Blog & Pastor Letters

Speaking in the Cathedral of Santa Maria del Fiore in Florence, Pope Francis highlighted the image of the Last Judgement depicted in the cathedral dome: “At the center is Jesus, our light. At the apex of the fresco reads the inscription: ‘Ecce Homo.’ Looking at this dome we are drawn upward, as we contemplate the transformation of Christ judged by Pilate, into Christ seated on the judge’s throne. An angel brings him a sword yet Jesus does not take on the symbols of judgment, but instead raises his right hand, showing the marks of the passion . . .”1

Our lives are not our own. This may be a jarring reality, but our difficulty in accepting it makes it no less real. Everything that we have has been given. In other words, everything we have — including our very lives — is a gift. This is the logic the Lord invites us into in the parable of the talents, the logic of the good things the Lord desires to share with us and our response to His gifts.

As we approach the end of the Liturgical Year culminating in the Solemnity of Christ the King, our readings take on a more urgent tone and our longing for all things to be subject to Christ intensifies. In these days, the Church is encouraging us to be prepared. But how?

Jesus offers us the parable of the wise and foolish virgins. Five went prepared to meet the bridegroom with flasks of oil to keep their lamps burning bright. The other five brought no oil with them, only what was in their lamps. As we have just heard, when the bridegroom comes, the foolish virgins have to go out to purchase oil, and so arrive late to the wedding feast.

In you, Lord, I have found my peace. In the world in which we live, perhaps the search for peace can seem like a futile effort. There is so much noise, so many distractions, so much chaos. As ineffectual as it may seem, however, we continue the search. How much money is spent on self-help books, meditation apps, and therapy sessions? Perhaps to some end, these tools may be helpful. But what happens when they fail? How many people today seek to numb themselves with alcohol and drugs, or even by throwing themselves into the alternate reality of social media? In other words, our desire for peace cannot be extinguished.

Every word Jesus speaks has weight and is rich in meaning. Jesus says to us today: you shall love your neighbor as yourself. When we read this second great commandment that the Lord gives us, we usually focus on the “love your neighbor” part. Jesus, however, did not just say, you shall love your neighbor. He added two more words — as yourself — and those words are important. Today, let us focus only on what those last two words teach us. Jesus asks us to love our neighbor as we love ourselves. That, of course, presupposes that we actually do love ourselves. If we do not love ourselves or if we do not properly love ourselves, it will be impossible to love others as they ought to be loved.

In today’s first reading from the Book of the Prophet Isaiah, we hear about a very interesting figure in the history of the world: the great King Cyrus. He ruled over one of the largest and most powerful empires the world has ever known. He was very good to the people of Israel even though he was not one of them. While many kings throughout history sought to eradicate God’s holy people, Cyrus justly allowed them to live in peace and to rebuild the Temple in Jerusalem. God, as they say, writes straight with crooked lines! God used a king who did not even follow Him to continue to unfold His plan of salvation.

In the Gospel today, we read about a King who is throwing a wedding feast for his son. At the banquet of a king, the food is sure to be an epicurean delight; the vintage of wine is certain to be exceptional; the musicians are going to be concert quality; the guest list will unquestionably include the most important people the King knows. This is one of those invitations that you just do not turn down. First of all, because the King has invited you, and if the King’s invitation is not enough to convince you, at least you know it is going to be a good party.

We often feel crushed under the weight of the anxieties of our lives and of the world — anxieties that come from personal struggles, family struggles, work struggles. We might worry about a loved one who is sick. We might worry about elderly parents. We worry about children or other family members going down the wrong road. We might be worried that they will harm themselves or be miserable their whole lives. We worry about paying all the bills and providing for everything the family needs. If we did not have enough to be anxious about in our own lives, when we turn on the television or grab our phones, we are bombarded with the bad news of the day: hostile politics, wars raging, violence in the streets, hurricanes and wildfires, and more. There is no doubt that a huge segment of the population nowadays is worried, anxious, and suffering from depression.

In today’s Gospel, the Lord severely scolds some of the chief priests and elders of the people. On the outside many of them looked righteous and holy, but as we know from many passages in the Gospels, the Lord is never fooled by a person who looks holy yet is full of filth on the inside. The Lord is never fooled because His Divine gaze pierces deeply into the hearts of those in front of Him — then and now. He knew those to whom He spoke and He knows each and every one of us. In fact, the Lord knows us even better than we know ourselves.

One of the chores that my little brother and I were given as children by our dad was mowing the lawn. The agreed-upon rate at the time was a whopping $1 each time we mowed the lawn. After several weeks we would have enough money to buy a pack of trading cards at the store.

There came a certain point in my adolescence when I realized that many of my friends at school were making twenty times my measly $1 for cutting the lawn, and so I went to my dad in protest. In typical fatherly fashion, Dad recounted how when he was young, the only money he and his younger brother made cutting grass was from cutting the neighbors’ yards; cutting their own yard was, to quote my grandmother, “the rent for living in her house.”

In my short time as a priest (I will celebrate my fifth anniversary in December), some of the most powerful moments have been accompanying death row inmates at the Polunsky unit in Livingston, Texas. About a year ago, I was able to celebrate Mass with one such inmate the night before his execution. This inmate, Kosoul Chanthakoummane, had been convicted of the murder of Dallas real estate agent Sarah Walker in July of 2006.

I was recently at a local barbershop getting my hair cut when one of the barber’s customers immediately identified me as a priest. As often happens, an interesting conversation — or rather an interesting monologue — ensued: thoughts about problems with contemporary America, the state of public education, the effects of technology and social media on Gen Z and Gen Alpha, etc. The conversation eventually led to our different Christian denominations, and something that this other gentleman in the barbershop said stuck with me. He assured me that one’s particular denomination is of no import, because “God is a God of love.” “Man made religion,” he declared with absolute confidence before correcting himself, “No! The devil made religion!”

Simon, having received his new name “Peter” after his confession of faith at Caesarea Philippi, the “rock on which he will build his Church” (Mt 16:18), almost immediately receives a very different title from Jesus: “Satan.” Jesus, of course, uses this title with its traditional meaning: an “opposer” or “adversary,” telling Simon Peter: “You are a stumbling block (σκάνδαλον) to me, for you are not on the side of God, but of men.” (Mt 16:23) The same disciple who five verses prior was named the “rock” on which Christ would build his church has become a “stumbling block.”