Homily for the Third Sunday of Lent March 8, 2026

Love, Like Water, Needs to Flow.

Homily for the Third Sunday of Lent

March 8, 2026

Today’s gospel about the woman at the well and the importance of water reminded me of an interesting experience I had in Israel many years ago.

The Sea of Galilee and the Dead Sea are both formed from the same supply of water. It flows down, clear and cool, from Mount Hermon. The Sea of Galilee makes beauty of its water, for the sea has an outlet. It gets to give. It gathers in its riches that it may pour them out again to fertilize the Jordan plain.

The Dead Sea, on the other hand, with the same source of refreshing water, is desolate, for the Dead Sea has no outlet. I had the interesting experience of “swimming” in the Dead Sea. Because of the particular makeup of the water, you can’t sink! Unfortunately, someone near me kicked the water, and I got it in my eye. All the salt made my eye burn, and I had nothing un-salty to clear the water from my eye.

In today’s gospel we have John’s extensive story of the Samaritan woman at the well. Note, first, that she goes to the well all by herself at noon, during the hottest part of the day. All the others would have gone in the cool of the early morning to get their water. Evidently, because of her past, she was being shunned by the people of the town.

During the course of the conversation, Jesus, in effect, holds up a mirror to the woman. He makes clear that he knows her entire story. He cares enough about her to make sure that he, too, is there at the wrong time of day, in the scorching heat.

You might say that, when the woman arrives, she is like the Dead Sea: all the sins of her past, all the pains of her present, are locked up inside her like a swamp with no exit. She probably arrives, thinking that, because of her past, she really doesn’t have much of a future.

As the conversation continues, some amazing things begin to happen. The woman comes to realize that she doesn’t need to be imprisoned by her past. Jesus, even with a detailed knowledge of her past, is patient, gentle and forgiving. He allows her to forgive herself, to reclaim her God-given dignity, and to see an entirely different future. And at the same time that she comes to know who she really is, she comes gradually to know who Jesus is—not only the one that knew even her darkest secrets, but the Messiah who was to bring light, life and salvation to the human race.

So, the swamp flows out of the woman because new water, flowing and life giving, is restoring and healing her soul. And she is so transformed that, rather than hiding in shame from her neighbors, she now brings the good news to them. The life she has is no longer locked up in the past, it flows with gratitude and new possibilities. And it is so strong, so beautiful, it has to be proclaimed, it has to be shared—even with those who had despised and judged her harshly. They were no longer her tormentors; they were neighbors worthy of the same love she had been shown by Jesus—not recrimination or revenge.

What strikes me about this whole story is how powerful and life-changing Jesus’ love can be. He heals the woman who, in turn, helps heal the entire town. There is both a personal and a communal aspect to sin and forgiveness. Each of us, individually, can be clogged like the Dead Sea, imprisoned by a sinful past and present. To have a truly radiant and joyful future, we have to drain the swamp.

The same is true on a larger scale. Society as a whole can lose its way. Things that had never been acceptable before are now the victims of compromise. Moral standards, which helped to make life in community possible, and which trained the young in civic and personal virtue, can be corrupted. So, what’s to be done? We need to do what the woman did when freed from her past. We need the life-giving water to flow through us and out into the world. We may not be able to do big things, impacting an entire nation, but we can make a difference, one life at a time. If we want to be healed, we need to be healers. If we want to experience peace, then we need to be peaceable. If we have encountered the One who knows us completely, and still loves us, that’s incredibly good news that needs to spread. Do you feel healed, forgiven, loved? If so, spread the healing, the forgiveness, and the love! Love can’t be a dead end. It needs to flow.

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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.