Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter May 8, 2022

Hearing the Shepherd’s voice

Let me begin with a story. One day a newly installed pastor walked around the streets of his new parish to acquaint himself with the people of the neighborhood. One of his first stops was at the local shoemaker’s shop.

The pastor talked to the cobbler, using, at times, some lofty theological language. The cobbler replied with keen understanding and deep spiritual insight that left the pastor astonished. “You shouldn’t be cobbling shoes,” stated the pastor. “A man with your understanding and clear manner of expressing those thoughts should not be doing such menial work.”

The cobbler was quick to reply, “Pastor, you better take that back now!” “Take what back?” asked the pastor.

“Take back,” responded the cobbler, “that I’m doing menial, secular work. Do you see that pair of boots on the shelf? They belong to the son of Widow Smith, whose husband died last year. She’s supported by her only child, who manages to keep a roof over their heads by working outdoors every day. I hear bad weather is in the forecast, and I felt the Lord saying to me, ‘Will you cobble Widow Smith’s boy some shoes so he won’t catch cold and come down with some sickness?’ I replied, ‘Certainly, Lord, I will.’”

Looking at the pastor, the cobbler said, “Pastor, you preach your sermons under God’s direction, I trust. And I will cobble that boy’s boots under God’s direction. Then, one day, when the final rewards are given out, the Harvest Master will say to you and to me the same approving pronouncement—‘ Well done, my good and faithful servant.’”

In today’s gospel Jesus says, “My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me.” Sometimes, we can make following Jesus something high-falutin and important sounding, and somehow separated from everyday life. Sometimes, we limit the word “vocation” to a calling within the Church to the priesthood or the religious life. But the story of the cobbler and the pastor reminds us that, no matter what we are doing, we can bring God into our everyday life by listening to the voice of the Shepherd and allowing his words make a difference in how we do things.

Recently, I came across a rewording of Jesus’ teaching of the Beatitudes—a wording that helps to bring the high-sounding words of the Bible down into the everyday. Here are a few examples…

Blessed are they who grieve for the lost and struggle to cope and continue—the single parent trying to raise a family alone, the mother or father who keep an open heart and outreached hand to the wayward son or daughter—for they shall be comforted.

Blessed are they who find their joy in the happiness of others—the devoted parent, the dedicated teacher—for they shall inherit the earth.

Blessed are they who manage to see beyond their own interests and needs to the greater common good and their responsibility to others—for they shall be satisfied.

Blessed are they who treat classmates, coworkers and employees with respect and dignity, who remember that they have been forgiven by a compassionate God and readily extend forgiveness and compassion to others—for they shall receive mercy.

Blessed are the peacemakers, those who possess that rare gift for bringing people together when anger and selfishness threaten to drive them apart, who readily take the first step in forgiving and being reconciled with others, who bring healing to those who have been hurt, forgotten or marginalized—for they are the sons and daughters of God.

And, as we celebrate Mother’s Day, who does these things better than mothers? Here’s one story, one tribute to mothers…

The harried young mother was beside herself when the telephone rang, and she heard with relief the kindly voice on the line, “Hi, sweetheart. How are you?”

“Oh Mother,” she said, breaking into tears, “it’s been an awful day. The baby won’t eat, the dishwasher broke down. I tripped up the stairs and sprained my ankle. I haven’t had a chance to go shopping and the house is a mess. And to top it off, we’re having company for dinner tonight.”

“There, there, darling, everything will be all right,” the soothing voice on the line said. “Now sit down, relax, and close your eyes. I’ll be over in half an hour. I’ll pick up a few things and cook dinner for you. I’ll take care of the house and feed the baby. Also, I’ll call a repairman I know who will be at your house to fix the washer this afternoon. Now stop crying. In fact, I’ll call George at the office and tell him to come home early.”

“George?” the distraught wife exclaimed. “Who’s George?”

“Why, George…you know, George, your husband!”

“But my husband’s name is Frank.”

A brief pause ensued, then the voice hesitantly asked, “Excuse me, is this 555-1758?” A tearful reply said, “No, this is 555-17 8 8.”

“Oh, my, what a dreadful mistake,” apologized the embarrassed voice on the phone. “I’m so terribly sorry. I must have dialed the wrong number.”

Another brief pause before the would-be daughter asked, “Does this mean you’re not coming over?”

To all mothers, who hear the Shepherd’s voice and follow him…Happy Mother’s Da

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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.