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!