronts.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

The Mutterings of Men

Appreciating the memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows

09/15/2025

John 19:25-27 Standing by the cross of Jesus were his mother and his mother's sister, Mary the wife of Clopas, and Mary Magdalene. When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved he said to his mother, "Woman, behold, your son." Then he said to the disciple, "Behold, your mother." And from that hour the disciple took her into his home.

There are some human experiences in which men will always be on the outside looking in, while women will be on the inside looking out. And those experiences are how a mother brings a baby into the world, and how a mother grieves the death of a child. That is, men do not experience the pain of pregnancy and they likewise cannot experience the pain of child loss in the same way. Here we men have everything to learn and women have everything to teach.

Thus on the Memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows, a woman would do a better job of preaching than a man. But since that is not possible in the Catholic Church, let me stumble along as well as I can and offer a few observations from someone on the outside looking in. And the ladies are welcome to correct the deficiencies they will no doubt find rather quickly.

First, we should note how the Church has liturgically juxtaposed today’s memorial of Our Lady of Sorrows to immediately follow yesterday’s Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross. That closeness in time – two days separated by a second at midnight – indicates the closeness of the suffering of Jesus on the transept of the Cross, and of his Mother Mary’s suffering at the foot of the Cross. No mother’s heart could break more than the sinless Mary’s heart in watching her Son die.

The gospel we read is one of two options for today’s Mass. One option is John 19:25-27 depicting Mary’s sorrowful station at the crucifixion, which we just heard. The second option comes from Luke 2:33-35 when Jesus was 8 days old and Mary and Joseph take him to the Temple to be circumcised, which by the way, was the first shedding of Jesus’ Blood for our salvation.

And Simeon prophesies first in Luke what John would later recount as being fulfilled in the gospel we just heard. In other words, what Mary experienced in giving birth to Jesus and what she endured watching her Son die are mysteries that we men can only mutter meaninglessly about, unless the Holy Spirit inspires us, which is exactly the case with St. Luke and St. John.

The closest I have come to witness a mother grieve her son’s loss was when my nephew Noah died on February 3, 2017, over 8 years ago. Every year on February 3, I go to Fayetteville to celebrate Mass for Noah at my brother and sister-in-law’s home with their 3 surviving children, Isaac, Sophia, and Isabella.

As each year goes by the pain of Noah’s loss becomes a little more numb for me as time dulls the edge of it. But not for my sister-in-law, Susan. She feels the sharp edge of that knife cutting as deeply today as she did when she heard that fateful news on February 3, 2017. The old adage, “time heals all wounds” must have been coined by a muttering man.

Time does not heal the pain of the loss of a child in his mother’s heart. If anything, time only drives the knife deeper into her heart as she notes every year the life her son did not get to live. New sorrows lash against her heart, as this year on October 1 Noah would have turned 28 and Susan’s heart hurts for another year her son did not get to see.

My last observation comes from the movie “The Passion of the Christ” by Mel Gibson. Perhaps no scene was as memorable for me as the scourging at the pillar as we witness the full array of the tortures the Roman army could contrive unleashed on Jesus’ innocent flesh. I remember trying to be strong for Jesus and not cry as the whips tore into our Lord’s Body and the captain of the guard counted the lashes in perfect classical Latin.

At one point the camera panned away from Jesus to scan the crowd of onlookers. And finally it rested to capture the look of agony on the face of the Blessed Virgin Mary. At that point the tears breached the flood gates and I sobbed like a baby needing to be held by his mother’s arms. I knew I was beholding a great mystery: not only the salvific suffering of Jesus but also how Mary shared in that suffering as only a woman and a mother could.

And if all mothers suffer to witness the death of their child, no mother endured as great a pain as Mary, whose heart was immaculate and whose body was inviolate. And perhaps that awareness is the only consolation for a mother who loses a child: one Mother has suffered even more than all other mothers. But then again, all this is just the meaningless muttering of a man, who looks at a mother’s heart from the outside.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

The Thrill of Victory

Understanding the meaning of the Exultation of the Cross

09/14/2025

John 3:13-17 Jesus said to Nicodemus: "No one has gone up to heaven except the one who has come down from heaven, the Son of Man. And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so must the Son of Man be lifted up, so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life." For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him might not perish but might have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but that the world might be saved through him.

When I finally get home at night, I love to relax by watching Sportscenter on ESPN. Now, the very essence of every sport is there must always be a winner and a loser. Only one side enjoys “the thrill of victory,” while the other side endures “the agony of defeat.” Thus, all sport is a “zero sum game.” Why? Well, because my victory always comes at the cost of your loss.

By the way, I finally finished reading Mark Twain’s masterpiece called Joan of Arc. I read it during commercial breaks of Sportscenter. As you know, a corrupt Church court used every form of chicanery to convict Joan of Arc of witchcraft and burn her at the stake. Mark Twain describes the devilish mastermind, Bishop Cauchon, in these chilling lines toward the end:

“In the court of the castle we found the Earl of Warwick and fifty English waiting, impatient for news. As soon as Cauchon saw them he shouted – laughing – think of a man destroying a friendless poor girl and then having a heart to laugh at it: “Make yourselves comfortable – it’s all over with her'”(423). In other words, only Joan’s loss – her death – would clinch Cauchon’s victory. For Cauchon, life versus death was a zero-sum game.

This weekend, we celebrate the Feast of the Exultation of the Cross. Jesus is elevated, exalted, on the Cross during his death, apparent victory for the devil in the zero-sum game of life and death, like Cauchon viewed his victory in Joan’s burning at the stake. On the contrary, the gospel reveals that not only would the Cross be the moment of Jesus’ definitive victory, but also the victory of all who put their faith in him.

Thus we read: “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert” – referring to the first reading from Numbers 21 – “so must the Son of Man be lifted up [on the Cross], so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.” Put differently, you would never see the Crucifixion as one of the Top Ten Plays on Sportscenter. Why not? Because Jesus is not playing a zero-sum game, where his loss equals the devil’s victory.

Rather, Jesus is the MVP in a supernatural sport symbolized by the Cross, where the apparent loser actually enjoys the thrill of victory while the obvious winner walks away enduring the agony of defeat. That is why Mark Twain wrote a book extolling Joan of Arc’s heroic death, and not about Bishop Cauchon’s sinful life. She enjoyed the thrill of victory called the Cross.

Let me suggest a few modern examples of the Exaltation of the Cross, that is, how to win by losing. This weekend we recognize our catechists who teach in our Parish Religious Education programs. We have over 100 catechists who gladly give of their time, their faith, and their love so children may learn about Jesus. And by the way we don’t pay them a dime to do that yeoman’s work of teaching.

Like the old saying goes: “Working for the church doesn’t pay much, but the retirement plan is out of this world!” In other words, our catechists have discovered the secret victory of the Cross. What looks like loss – working without pay – in the end becomes great gain: more than all the money in the world. And sharing in the Cross they enjoy the thrill of victory.

Another example occurs in couple counseling. When couples come to me for marriage counseling, their discussion often deteriorates into a heated debate. And they start playing in effect a zero-sum game. How so? Each side feels forcefully that they will only win if they can prove their spouse is in the wrong. Their voices rise at the same rate as the temperature rises in the room.

But what would happen if the husband admitted, “Yes, dear, you are right. I drink too much and need to go to A.A. meetings”? Or what if the wife conceded: “I agree with you, honey, I spend too much time on the phone or with my friends and need to carve out more couple time just for us”? That might feel like a loss, a defeat, but your marriage will experience the thrill of victory.

And I think the assassination of Charlie Kirk last week serves as another startling example. The shooter, apparently a man named Tyler Robinson, clearly felt like he was playing a zero-sum game. Why? Because he believed that only by Kirk’s death could his side – whatever side he stood on – could win.

But Charlie Kirk, too, participated in a zero-sum game by his intense debates with people who disagreed with him. People have sent me many videos of his quick mind in responding to and refuting arguments from opponents. Have you seen them? Charlie Kirk has an innate intelligence that few foes can foil. Every debate, however, was essentially a zero-sum game. One side must lose for the other side to win.

Please don’t misunderstand me. There is, to be sure, an important place for husbands and wives to argue and air out their differences and disagreements. And sometimes we do have to pay people to work in the church. And perhaps many people are persuaded by the debate style of Charlie Kirk. After all, without zero-sum games, there would be no Sportscenter!

But I believe there is a higher place for the Exaltation of the Cross, with its new rules of engaging the enemy that does not require him to lose in order for me to win. Quite the contrary, it will be precisely my loss that will eventually produce not only my victory but also my enemy’s salvation. When we put our faith in the Cross, everyone eventually enjoys “the thrill of victory.”

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Electric Effects

Understanding the place of sacraments and contemplation

09/09/2025

Luke 6:12-19 Jesus departed to the mountain to pray, and he spent the night in prayer to God. When day came, he called his disciples to himself, and from them he chose Twelve, whom he also named Apostles: Simon, whom he named Peter, and his brother Andrew, James, John, Philip, Bartholomew, Matthew, Thomas, James the son of Alphaeus, Simon who was called a Zealot, and Judas the son of James, and Judas Iscariot, who became a traitor. And he came down with them and stood on a stretch of level ground. A great crowd of his disciples and a large number of the people from all Judea and Jerusalem and the coastal region of Tyre and Sidon  came to hear him and to be healed of their diseases; and even those who were tormented by unclean spirits were cured. Everyone in the crowd sought to touch him because power came forth from him and healed them all.

Did I ever describe to you my discernment to consider the Carmelites? After 12 years as your pastor you’ve heard all my stories. But in case you are just joining us… As you can probably guess, my discernment was a process of calm, rational reflection, rather than a passionate, emotional rollercoaster ride.

I tend to think things through in my head more than hammer them out in my heart. Although, both head and heart – and the rest of us – all play a crucial role in healthy and sane discernment. I thought about being a Carmelite in terms of the working of electricity at its source, kind of like Benjamin Franklin trying to catch a lightning bolt with a kite.

Imagine you come home from work one evening and flip your light switch but nothing happens. You check the breaker box but everything seem normal. What would you do? Most people would call an electrician who would come to examine the problem and resolve it. Now you come home, flip the light switch, and your house floods with golden light. You are happy again and maybe invite the electrician to stay for supper.

Very few people care to consider where does the electricity come from before it reaches my house? Often it originates at a dam in the river where a hydroelectric plant operates. And anonymous people work at the hydroelectric plant day in and day out providing essential electricity for hundreds of thousands of customers.

They are the cause of our daily life running smoothly although they never get a pat on the back or invited over for supper. They are the modern-day kite that catches the lightning and makes its power available to all. This understanding of electricity helps to highlight the difference between diocesan priests and Carmelite friars and nuns.

Diocesan priests are like the electrician who comes to your rescue when you have a spiritual need. They baptize your baby; they solemnize your marriage; they anoint you in the hospital; they feed you with the Bread of Angels at Mass. You are happy and you invite them over for supper. Diocesan priests deliver the electricity called grace in small packages called the sacraments.

But rarely do we wonder, like Benjamin Franklin, where does the electricity of grace originate? Are there spiritual hydroelectric plants that provide grace to countless Christian customers? Well, it’s funny you should ask. That is precisely what Carmelite friars and nuns do all day immersed in contemplative prayer.

Rarely recognized, and even less often thanked, they are the kite that catches the lightning, namely, Jesus, by hours of contemplative prayer before the Blessed Sacrament. They are not invited over for supper and that’s probably how they prefer it. And that is how I discerned a Carmelite vocation versus the diocesan priesthood. But clearly, I did not want to miss all those delicious dinners.

In the gospel today we witness Jesus doing the double duty of both catching the electricity of grace at its divine Source – God the Father – and also delivering its electric effects in teaching and healing. First, we read: “Jesus departed to the mountain to pray, and he spent the night in prayer to  God.” Like a Carmelite friar Jesus worked all night at the hydroelectric plant of God’s grace.

Later in the gospel we see how our Lord distributes that grace: “Everyone in the crowd sought to touch him because power came forth from him and healed them all.” You can almost picture Jesus with lightning bolts of grace shooting out to touch and heal the sick, like diocesan priests do every day. And by the way, Jesus got invited over to a lot of people’s home for supper.

So, what is the take home message for us today? Well, most Christians are not called to be Carmelites or even diocesan priests. Nonetheless, all Christians should seek the electric effects of grace both through the celebration of the sacraments as well as by sustained time devoted to contemplative prayer. How so?

Well, some parishioners arrive early for daily and Sunday Masses and spend 15 or 30 minutes, or even an hour, in quiet prayer. Other folks stay late, after Mass for 15, 30 minutes or even an hour. And it is so personally edifying for me to watch people stop by church to pray throughout the day.

Just like we charge our phones frequently, so Christians come to Jesus to be recharged throughout the day. The sacraments and contemplative prayer, therefore, are nothing other than the power grid of the Kingdom of  God. And their electric effects transform our heads, hearts, and everything else.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

A Building and a Blessing

Appreciating the birthday of the Blessed Virgin Mary

09/08/2025

Matthew 1:18-23 This is how the birth of Jesus Christ came about. When his mother Mary was betrothed to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found with child through the Holy Spirit. Joseph her husband, since he was a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her to shame, decided to divorce her quietly. Such was his intention when, behold, the angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, "Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary your wife into your home. For it is through the Holy Spirit that this child has been conceived in her. She will bear a son and you are to name him Jesus, because he will save his people from their sins." All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had said through the prophet: Behold, the virgin shall be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means "God is with us."

Sometimes Catholics get married “outside the Church.” That means they not only get married outside the church building, but more importantly, also without the Church’s blessing. When you opt out of the building, you also omit receiving the blessing. That is, they get married civilly – according to the laws of the state of Arkansas – but not sacramentally, according to the canon laws of the Catholic Church. In a sense, they are married in the eyes of the governor but not in the eyes of God.

Now, according to canon law there are two ways to remedy such an irregular marriage, outside the Church. The more common practice is to renew your wedding vows in the church. So, you have a small but sacramentally significant wedding with the priest and at least two witnesses. That is how most couples who were married “outside the Church” get married “inside the Church.” They come back to the building and they once again enjoy the blessing.

But there is another little known way to remedy an irregular marriage called a radical sanation. Bet you haven’t heard of that. That sounds dramatic like we are going to amputate a leg. But it is actually the opposite of an amputation. The words “radical” and “sanation” come from the Latin words “radix” and “sanatio” which mean to heal something from its roots.

With a radical sanation, the couple does not begin a new sacramental marriage years after the civil marriage. Rather, the Church allows them to go back in time and heal their marriage from its inception, when they first said their vows. Speaking sacramentally, we allow both the building and the blessing to be present on the original day they said “I do.” Hence, they do not have two wedding anniversaries, and that is much more merciful for the poor male memory.

This notion of a radical sanation, healing from the roots, can give us an insight into the feast we celebrate today, the Nativity (or Birthday) of the Blessed Virgin Mary. How so? Well, when Jesus came to save humanity – and we might use here the analogy of marrying humanity, because our Lord is not only our Savior but also our Spouse – he chose the path of a radical sanation.

Thus, since the roots of humanity’s disgrace from God began with a woman (sorry ladies), namely, Eve, so Jesus would heal that disgrace by making a woman full of grace, namely, Mary (you’re welcome ladies). In a sense, Mary’s immaculately conceived body is the building housing God’s greatest blessing, who is Jesus.

In her sinless womb, therefore, would occur the nuptials of humanity with divinity. In Mary human nature would marry the Godhead in the incarnation of the Son of God as the Son of Man. And this is why we encourage couples to marry in a building to receive the blessing of marriage.

Because every earthly marriage between a man and a woman seeks to imitate the holiness, humility, harmony and happiness that exists in that eternal marriage between God and man that took place in the virginal womb of Mary. She is the building in which we find the greatest marriage blessing.

This is why we celebrate the Nativity of the Blessed Virgin Mary. God is not content to put a band-aid on his broken creation. Instead, he goes back to our rotten roots – the roots of sin and death – and heals humanity’s marriage with God from its inception: it all began with a woman. In other words, salvation is a radical sanation, and both the building and the blessing are unveiled on the Birthday of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

It is for this reason that Joseph was not allowed to divorce Mary when he discovered she was pregnant, and that he was not “the baby daddy.” As Isaiah the prophet had foretold: “Behold the virgin will be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel, which means ‘God is with us’.” And God would henceforth be with us in the most radical way, that is, “from the roots.”

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Making and Being Made

Seeing how discipleship requires the cross of change

09/07/2025

Luke 14:25-33 Great crowds were traveling with Jesus, and he turned and addressed them, “If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple. Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple. Which of you wishing to construct a tower does not first sit down and calculate the cost to see if there is enough for its completion? Otherwise, after laying the foundation and finding himself unable to finish the work the onlookers should laugh at him and say, ‘This one began to build but did not have the resources to finish.’ Or what king marching into battle would not first sit down and decide whether with ten thousand troops he can successfully oppose another king advancing upon him with twenty thousand troops? But if not, while he is still far away, he will send a delegation to ask for peace terms. In the same way, anyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions cannot be my disciple.”

About a week ago my older brother, Paul, gave me a book to read called “Assembling Tomorrow.” And believe it or not, I actually read it! Who really reads a book a sibling gives them? We had been talking about AI recently and its far-reaching effects. The book also discussed the consequences of creating AI, but it also raises the question of creating anything at all, and how what we make in turn sort of makes us.

Consider these penetrating lines from the Introduction. The authors wrote: “We live in a moment when materials of making are blurring the lines between people, technology, and the natural world. Technology is getting more human-like, as computers take on the task of thinking for us and for themselves…Meanwhile our minds are media are so intertwined and entangled that it’s making our nervous systems nervous.”

But here, I believe, is the point (the thesis) of the book: “To be a maker in this moment – to be human today – is to collaborate with the world. It is to create and to be created, to work and to be worked on, to make and to be made.” In other words, we shape artificial intelligence, and in profound ways AI is shaping us. I was listening to a DJ on the radio who said: “You can be sure I am not an AI robot because I’m not artificial and I’m not very intelligent.”

In the gospel today Jesus also urges us to consider carefully the consequences – the cost – of our choice to follow him. He gives examples like constructing a tower, or leading an army into battle to highlight how the choice to follow Jesus will not only change the world, it will inevitably change us in the process: that is the cost we must calculate.

To put it in terms of my brother’s book: to become a disciple of Jesus is “to create and to be created, to work and to be worked on, to make and to be made.” That is, you cannot save the world without being saved in the process and that process always involves suffering deep change ourselves. Let me give you two examples of how creating something also creates us.

Perhaps the most dramatic instance of making and being made is having a baby. Both a mother and father cooperate with God to bring a new human being into the world. But that little being also, in effect, brings his or her parents into the world. How so? One friend of mine calls having a baby “induced maturity.”

Before you have a baby, it is easy to be immature: selfish and only concerned about your needs. But the day you have a baby you suddenly wake up to the world around you, and all the needs of your baby take priority. Our babies grow us up.How we make babies and how babies make us is summed up in this powerful poem called “A Little Fellow Follows Me.”

It goes: “A careful man I want to be, / A little fellow follows me, / I dare not go astray, / For fear he’ll go the self-same way. / I cannot once escape his eyes, / Whatever he sees me do, he tries. / Like me, he says he’s going to be, / The little chap who follows me. / He thinks that I am good and fine, / Believes in every word of mine.

"The base in me he must not see, / That little fellow who follows me. / I must remember as I go, / Thru summer’s sun and winter’s snow, / I am building for the years to be, / This little chap who follows me.” But can there be any doubt that little chap has done a fair bit of building of his dad as well? Whatever we make in turn makes us.

A second scenario of creating something that also creates us is the vocation of marriage. When a man and a woman stand before God and exchange their marital vows they bring something new into the world, namely, a new family. That newness is symbolized by the gold rings, a shared last name, and enjoying the intimacy that should be saved for marriage. As C. S. Lewis said, marital intimacy is far more than “four bare legs in a bed.”

Some of you may know that I work on the diocesan marriage tribunal as a judge and deal with annulments. Sadly not all marriages stay intact and so we try to help them with an annulment so they are able to marry again and hopefully experience some healing. Why do they need to heal? Because few shocks in this world impact us as deeply as divorce which leaves lasting wounds.

The last question in the annulment questionnaire is intended to be self-reflective. It asks: “What have you learned after going through this annulment process?” If all someone can manage to answer is: “I learned that I married a jerk!” then they have missed a golden – even if grueling – opportunity to see how they not only contributed in making their marriage.

But also in profound, even permanent ways, that marriage also made them the person they are today. One of my favorite Buddhist proverbs is this: “My enemy, my teacher.” Tragically couples who had given their hearts to each other at a wedding, after a divorce, look at each other as the enemy. Still, we learn some of the most valuable lessons from our enemies than from our friends.

What does it mean to be a disciple of Jesus Christ? At root it means to go out and build the Kingdom of Christ in the world. But it also means, and no less importantly, to be built up in the process. Whatever we create – even the Kingdom – inevitably ends up creating us, and that process is not painless. And that making and being made is the true cost of discipleship.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Our Last Stand

Turning our eyes to our heavenly hometown

09/02/2025

Luke 4:31-37 Jesus went down to Capernaum, a town of Galilee. He taught them on the sabbath, and they were astonished at his teaching because he spoke with authority. In the synagogue there was a man with the spirit of an unclean demon, and he cried out in a loud voice, "What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us? I know who you are–the Holy One of God!" Jesus rebuked him and said, "Be quiet! Come out of him!" Then the demon threw the man down in front of them and came out of him without doing him any harm. They were all amazed and said to one another, "What is there about his word? For with authority and power he commands the unclean spirits, and they come out." And news of him spread everywhere in the surrounding region.

Because we live in such a mobile society, many people often have two hometowns. That is, a town that they are born into and another town they are adopted into. For example, I was born in New Delhi, India and lived there for about 7 years. When my family moved to the United States, we lived in several places: New York City, Hillsboro, TX, and finally Little Rock.

But for the past 12 years I have lived in the great metropolis of Fort Smith. And like General Custer, I think this will be my last stand. Bishop Taylor told us priests that once he finds a good fit for a priest in a certain parish, he does not like to move them. So, let’s all pretend Immaculate Conception in Fort Smith is a really good fit for me and for you parishioners so the bishop will leave me here.

So, now I have two hometowns: New Delhi, India by birth and Fort Smith, AR by adoption. And I really love my adopted hometown. Every time I travel to NWA or Texas or Florida to visit family or friends, I feel great peace, joy, and excitement coming home to Fort Smith. There is no feeling like driving over the Garrison Bridge and seeing Immaculate Conception Church standing tall at the head of the avenue, not unlike how Odysseus felt in returning home to Ithica after the 20 year Trojan War.

When we study closely the geography of Jesus’ life on earth, we quickly discover that our Lord also had two hometowns. We know that after being born in Bethlehem, our Lord was taken by Mary and Joseph to Nazareth, where he lived for 30 years. For all practical purposes, Nazareth was Jesus’ native town. The word “native” means where someone was born or raised, like New Delhi for me.

But Jesus had a second hometown by adoption, namely, Capernaum, about 40 miles northeast of Nazareth. In today’ gospel from Luke 4:31-37, we see Jesus entering his second hometown, Capernaum, and preaching with authority and even driving out demons with the power of God. By the way, I too have tried to preach with authority – I have published 3 books of my preaching – and I drive out demons every time I baptize a baby, indeed in administering any sacraments the demons flee.

In other words, for 3 years of his public ministry, from the age of 30 when he left Nazareth to the age of 33 when he journeyed to Jerusalem for his passion, death, and resurrection, Jesus sets up shop in Capernaum, his second hometown by adoption. And significantly, it is in Capernaum that Jesus calls his first disciples: Andrew and Peter, James and John, and Matthew the tax-collector in Capernaum.

Nonetheless, Jesus’ true mission and ministry was not to teach us how to feel comfortable in our hometowns by birth or by adoption. Rather, he came to show us our true home is heaven. The Letter to the Hebrews underscores this point several times. In Heb 11:10 we read: “For [Abraham] was looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and builders is God.

And toward the end in Heb 13:14, one of my favorite passages, we learn: “We have here no lasting city” – not even Fort Smith – “but we seek the one that is to come.” In other words, as Christians more than we love our hometown by birth and even more than we long to return to our hometown by adoption (like I love returning to Fort Smith), we should look forward to our ultimate hometown called “heaven.”

And every time we enter this church and celebrate Mass, we should feel like we have sacramentally traveled to our heavenly homeland. If we open our eyes of faith we will see this church at Mass crowded with the citizens of heaven: angels, saints, martyrs, apostles, prophets, kings, priests, and seated next to Jesus, the Blessed Virgin Mary, the queen Mother.

As Heb 12:22 puts it: “You have approached Mount Zion and the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and countless angels in festal gathering.” And we should long for that heavenly homecoming even more than Odysseus longed for Ithica, because that is the deepest layer of meaning of that ancient Greek epic. And heaven will be our real last stand.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

Rest on Labor Day

Seeing human labor as participating in divine labor

09/01/2025

Luke 4:16-30 Jesus came to Nazareth, where he had grown up, and went according to his custom into the synagogue on the sabbath day. He stood up to read and was handed a scroll of the prophet Isaiah. He unrolled the scroll and found the passage where it was written: The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord. Rolling up the scroll, he handed it back to the attendant and sat down, and the eyes of all in the synagogue looked intently at him. He said to them, "Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing." And all spoke highly of him and were amazed at the gracious words that came from his mouth.

Have you ever noticed the great irony about Labor Day weekend? Even though we recognize the value of labor, or work, we do so precisely by resting or taking a break from work. You would think that if you were going to labor on any day of the year, it would be on Labor Day. But strangely we honor labor by not laboring.

And that irony is as it should be for us human beings who only ever labor intermittently and imperfectly in imitation of God, whose labor of love, his real work, never ceases or shows any defects. And what exactly is God’s work? What does God do all day? Put simply, it is to create everything out of nothing, and then to eternally hold that creation in existence.

Let me share with you my favorite (and a phenomenal) sentence by Etienne Gilson that hits the nail on the head regarding God’s work of creation: “This created universe, of which St. Augustine said that it ceaselessly leans over towards the abyss of nothingness, is saved at each moment from collapse into nothingness by the continuous giving of a being which, of itself, it could neither give, not preserve” (The Spirit of Medieval Philosophy, 70-71).

Think of an unborn baby in its mother’s womb entirely dependent for its existence on its mother. What would happen if the mother were to remove its life-giving apparatus called the womb and thrust the baby out? It would die in very short order. Every abortion is the polar opposite of the labor of love that God performs from the beginning and does so continuously.

This world, then, in which we “live and move and have our being” (Acts 7:28), is God’s womb. And God never aborts his creation, no matter how inconvenient we might be (and we are often inconvenient to him). But rather he lovingly holds us in existence. That eternal sustaining of creation is God’s perennial and perfect work.

And that divine work or labor gives us a clue to the real value of human work – in the office, at a factory, in a classroom, driving a bus, delivering the mail, balancing the books, or cooking and cleaning at home, etc. – we participate however temporarily in that work of sustaining creation in existence and pushing it forward through time. That is why we get out of bed in the morning.

Mother Teresa put our human participation in divine labor memorably saying: “Christ has no body now but yours. No hands, no feet on earth but yours. Yours are the eyes through which he looks with compassion on this world. Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good. Yours are the hands through which he blesses all the world.” In other words, the true value of human labor is to share in a small way in the divine labor called “creation.”

And this notion of human labor as a sharing in God’s work sheds light to a superlative degree on what we priests do. I often joke with people that priesthood is the best job in the world because I only work one day a week: on Sunday! But sometimes I feel like I do the work of six days in that one 24-hour period.

For example, yesterday I celebrated the 7:30 a.m. English Mass, preached the homily at the 10 a.m. English Mass. Then I celebrated the two Spanish Masses at 12 noon and 2 pm, and after the 2 p.m. Mass blessed a quinceanera. A parishioner approached me to ask that I visit a lady with cancer and give her the anointing of the sick at home.

Then I drove to Springdale and celebrated a fourth Mass for my parents and brother and sister who was visiting from Orlando. During dinner I got a call to anoint someone at Washington Regional who would have surgery today. And driving home to Fort Smith I stopped by Mercy Hospital to anoint a man who was on life-support. And then of course, I had to walk Apollo.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not complaining, I’m bragging! But in every instance of blessing, celebrating Mass, anointing of the sick, etc., I do on a much smaller scale and sacramentally what God the Father and God the Son do flawlessly and forever: sustain creation in existence. Human labor’s true raison d’etre finds its deepest roots in imitating divine labor.

Every morning I leave the rectory at 5:17 a.m. to open the church. Incidentally, the gospel of John 5:17 reads: “My Father is at work until now, and I am at work.” Our humble work of opening the doors of the church every morning is a modest participation in God’s work of sustaining and saving the world. And that is the meaning of Labor Day, and why we rest.

Praised be Jesus Christ!

It’s Not the Plane

Choosing the lowest place so Jesus can lift us higher

08/31/2025

Luke 14:1, 7-14 On a sabbath Jesus went to dine at the home of one of the leading Pharisees, and the people there were observing him carefully. He told a parable to those who had been invited, noticing how they were choosing the places of honor at the table. "When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet, do not recline at table in the place of honor. A more distinguished guest than you may have been invited by him, and the host who invited both of you may approach you and say, 'Give your place to this man,' and then you would proceed with embarrassment to take the lowest place. Rather, when you are invited, go and take the lowest place so that when the host comes to you he may say, 'My friend, move up to a higher position.' Then you will enjoy the esteem of your companions at the table. For every one who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted." Then he said to the host who invited him, "When you hold a lunch or a dinner, do not invite your friends or your brothers or your relatives or your wealthy neighbors, in case they may invite you back and you have repayment. Rather, when you hold a banquet, invite the poor, the crippled, the lame, the blind; blessed indeed will you be because of their inability to repay you. For you will be repaid at the resurrection of the righteous."

John Maxwell, the leadership expert, tells the story of a CEO who arrived late for an important board meeting. Even though he was the head of the board of directors, he slipped through the door unannounced, took the first available seat, not wanting to interrupt the discussion. One of the junior members objected by saying, “Please, sir, come sit at the head of the table.”

The wise leader smiled and replied, “Son, wherever I sit is the head of the table.” As Rooster reminded Maverick in the movie “Top Gun,” “It’s not the plane, it’s the pilot.” In other words, true leadership is not demonstrated by one’s position on the company ladder, or your place at table, or even the plane you fly, but by the qualities of the heart: integrity, courage, honesty, cheerfulness, and above all, humility.

In the gospel today, Jesus echoes the same attitude of the tardy CEO. He tells a parable about places to sit at a banquet, and he advises: “When you are invited by someone to a wedding banquet do not recline at table in a place of honor.” Instead, Jesus indicates where we should sit: “go and take the lowest place.”

And why should Christians play musical chairs at dinner and grab the cheap seats? Jesus explains: “For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled and everyone who humbles himself will be exalted.” Like the tardy CEO, Jesus too teaches that it’s not external marks of distinction that indicate greatness but the internal character of soul, especially humility.

Martin Luther King Jr. famously hoped for the same, when he said: “I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.” Or put in movie lingo, “It’s not the plane (the color of our skin); it’s the pilot (the content of our character).”

My friends, we all select our seats with great care, whether we’re picking a plane seat, a movie theater seat, or even a car seat. But let me suggest three scenarios in which to select your seat with more humility, that is, choose the lowest place. The first seat-selection scenario I learned in seminary. Our rector, Msgr. Kenneth Roeltgen, gave us several classes on etiquette, one of which was about seating when you eat out at a restaurant. He pointed out that some seats are more desirable than others.

For example, the seat which gives you a view of most of the restaurant is better than the seat where you have your back to the people. Furthermore, you should offer that seat with a view to the oldest member of your party or to the lady in your group. Can you guess why to offer the best seat to the lady? Not only because she can see everyone in the restaurant, but more so that everyone can see her. I learned more profound theology in that one class than in four years of ethics and dogmatics.

The second seat selection scenario is in church, especially when you come to Mass. We Catholics are incorrigible creatures of habit and once we pick a pew to plant ourselves in, we set deeper roots there than the redwoods do in California. Growing up in Little Rock my family attended St. Theresa’s Church. I could walk into church blind-folded and find the pew we sat in every Sunday. So, God help you if you sit in someone’s pew on Sunday. Get ready for the death stare.

But folks, we should be happy people are sitting in any pew in church on Sunday even ours. Why? Because at least they are not sitting on their couch at home. We may never know the courage it took for someone just to walk through the doors of a Catholic church. Like Jesus suggested, we should “go and take the lowest place” and humbly and happily find another pew. “It’s not the plane (or the pew); it’s the pilot.”

And for the third scenario of selecting a seat, I want to say a word about the horrific shooting at Annunciation School in Minneapolis. Our hearts and prayers go out to the precious children – especially the Fletcher Merkel and Harper Moyski who died – to their families and the entire school community. Such a school shooting is the stuff of a mother and father’s nightmares.

We have taken extra precautions here at Immaculate Conception School, including having armed officers at our Thursday school Masses. So, I hope students and families feel an added level of safety and security in coming to church. But I want to pick-up on Bishop Robert Barron’s remarks in the wake of the shooting. Among other things, he said the children who died were clearly martyrs for the faith. They died for Jesus.

Why is that? Well, there can be little doubt the shooter harbored anti-Catholic biases and motives. That is, he intended to hurt not only students and staff but also take a shot at the Catholic Church as an institution. Whether or not Fletcher and Harper were ready to be martyrs for the faith, they began their academic year by kneeling in church and asking for the Lord’s blessing on their new year and their life.

And they now will be forever remembered as children who not only lived for Christ, but also died for our Lord and Savior, because they picked a pew in church. In the end, the ignorant shooter did not make a ghastly mockery of the Church, he made two glorious martyrs of the Church: St. Fletcher and St. Harper. And those two students stand in heaven today as extraordinary examples of how “everyone who humbles himself shall be exalted.” Because after all, when you’re flying to heaven, “it’s not the plane (that matters); it’s the pilot.”

Praised be Jesus Christ!

A Communist and a Count

Learning how to be a gentleman and a gentlewoman

08/26/2025

Matthew 23:23-26 Jesus said: “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites. You pay tithes of mint and dill and cummin, and have neglected the weightier things of the law: judgment and mercy and fidelity. But these you should have done, without neglecting the others. Blind guides, who strain out the gnat and swallow the camel! “Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, you hypocrites. You cleanse the outside of cup and dish, but inside they are full of plunder and self-indulgence. Blind Pharisee, cleanse first the inside of the cup, so that the outside also may be clean.”

I learned the finest definition of a gentleman from reading a book by St. John Henry Newman called “The Idea of a University.” By the way, you may have heard that just last week Pope Leo XIV declared that John Henry Newman is a “Doctor of the Church.” Being a doctor of the Church does not mean Newman can prescribe medicine for physical maladies.

Rather, his writings provide healing for moral and spiritual maladies. His insights about the Christian faith are a salve for eternal healing and wholeness. In The Idea of a University, Newman offers a pithy definition of a gentleman writing: “a gentleman is someone who does not cause pain to another person.”

Would that all men might not just learn but live by that standard of being a gentleman, especially in their interactions with their wives. Incidentally, if you would like a 3-D, color version of a gentleman, I recommend a book called “A Gentleman in Moscow” by Amor Towles. What Newman put philosophically, Towles paints fictionally.

The notion of a gentleman comes to the foreground in Towles’ novel when the protagonist, Count Rostov, is invited to an unexpected dinner with a Russian Bolshevik. Count Rostov is an aristocrat doing his best to maintain his dignity and decency while under house arrest in a fancy hotel called “The Metropol.”

During dinner, the Communist – who is spying on the Count – asks: “What is it about me that makes you so sure that I am not a gentleman?” The Count’s answer essentially paraphrases Newman, saying: “As a host it was perfectly appropriate for you to take up the serving tools. But a gentleman would have served his guest before he served himself.”

The Count continues: “A gentleman wouldn’t gesture at another man with his fork, or speak with his mouth full.” Then he concludes: “But perhaps most importantly, he would have introduced himself at the beginning of a conversation – particularly when he had the advantage over his guest” (210). In a word, a gentleman makes life more pleasant, not more painful, for others.

In the gospel today, Jesus levels severe criticisms against the scribes and Pharisees that sound surprisingly similar to the Count’s complaints about the Communist. Our Lord states: “You pay tithes on mint and dill and cummin, but you have neglected the weightier things of the law: judgment and mercy and fidelity.”

That is, they obey the strict letter of the law while completely ignoring the spirit of the law. And what, at root, is the spirit of the law? The love of neighbor, or as Newman and Towles articulate it: “not to cause pain to others.” The scribes and Pharisees utterly fail at being gentlemen, like the communist.

My friends, I would encourage you to learn and live by Newman’s definition of a gentleman in all areas of life – not just men but also women – and try not to cause pain to others, because these are what Jesus calls, “the weightier things of the law.” But let me invite you especially to keep this principle in mind when you come to Mass and we try to pray together in community.

The best rule of thumb in celebrating the liturgy is don’t cause pain to others while you offer praise to God. Sometimes people ask me: should we hold hands during the Our Father? Should I kneel, stand, or sit when I return from Holy Communion? Should I genuflect or bow when I enter the sanctuary to serve as a Eucharistic Minister?

Should I leave right after I receive Holy Communion? Actually, no one asks that, they just do it. We can become Nazis (or Communists) about liturgical rubrics (rules) that we forget to put my neighbor at ease and help them to pray. We cannot pray to the God we cannot see while causing pain to the neighbor we can see.

Whether in the liturgy or in life remember that conversation between a communist and a count: “What is it about me that makes you so sure that I am not a gentleman?” Jesus would answer, “You have forgotten the weightier things of the law: judgment and mercy and fidelity.” And Newman, the newest Doctor of the Church, would have prescribed the medicinal reply: “a gentleman is someone who does not cause pain to another.”

Praised be Jesus Christ!

A Shot at Heaven

Opening our hearts wide like the doors of heaven

08/24/2025

Luke 13:22-30 Jesus passed through towns and villages, teaching as  e went and making his way to Jerusalem. Someone asked h
im, "Lord, will only a few people be saved?" He answered them, "Strive to enter through the narrow gate, for many, I tell you, will attempt to enter but will not be strong enough. After the master of the house has arisen and locked the door, then will you stand outside knocking and saying, 'Lord, open the door for us.' He will say to you in reply, 'I do not know where you are from. And you will say, 'We ate and drank in your company and you taught in our streets.' Then he will say to you, 'I do not know where you are from. Depart from me, all you evildoers!' And there will be wailing and grinding of teeth when you see Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob and all the prophets in the kingdom of God and you yourselves cast out. And people will come from the east and the west and from the north and the south and will recline at table in the kingdom of God. For behold, some are last who will be first, and some are first who will be last."

Have you heard the old joke about being quiet when you enter to heaven? A man arrives at the Pearly Gates and St. Peter asks him his religion. He answers, “Methodist.” St. Peter looks down his list and says, “Go to Room 24 but be very quiet as you pass Room 8.” Another person arrives at the gates of Paradise and Peter asks her religion. She replies, “I’m Jewish.” After examining his list, Peter replies: “Go to Room 18, but be very quiet as you pass Room 8.”

 A third man walks up to the gates of heaven and when asked his religion he responds: “I am a Mormon.” Peter tells him to go to Room 11, but be extra quiet as he passes Room 8.” The man stops to tell St. Peter he understand putting people of different religions in different rooms, but why should remain be quiet when he passes Room 8? St. Peter explains: “Well, the Catholics are in Room 8, and they think they are the only ones here.”

Of course, you can tell that joke and put any denomination in Room 8. Why? Well, because all faiths believe that to a greater or lesser degree. But I decided to put Catholics in Room 8 because of our traditional teaching called “extra Ecclesiam nulla salus.” That means, “outside the Church there is no salvation.” Put positively, only Catholics will go to heaven.

But Vatican II helped us to expand our understanding of that teaching which is still true. How so? Well, that wise ecumenical council taught that whenever someone is saved, the Church is “mysteriously present,” even if we cannot tangibly tell how the Church operates. Jesus the Head always works through his Body, the Church.

In other words, salvation may not be based on external evidence – what denomination one belongs to – but there will nonetheless be internal evidence – a heart brimming with unconditional love. And therefore, we believe that everyone who genuinely loves others has a shot at heaven.

Our Scriptures today speak resoundingly about how the Pearly Gates are open to every person, regardless of their color, culture, or creed. Isaish prophesies in the first reading: “I come to gather nations of every language; for they shall come and see my glory.” And then he adds what must have sounded like nails on a chalkboard to Jewish ears:

Isaiah prophesies: “Some of these [foreigners] I will take as priests and Levites, says the Lord.” You will recall that being a priest or Levite was not just exclusive to the Chosen People, but it was restricted to only one of the Twelve Tribes of Israel, namely, Levi. But Isaiah insists one day, everyone will have a shot not only at Paradise, but also at the priesthood.

And in today’s gospel from Luke 13, we read: “Someone asked him, ‘Lord, will only a few people be saved?’” That is, will only those in Room 8 be saved – because that is what every faith feels to some degree – or is heaven a lot bigger than one room, and therefore a lot bigger than one religion?

Jesus’ reply would eventually ring from all four corners of the globe: “People will come from the east and the west and from the north and the south and will recline at table at in the kingdom of God.” In other words, everyone will have a shot at heaven no matter what corner or compass point of th world you come from. The litmus test is love.

My friends, the more practical question for us is not whether there is room enough in heaven for everybody, like the man asked in the gospel, “Lord, will only a few people be saved?” Heaven is as big as God’s heart, and all the people in the world can comfortably fit inside. That is not the problem.

Rather, we need to ask ourselves: Is there enough room in my heart for everyone? That is, are there only a few people that we allow to enter through the Pearly Gates of our hearts, while we shut out and shun others? Is my heart as big as God’s heart? Only then will I have a shot at heaven.

Let me leave you with this extraordinary example of loving without limits. A lady named Maria (that’s not her real name, I felt uncomfortable about disclosing her identity) asked me a couple of weeks ago to visit her ex-husband who was dying in the hospital and give him the Last Rites. She explained that he is from Mexico, and doesn’t have any family here, so she was trying to help him.

I ran into her again yesterday, and she told me the doctors said he doesn’t have long to live, and will send him back to Mexico in an ambulance. Maria told me she had had a restraining order put on him for domestic violence which is why they got a divorce. But she not only lifted that restraining order, she is raising money for his ambulance ride home.

She told me with tears in her eyes, “He is a human being an there is no one else here to care for him.” I was stunned by her humility, her sacrifice, and her ability to still love him despite being hurt by him. Maria wants everyone to have a shot at heaven, even her abusive ex-husband. That is love without limits. I have no doubt that when she knocks on Heaven’s Door, Peter will not only open the door, he will roll out the red carpet.

Praised be Jesus Christ!