A Native American tells the story about a brave who found an eagle’s egg and put it into the nest of a prairie chicken. Once the egg hatched, the eaglet grew up right along with the brood of chicks. All its life the changeling eagle, thinking it was a prairie chicken, did what the other chickens did. It scratched in the dirt for seeds and insects to eat. It clucked and cackled. And it flew in a brief thrashing of its wings and flurry of feathers no more than a few feet off the ground.

One day the changeling saw a magnificent bird soaring far above in the cloudless sky. “What a beautiful bird!” said the changeling to a neighbor. “What is it?” “That’s an eagle—the chief of the birds,” the neighbor clucked. “But don’t give it a second thought. You could never be like him.”

How often we hear, or speak, words of discouragement rather than encouragement. Sometimes, the words we hear or speak can make a world of difference.

Dante Gabriel Rossetti, the famous nineteenth century poet and artist, was approached one day by an elderly man. The old fellow had sketches and drawings that he wanted Rossetti to look at to find out if they were any good. Rossetti looked at the drawings closely and found in the first moments that they were worthless, showing hardly any talent. The visitor was disappointed, but expected the evaluation. Then, he asked if Rossetti would look at another set of drawings—these done by a young art student. This time, Rossetti looked at the drawings with excitement, enthusiastic about the budding talent they revealed. “These are good,” he said. “The young man has obvious talent and should be given every opportunity to study. Who is he?” The visitor responded, "It's me, forty years ago. If only I had heard your praise then. For, you see, I was discouraged and gave up—too soon.”

Let’s now turn to the gospel reading for this Fourth Sunday of Lent, the story of the cure of the man blind from birth. Consider some of the things that are said, either about or to the blind man. Jesus’ disciples ask, “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” Responding to this idea that has been around for a very long time, Jesus says, “Neither he nor his parents sinned; it is so that the works of God might be made visible through him.”

Later, the Pharisees, who are convinced that Jesus is not the Messiah because he has done work that was forbidden on the Sabbath (making a mud paste and smearing it on the man’s eyes), approach. They confront the man, hoping to get further evidence against Jesus. The man, however defends Jesus and says, “This is what is so amazing, that you do not know where he is from, yet he opened my eyes. We know that God does not listen to sinners, but if one is devout and does his will, he listens to him. It is unheard of that anyone ever opened the eyes of a person born blind. If this man were not from God, he would not be able to do anything.” Then the Pharisees respond, “You were born totally in sin, and are you trying to teach us?” The text then tells us that “they threw him out.”

Thus, both the disciples and the Pharisees are blinded by the “wisdom” of the day, as well as their own limited way of seeing. And instead of showing any kind of compassion, they write the blind man off and cast him aside, leaving him at the margins, where he can eke out an existence by begging from the devout in the Temple precincts.

One of the enduring Christian hymns, “Amazing Grace,” has this memorable first verse: “Amazing grace! How sweet the sound, that saved a wretch like me! I once was lost, but now am found. Was blind, but now I see.” The words were written by John Newton, who for many years had been involved in the slave trade. Since the age of eleven, he had lived a life at sea. Sailors were not noted for the refinement of their manners, but Newton had a reputation for profanity, coarseness, and debauchery which even shocked many a sailor. At a certain point, he and his crew were battling a fierce storm, so mighty that Newton had to be tied down so he could still steer the ship and keep it afloat. This experience started him on a new journey. He gave up the slave trade, eventually became a clergyman, and wrote the words of Amazing Grace. He had been blinded by his abhorrent life, unable to see the misery he was causing others—until he was shaken up enough to see that he had become the wretch who needed saving. He had been blind, but now was able to see.

One wonders why John Newton’s life took the turns it did. What were the voices that had led him in such a negative and destructive direction? We all need voices that will guide us, encourage us when we are down, sympathize with us when we are overwhelmed, soothe us when we are frightened, teach us to laugh a bit when we take ourselves too seriously, and inspire us to seek what is good and beautiful and true.

One area of our life that currently seems to have a profound impact on us is the media. The cable news networks feed us, hour after hour, with news that is repeated over and over again. When the binge watching about all the divisions in our society, and now all the ramifications of the corona virus, becomes excessive, it can create a sense of sadness, pessimism and dread. Certainly, we do not want to stick our head in the sand and be ignorant of what is happening. The media remind us that many parts of the world lack the blessings we have, and some of our fellow human beings suffer far more than we do. However, when we have a steady diet of scary information, we have to find a way to distance ourselves from time to time, clear our minds, and make sure that we are not robbed of our inner peace. When we panic and find ourselves tossed about, as if on a stormy sea as John Newton was, or in the grip of a world-wide pandemic, it is then that we need to remember that (as we learned in our previous Lenten readings) we are God’s beloved sons and daughters, that our names are written in the palm of God’s hand, that Jesus came that we might see the goodness of God, and hear once again of his amazing grace…

                        The Lord has promised good to me,

                        His word my hope secures;                

                        He will my shield and portion be

                        As long as life endures.

                        Through many dangers toils, and snares,

                        I have already come;

                        ‘Tis grace has brought me safe thus far,

                        And grace will lead me home.

Finally, let me share a story about an experiment that a young man tried (I recently came across this on YouTube). The young man, pretending to be blind, approached random passersby and asked if they had change for a five dollar bill. But instead of holding a $5 bill, he offered them $50. Sadly, some took the fifty and silently walked away. Others, however, apparently believed that it was wrong to take advantage of a blind person, and they pointed out his error. I would hope that in the midst of our fears about the corona virus we not lose our moral bearings. Instead of thinking only of ourselves, let us remember that we are in this together on a world-wide scale, and the commandments to love are not suspended by trying circumstances. By thinking of, praying for, and assisting others, we can place our own fears in a broader perspective.

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Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter April 26, 2026

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Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026

By Charlene Currie • April 25, 2026
Born to Look … Learning to See Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026 The scoutmaster used to take his troops on hikes along wilderness nature trails. After each hike he would challenge the scouts to describe what they had observed on their excursion. The boys invariably hadn’t seen a fraction of what the scoutmaster had seen. He would wave his arms in great circles and shout, “Creation is all around you, but you are blocking it out. Stop wearing your raincoat in the shower. You were born to look, but you have to learn to see.” You were born to look, but you have to learn to see. One of the questions that always arises about today’s gospel passage is: Why didn’t the two disciples recognize Jesus? Let’s spend some time reflecting on the possibilities. One obvious answer is that they were disheartened. Their lives are at their lowest point. They are sad and confused. The one they had pinned their hopes on had been humiliated and crucified in a horrible way. How could such a disaster be anything but a total defeat? How could a Messiah, or Savior, allow himself to be beaten and put to death? In addition, the two disciples are probably terrorized, full of fear. The leaders of the people, both religious and political, had made their point. Anyone who rocks the boat and challenges authority will be dealt with swiftly and brutally. If the two were recognized as followers of Jesus, his fate could also be theirs. Let me share another story with you, a story which shows how expectations can color what we see and experience. ---------------------------------- A young man from a wealthy family was about to graduate from high school. It was the custom in his affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate a car as a graduation present. Bill and his father spent months looking at cars, and the week before graduation they found the perfect one. Bill was certain that the car would be his on graduation night. Imagine Bill’s disappointment when, on the eve of the big day, his father handed him a gift-wrapped Bible! Bill was so angry, he hurled the Bible across the room and stormed out of the house, vowing never to return again. Bill and his father never saw each other again. Yet it was the news of his father’s death that brought Bill back home again. One night, as he sat going through his father’s possessions that he was to inherit, Bill came across the Bible that his father had given him. He brushed away the dust and opened it to find a cashier’s check, dated the day of his graduation—for the exact amount of the car they had chosen together. ------------------------------- As the scoutmaster said, “You are born to look, but you have to learn to see.” What does today’s gospel passage want us to learn to see? One obvious answer is that the privileged place to encounter Jesus is in the celebration of the Eucharist, or Mass. In the gospel Jesus does two things: he interprets the Scriptures and how they apply to him; and he “breaks bread” with the two disciples. We thus have the two halves of the Mass: the liturgy of the word and the liturgy of the Eucharist. The Bible is telling us where to look, and it is teaching us to learn to see. Like the cashier’s check in the Bible, Jesus’ presence is not always obvious or straightforward. So, where and how should we look? The first place is the Bible. We need to take time to read God’s word slowly, savor it, and allow it to speak to us. If you are having difficulty, a commentary will help. Turning to those who know the Bible better that we do, and asking for clarifications and advice, will also help. The second place of encounter with Jesus is the Eucharist. The mystery of Emmaus is that the disciples recognize Jesus in the “breaking of bread,” which was one of the phrases used for the celebration of the Eucharist. Try to enter the Mystery more and more by giving yourself totally, without distractions, to each part of the Mass. Savor what it means to gather with open minds and hearts; to listen to the message of Scripture, the inspired word of God; to take the message of the homily home with you and reflect on it; to ask for forgiveness and to pray for peace; to intercede for our needs and the needs of the whole world; to receive our Lord mindfully, and not just hurry through the motions. Finally, in the Emmaus story, Jesus approaches his people who are depressed, disappointed and broken-hearted. At first, they do not recognize him. But as they listen more and more, their hearts start to burn within them. So, another way to experience the presence of Jesus Christ is to do as he did, to find value in what he taught and how he acted. He clearly said that he could be found in the poor and vulnerable: I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was naked, and you clothed me; I was ill, or in prison, or lonely, and you visited me. Today’s gospel gives us a blueprint for encountering Jesus and feeling his presence. But we have to give ourselves to it wholeheartedly. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see. The Bible has a treasure in it, and it’s not a cashier’s check. The Eucharist has a presence in it, and it’s something more than bread. The people around us are children of God. They have a spark of the divine within them. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see.

Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026

By Charlene Currie • April 25, 2026
Will You Still Need Me? Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026 One hot summer afternoon a woman was working strenuously, weeding her flower beds and pruning the plants. The flowers were especially magnificent. A passerby asked, “I really like those flowers—do you?” As she wiped perspiration from her face with a dirty hand, the woman’s weary response was, “Only when they bloom.” The passerby thought how many folks have a similar attitude toward church, family, work, or life in general—“I only like it when it is in full bloom and beautiful.” The passerby thought of those necessary times of hard work—mulching, weeding, cultivating, pruning and transplanting—as well as seasonal dormancy, which are all necessary to bring about the blooms which precede the bearing of seeds and fruit. --------------------------------- I mentioned during one of my homilies during Holy Week that I was always bothered that the risen Jesus, with his risen body, still had the wounds. I compared it to buying a shiny, brand-new car, and insisting that there be dents on the fenders and leaks in the engine. As I thought about it more and more, however, I came to understand that the wounds were there for a purpose. In the case of Thomas, the wounds were the evidence he needed. But, beyond that, the wounds serve as a reminder that Jesus’ love for us is total, down to the last drop of blood. The wounds help preserve the memory of how painful true love can be. It’s easy to love that which is perfect and beautiful, is it not? But Jesus chose to show us a love of that which is less than perfect, and clearly not beautiful. Perhaps the clearest example of that is that he was there for the lepers of his day, those who had a contagious disease that rotted their flesh and forced them to live in isolation. But it was true of others, as well. Jesus went out of his way to embrace public sinners, foreigners, enemies, even those who were involved in putting him to death. From the cross he prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” The risen body of Jesus, still bearing the wounds, means that our Lord is present in a special way to those who are wounded: those with cancer or another life-threatening disease, those who have lost a loved one, those who have been bullied, those carrying the wounds of a failed relationship, those who feel they cannot be forgiven, those who know they are less than perfect. Jesus is there for those living with the daily threat of war, terrorism, violence, domestic abuse, betrayal. In short, the less than perfect resurrected body of Jesus means that now, as then, he is present in a special way to those who are less than perfect. ------------------------------------------------ I was reminded of an early hit by the Beatles. Do you remember a song entitled When I’m Sixty-Four, released in June 1967? Here are some of the lyrics: When I get older, losing my hair Many years from now, Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I'd been out till quarter to three, Would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? Ooh … I could be handy mending a fuse When your lights have gone. You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday mornings, go for a ride. Doing the garden, digging the weeds, Who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? -------------------------------------------------- In a similar way, Jesus’ wounds remind us that he’s not a fair-weather friend, only there for the good times. He’s there, always, and especially when we’re wounded. So, if you’re struggling, if you’re dealing with something painful, don’t run away. Don’t make the mistake of thinking the Lord doesn’t understand, or care. Instead, go to the wounds. Allow yourself to feel what true love is like when you need it the most.