Homily for Holy Thursday, April 1, 2021

Praise of those who serve: the saints next door

Homily for Holy Thursday

April 1, 2021

A woman was asked by a teacher to tutor a boy who was in the hospital, so that he could keep up with his schoolwork. The woman agreed. When she got to the hospital, she discovered that the child was in the burn unit. She tried to tutor him the best she could, stumbling through an English lesson, ashamed at putting him through such a senseless exercise.

The next day, when she returned to the hospital, a nurse asked her, “What did you do to that boy?” Before the woman could apologize for the mess she had made, the nurse interrupted her: “You don’t understand. His entire attitude has changed. It’s as though he’s decided to live!”

When the boy was asked what had changed, he explained that he had completely given up hope until this young woman had arrived. With joyful tears, he explained, “They wouldn’t send a tutor to work on nouns and verbs with a dying boy, would they?”

Sometimes, we are invited into people’s lives and into places and events that, on the surface, have no meaning or purpose to us. We ask ourselves, what are we doing here? What purpose do we have here? Often we define our lives by what we can see or understand. We forget that we are part of something larger than ourselves.

Something like that happens to the disciples in today’s gospel reading—and especially to Peter. Peter was a man of traditional values. He knew his place. He was the student, and Jesus was the rabbi. Peter’s place was to listen—and if he could do some small service for his master, he would do it, out of respect and deference.

Then he looks down and sees Jesus kneeling in front of him, probably with his hand outstretched, wanting to wash Peter’s feet. Peter reacts according to the way he sees the world, according to what is “normal”.

Now, to understand this more fully, let me ask you: What do you think of when you see a pitcher, a basin and a towel? Maybe you’ve used a basin and a towel in your home. A child who is sick has thrown up, and you have to clean up the mess. A dog has made a mess on the floor, and you have to take care of it. Or maybe you’ve been in a hospital in a condition of weakness and illness, and a nurse comes with a basin and a towel to wash you—something you’ve been doing perfectly well for yourself all your life. A basin and a towel are humbling—are they not? That’s the situation Peter finds himself in, on a grand scale. Jesus, the eternal Son of God and about to be Savior of the world, wants to wash Peter’s feet. It’s embarrassing, and unnecessary, and unseemly, and Peter wants none of it. I think we can understand Peter’s discomfort. The same sort of thing happened when Pope Francis first became Pope. Instead of washing the symbolic feet of twelve priests, which had been the custom, he went to a youth detention center, and he started washing real feet of young incarcerated people, males and females, Muslims as well as Christians…and it caused quite a stir.

During the past year, we have (in a sense) had our feet washed in a way we never did before. I’m thinking of so-called “essential workers” who were forced to work, exposing themselves to a virus that we didn’t know much about. I’m talking about doctors, nurses, other healthcare workers, first responders, supermarket cashiers, those at the wheel of a garbage truck, mail delivery people, meat packers, vegetable pickers and bus drivers. While many of us stayed safely at home, they served us in a way that enabled us to survive. They are the unsung heroes, the “saints next door,” as Pope Francis called them, who gave tremendous service and washed our feet, serving our needs.

The fact that Jesus does it is a game changer of epic proportions. It reverses the normal way we look at things and invites us to turn our usual thinking about what is important upside down. Jesus came to serve, not to be served. And he invites us to get down from the high horse of privilege and supremacy of any kind, and to imitate him. Even those closest to him, including Peter, had a hard time understanding or dealing with this.

Perhaps when Jesus was nailed to a cross, showing that there is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for a friend, Peter began to understand. The Roman centurion understood. He knew what it was like to, in effect, lie down on a grenade, giving one’s life to save one’s comrades, one’s buddies, one’s loved ones. Mary and the other women who stood at the foot of the cross most likely understood because they knew what it was to serve, not just out of necessity, but of love.

The advice columnist Ann Landers was once asked, “What question are you asked most often?” She responded, “People ask: Why am I so lonely, so depressed?” And what advice does she give? To get involved. To find someone who needs help, perhaps someone who is worse off than you are, and help that person. And you know what? It works. People who are intent on loving and serving others tend to forget their own problems, or at least, see them in a wider context. Serving others, offering humble love, can bring healing.

It is interesting to note that on this Holy Thursday, when we remember the institution of the Eucharist, that we do not have a gospel reading from one of the other evangelists, who describe the beginnings of the Eucharist at the Last Supper. Instead, we have John’s gospel about the washing of feet. The two types of accounts actually fit together quite well. In the Eucharist we remember and re-create the profound act of Jesus’ great love and service: the Bread that is broken is the flesh that is pierced, lacerated and broken on the cross. The Chalice, which holds the pooled Blood of Christ, recalls the blood that was pooled at the foot of the cross. We are called to, and asked to share in, this great act of love: the sacrificing of self, the forgetting of self, so that we can serve others in love. Jesus led the way and showed us how, and he invites us to do the same.

Normally, on Holy Thursday we have the washing of feet to recall what Jesus did. But this year because of covid-19 restrictions, we can’t do that. But that ritual is actually a symbol of the real washing of feet, when we act like Jesus by serving others in love, surprising others because, like Jesus, we are willing to turn the world upside down and to serve rather than selfishly making ourselves the center of attention.

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Father's Homilies

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.