Lobsters & Leprosy

I recently read an interesting story about some people who were at the seashore, watching some lobsters that had been brought in, in a bucket. They noted the strangest thing. From time to time, one of the lobsters would start to climb its way out of the bucket. But then, inevitably, one of the other lobsters would grab ahold of the one trying to escape and haul it back in.

 

The odd thing is that the lobsters probably could have escaped from that bucket, if not on their own, at least with a little help from one of the others. But instead of helping, they kept pulling each other down.

 

Two of our readings today deal with a subject that is not a normal part of our experience: leprosy. The first, from Leviticus, a book that contains various laws and codes, sets out how leprosy was to be dealt with. If there was a suspicious scab or blotch on the skin, the person was to be presented to the priests, who were the experts for dealing with the issue at that time.

 

We have now experienced what it is like to have a highly contagious, lethal disease in our midst, namely COVID. We had a taste of how much our lives were changed, and how careful we had to be. So, maybe we can begin to imagine what the lepers of biblical times felt like. The instructions in Leviticus are quite severe: “The one who bears the sore of leprosy shall keep his garments rent and his head bare, and shall muffle his beard; he shall cry out, ‘Unclean, unclean!’….He shall dwell apart, making his abode outside the camp.”

 

Now, turning to the Gospel, a leper approaches Jesus, and says something very humble and low-key: “If you wish, you can make me clean.” If you wish? The problem was that it was not allowed to touch or have any kind of contact with a leper. Doing so would not only endanger yourself, but it would also make you technically unclean, and you would have to go into isolation yourself (like we had to if a family member or someone we were in contact with developed COVID).

 

Mark is very specific in his description of what happens. “Moved with pity, he [Jesus] stretched out his hand, touched him, and said to him, ‘I do will it. Be made clean.’ The leprosy left him immediately, and he was made clean.” Jesus risked touching the outcast, but out of compassion touched and healed him, nonetheless.

 

Now you may wonder what all this has to do with my story about lobsters. Well, here’s the point. Sometimes, it’s easy to treat someone who is different from us like a leper. Whatever issue you consider these days, people seem to be divided. Gay people/straight people, democrats/republicans, Kansas City Chiefs/San Francisco Forty-niners, pro-life/pro-choice, getting vaccines/not getting vaccines, people with homes/homeless people, middle class/poor people, skinny people/fat people, people with good complexions…well you get the idea. It’s very easy to start treating certain people like lepers just because they are different. And lots of times, we become like the lobsters, pulling each other down, rather than building each other up.

 

Today’s gospel shows that Jesus wasn’t like that. Rather than dividing, he built community. Rather than putting up walls, he created bridges. Rather than humiliating the outcasts, he embraced them. Rather than putting people down, he loved them. And he taught us to do the same. Now I know that a lot of people like lobsters, right? What I’m suggesting is that we should eat them, but not act like them.

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Father's Homilies

By Charlene Currie May 7, 2026
Building Bridges, Not Walls. Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter April 26, 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. 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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.
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.