Homily for the Eleventh Sunday in Ordinary Time June 13, 2021

Taking a look at the two “bibles”

Spiritual writers down through the centuries have observed that we have, in effect, two “bibles”—two distinct ways in which God is revealed to us. Of course, the Scriptures make up the Bible we know and love. But long before the written Word, God is revealed in what God has done in creation. All you have to do is know how to look. That’s what I’d like to explore today in light of today’s gospel.

There’s a particular rose bush in our rose gardens that I find fascinating. When the bud appears, it’s a little, tiny thing, about a quarter of a fingernail. But then it opens and opens, and has so many layers of petals that it actually looks crowded. And I wonder how on earth does that happen? Are all those layers somehow there in the bud, in miniature? I suppose that botanists probably have figured out that there’s some kind of rose DNA that has it all mapped out, and all the rosebush has to do is follow the map! But to me, it’s still a wonder. And I think that’s why I enjoy working in the gardens so much: they are just full of wonder and they make me feel like Adam and Eve must have felt when they were given the super-perfect garden called Eden to live in. When I stop long enough to smell the roses, to really take note of what’s happening, I feel connected to the Creator of it all—a very awesome God.

The gift of wonder and awe is considered one of the ways in which we can come to a powerful sense of the presence of God. In addition to working in the garden, astronomy is another pathway in which I have gazed in awe at creation. Consider: it takes a little over eight minutes for the light of the sun to travel to the earth at 186,000 miles per second. The light traveling at that same speed from the next nearest star takes 4 ½ years to get here! I googled “how many stars are there in the Milky Way galaxy”. Try it. The answer I got was 400 billion! How do you even begin to deal with a number like that?

In a recent newspaper article there was a story about astronomers who are studying super-bright bursts of energy from gamma rays (different than x-rays). According to the article, a ten-second burst of these gamma rays releases more energy than the sun would release in ten billion years! The God of creation simply becomes more awesome the more I learn from the science that studies the cosmos.

Jesus’ teaching in today’s gospel, I believe, falls into a similar category. He’s talking to every-day people about something that was very familiar to them. How does a little seed turn into a plant, or a bush, or a huge tree? In our day, scientists study these things and come up with explanations or hypotheses about how they work. But does that really take away from the wonder and awe that you can feel in the presence of the “miracle” of that kind of growth?

Many parents will tell you that they feel this kind of reverent awe at the birth of their child. I often speak about the awesome mathematics involved in that birth: 1 + 1 = 3! It’s like a window opening to heaven, giving us a hint that points to God. The power of human beings to create a new human being is the closest we humans come to the creative power of God.

One of the Psalms, Psalm 19, speaks of creation’s power to reveal. It begins, “The heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament proclaims his handiwork.”

Now, to get to the point of today’s Scripture. Jesus’ teaching in today’s gospel are meant to reassure his followers that God is at work in their lives. Particularly in dark or challenging times, when we may feel small or insignificant or overlooked, like a tiny mustard seed, that is precisely when we need to trust in God, who works mysteriously but lovingly for our good. We cannot understand fully the processes of growth in nature, or the powerful forces present in our universe, but they nonetheless point to an awesome God with incredible creative power who loves us beyond our ability to imagine. Jesus taught often that, in the face of adversity, fear is useless; what is needed is trust.

Finally, consider the beautiful cycle of nature that, if you look closely, has a revelatory power. Each winter, the trees all around us look “dead”—having been stripped of their foliage. But each spring new life buds forth once again. It is our faith that something similar happened with Jesus. On Good Friday he was, indeed, dead. But on Easter, life exploded, and Jesus lives, never to die again. The mystery of life and death throughout creation points to the Mystery of life that never ends. Thus, the two “bibles” mesh, revealing the incredible, powerful love of God.

< Older Post

Newer Post >

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.