Homily for the Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time March 2, 2025

Where Is Your Faith in All This?

Today I want to do something different, mainly because several members of our community have told me about the anxiety they are feeling in light of everything that’s going on in our nation.

We should note that there are several news reports in recent days that are challenging and depressing. Here’s what I mean (from local newspapers this past week):

· Why have abortions increased despite bans?

· Donald Trump believes Putin will keep his word, and is quoted as saying, “We had to go through the Russian hoax together.”

· Tariffs on Canada and Mexico will go into effect Tuesday, and the 10% tariff on goods from China will be doubled. As a result, the “global economy is in turmoil,” and there are concerns about inflation worsening and auto sector possibly hurting

· HUD proposed budget cuts could be felt here, homeless providers say

· Measles outbreak totally avoidable

· Former defense chiefs call for hearting on firing of military leaders

· USAID (Agency for International Development) … 90% of contracts are being terminated

· Talks between President Trump and President Zelenskyy end in shouting match

· Student loans questionable

I want to emphasize that I’m not looking at all of this solely in political terms, but on the human effects of policy, and the moral issues being raised.

Let me focus in depth on one issue by way of example and analysis. The other day my cousin, who lives in rural New Hampshire, told me that immigration authorities went into a local restaurant and took away three Hispanic men who were working there.

I said, “I’ll bet the community is up in arms about that?” “No,” he said, “most people in this area are cheering that it was done.”

I’ve thought a lot about that. I tried to imagine the possible consequences of such an act. I tried to imagine that I was an eight-year-old boy, and that one of those men was my father. Earlier that day he had dropped me off at school. He said, “Study hard, because that’s the way you get ahead in life. I love you.” “Love you, too, dad,” I responded.

Then I tried to imagine what it would feel like to return to my home later that day, and find my mother in tears. “They’ve taken your dad,” she says, “and we have no idea where.”

In last week’s gospel, Jesus taught, “Do not judge, and you will not be judged. Do not condemn, and you will not be condemned. Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”

Well, I want to take another look at that. Certainly, I don’t want to set myself up as judge and jury of what other people are thinking, or why they act as they act. That kind of judgement belongs to God, for God sees the heart, and I only see the appearances.

But what about actions? What about when a man working in a restaurant is suddenly taken away and a family is broken up? What should I say to the man’s eight-year-old son? What should I think about the neighbors, some of whom who are presumably Christians, that they should feel gleeful, and rejoice that three men and three families are impacted, maybe forever?

While I don’t presume to judge someone else’s conscience, I still need to ask questions about actions such as this that are being taken. And I feel that I need to bring the perspective of God, the teaching of Jesus Christ, and the guidance of the Church to bear on how I answer.

A couple of weeks ago, I took a look at the deportation issue, and I shared parts of a very strongly worded letter by Pope Francis to the American bishops. Because of snowstorms, many of you missed that. Here’s a part of Pope Francis’ guidance:

Pope Francis recently sent a strongly worded letter to the Catholic bishops of the United States in which he denounced the mass deportation of migrants…The letter also stated that Francis disagrees with identifying the illegal status of migrants with criminality, and called on the bishops to “walk together” and defend the human dignity of the migrants in their country. He told the bishops that “the rightly formed conscience cannot fail to make a critical judgment and express its disagreement with any measure that tacitly or explicitly identifies the illegal status of some migrants with criminality…. The act of deporting people who in many cases have left their own land for reasons of extreme poverty, insecurity, exploitation, persecution or serious deterioration of the environment, damages the dignity of many men and women, and of entire families, and places them in a state of particular vulnerability and defenselessness…. The act of deportation is not a minor issue.” He emphasized that “an authentic rule of law is verified precisely in the dignified treatment that all people deserve especially the poorest and most marginalized.”

The dignified treatment that all people deserve especially the poorest and most marginalized!

There’s the love God is looking for. There’s the compassion. There’s what Jesus would say and do. He certainly wouldn’t be gleeful with mass deportations and the destruction of families.

I want to be clear. I’m not doing a political analysis. I’m doing a moral appraisal. There are certain things that should not, cannot, be done simply because you have the power to do so. When you watch the news or read the newspaper, be aware of what’s going on. And remember to ask: Where’s the love? Where’s the compassion? Where’s the humanity? That’s what God asks of us. We shouldn’t just go blindly along and support actions that are clearly immoral and inhumane.

One final note. What to do if you are feeling stressed. Many years ago, the great psychiatrist Karl Meninger was asked what to do if you feel a nervous breakdown coming on. He said we should get up, get out of the house, cross the railroad tracks, and find a person worse off than you, and do something to help that person.

In other words, don’t just stew about it. Get your feelings out, talk with others, write down what you are feeling in a journal, contact your congress people, look for demonstrations taking place.

To all of this I would add: do you remember the Gospel story about the disciples in the boat? Jesus is fast asleep after a tough day of teaching and healing. A storm arises, and the disciples are afraid that they will drown. In a panic, they finally remember that Jesus is in the boat with them. They wake him and ask, “Don’t you care that we’re going to perish?” Jesus calmly calms the storm, and asks, “Where is your faith? Why are you terrified?” So… place yourself in that boat. Remember who’s there with you. Talk to him about your fears and listen to what he says. Where is your faith in all this?

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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.