Our highest ideal & our greatest gift

I recently read a fascinating story about a great violinist named Nicolo Paganini. Paganini left his exquisite violin to the city of Genoa, the place of his birth, but on one condition—that the instrument never be played again. As it turned out, this was very unfortunate because it is a characteristic of wood that as long as it is used and handled, it shows little decline in quality. However, as soon as it is set aside or put into storage, it begins to decay. So the fabulous, mellow-toned violin gradually became worm-eaten in its gorgeous case, no longer any good except as a relic.

 

The author of the story points out that this is true of our gifts and talents: they are meant to be used, not treasures to be stored up. Just as Paganini’s stored violin rotted, the same thing can happen when a life is withdrawn from love and service to others—it loses its meaning.

 

An inspiring story of love is to be found in the German city of Weinsberg. Overlooking the city is a mighty fortress, and when one visits the city, the people are proud to tell a famous legend associated with that fortress. In the 15 th century, enemy troops laid siege to the fortress and sealed all the townspeople inside. The enemy commander sent word up to the fortress announcing that he would allow the women and children to leave and go free before he launched a devastating attack on the fortress.

 

After some negotiations, the enemy commander also agreed, on his word of honor, to let each woman to take with her the most valuable, personal treasure she possessed, provided she could carry it out herself (it was an age of honor and chivalry).

 

You can imagine the enemy commander’s surprise when the women began marching out of the fortress, each one carrying her husband on her back. Now that’s love being put into practice!

 

Some people might be surprised that, when Jesus is asked what he believed was the greatest commandment, he did not quote one of the famous Ten Commandments. But what he is doing is pointing to something even more basic, something that underlies the Ten Commandments: love of God above all, and love of neighbor as oneself. The first three of those commandments are more concrete and specific ways of loving God, of not allowing love for God to die: we are to have no other gods; we are not to abuse or misuse the name of God; and we are to honor the Lord’s Day and make it a special time of rest and worship. The other seven commandments spell out in a more specific way the means by which we keep our love of neighbor real and concrete, making a shared and meaningful life in society possible: no killing; no adultery; no stealing; no bearing false witness; no lusting after persons and things that do not belong to you.

 

In all these ways, we put love into practice, exercising our ability to love and keeping love real—more than a mere sentiment. By focusing on love above all else, the bottom line of what Jesus is saying is that the one thing we are not allowed to do is to hate .

 

Now, you might argue that all this talk about love sounds nice—in the abstract. But we live in a complex, confusing and imperfect world. Isn’t this commandment to love naïve and, at least in some cases, impractical if not impossible?

 

Well, let me share one more story. Perhaps you’re familiar with Maximilian Kolbe, a Polish Franciscan priest, who was arrested and made a prisoner in the Auschwitz death-camp during the Second World War. I’ll jump right to the heart of the story. In July of 1941, it was reported to the deputy camp commander that a prisoner from St. Maximilian’s barracks had escaped. In order to set an example, and to prevent further escapes, the standard procedure was to have the commander of the barracks single out ten men for the starvation bunker. Father Maximilian, although not among the ten first selected, volunteered, in a heroic act of charity, to be the victim in place of a prisoner who cried out: “My poor wife; my poor children!” The result of this self-offering was that Father Maximilian would be assigned to the infamous starvation bunker where he would slowly but surely die. At that precise moment, it can be said that Kolbe attained full conformity to Jesus, the Victim of the Cross; for there is “no greater love than this, that a man lays down his life for his friend” (Jn 15:12).

 

Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t think I would have that kind of courage. But I certainly have seen love being shown in difficult circumstances. I’ve seen love in the heroic example of mothers who won’t let harm come to their children. I’ve seen love in the tender way a person takes care of a seriously ill or dying spouse. I’ve seen love in those who step in and try to defuse a potentially deadly situation. And I’ve seen love in countless acts of compassion and kindness. All these acts of love, heroic or otherwise, help to keep me trying—trying to love in times of fear and cynicism, abuse and violence, division and outright hate. Such acts of love keep Jesus’ vision of the world alive—a world founded upon, and anchored in, the very love of God. We have been created in love and for love. Love is our heritage and our destiny. It may not be easy, but it is our highest ideal, our greatest gift, and our most important commandment.

 

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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
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