Homily for the Twenty-ninth Sunday in Ordinary Time October 17, 2021

It cannot be that way among you!

To help us understand today’s Scripture, I want to begin with a story from the world of sports. It’s a story about the Olympics that were held in Barcelona in 1992. It was near the end of the men’s four-hundred-meter race when Derrick Redmond of Great Britain suddenly crashed to the track, clutching his right hamstring. Sprawled on the track, Redmond was writhing in pain as the other runners passed him. Inside himself he knew that he had to get up—get up and finish the race. He struggled to his feet and began hopping awkwardly, dragging his injured leg, grimacing in pain.

Television viewers then saw, from the corner of their TV screens, an older man dash past security officials onto the track, running after Redmond. The man attempted to put his arms around the runner, but Redmond pushed him away. But the man continued along with Redmond until the excruciating pain overcame the runner and he slumped into the older man’s arms. The older man helped the runner up. That man was identified as Redmond’s father, Jim. Father and son, arm in arm, continued down the track with the echoing applause supporting them to the finish line. Five minutes later, they crossed the finish line, four minutes and sixteen seconds after the gold medal winner.

When questioned by reporters, the elder Redmond told the gathered press, “I’m more proud of my son than if he had won the race.”

Reporters pointed out that the Redmond’s, father and son, exemplified the Olympic spirit, which according to the founder, Baron de Coubertin in 1896 was: “The most important thing in the Olympic Games is not to win, but to take part; just as the most important thing in life is not the triumph, but the struggle.”

I suppose that our competitiveness, our ardent desire to win, starts early in life. I remember times when a good friend would shout, “I’ll race you to that tree,” and off we’d go, each mustering all our energy to be the winner. And if we lost, we’d tend to say, “I’ll get you next time!”

That appears to be the motivation for James and John, who want to get to the top, winning the plum positions of being Jesus’ left and right hand men—helping to run the organization from the top. And then we have the reaction of the other ten Apostles, who become “indignant” at the brash chutzpa of James and John. Perhaps they, too, wanted to get to the top, and perhaps they were mad that James and John would so deeply want to leave the rest of them in the dust of defeat.

We obviously see the motivation to win in sports. Competition can be a good thing, fun to watch, but competition, with huge amounts of money involved at the professional level and even in college sports, can turn the game into a vicious desire to win at any cost. Then, it seems to me, that games are no longer just “games” if winning is all that matters—no matter how you win, and no matter what you do to your opponents in the process.

One article I read recently laments the many ways in which a “me first” attitude is poisoning relationships. We see it in the nastiness of politics, often without much concern for the real problems of the people that those in public office are supposed to serve. We see it in unfair business practices, where the health and well-being of employees don’t seem to matter and anything that helps you get ahead is justified, even if it is immoral or illegal. And we see it in so many personal relationships that are falling apart because of a “me first” attitude that eats away at the relationship like a cancer.

And what does Jesus say? It cannot be that way among you, who claim to be my followers. That is certainly not my way, and nothing like what I stand for. Instead of worrying about how you are going to get to the top, I want you to look around you and find those who are at the bottom. Instead of worrying about how you can win, I want you to help others to become winners—to be appreciated for who they are, children of God, rather than pawns to be used for your advancement. I want you to be like Jim Redmond, who helped his son to win much more than a gold medal. I want you to be like Mother Teresa, who was never so proud or vain that she would refuse to reach down to the bottom, helping those who were abandoned to the ash heap of society as if they were little more than animals. Life is not about winning at any cost; it is about loving and serving and making life better for others. It’s about honor and valor in sports; it’s about making government fair and just and helpful in politics; in business, it’s about giving people a meaningful job in safe conditions, so they can provide for themselves and their families. If it’s only about winning, then everything, even a healthy sense of competition, gets distorted. It must not be that way among you. You are capable of far better, and you must not abandon the way intended by God.

Like Jesus, we are called to lift others up, to recognize their dignity, and restore them fully as children of the one God.

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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.