Readings 110925
Blessed be God.
Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
Come, Holy Spirit—fill us with joy.
Set our hearts ablaze with your presence.
I don’t usually give history lessons, but today is the Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica.
How many of us know the story?
In the early 3rd century, Constantine was emperor of Rome.
He married a woman from the Laterani family, and the palace—what we now call the Lateran Basilica—was part of her dowry.
At the time, Constantine wasn’t a follower of Christ.
But his mother was.
A good Catholic woman named Helena.
A saint.
In 312, Constantine gave that palace to the Church.
And in 313, he issued the Edict of Milan—granting freedom of worship to all religions, including Christianity.
Before that, the Church met in secret—
In catacombs.
In homes.
In silence.
Some say Constantine started the Catholic Church.
But let’s be clear:
Neither a building nor the words of an emperor build the temple of God.
The foundation was already laid—
In Christ.
Who sent his apostles and disciples out to proclaim the Gospel.
The problem is, we like to think everything is human-made.
We define ourselves by what we own.
What we build.
What we control.
I could say I am the two houses I own.
Both need attention.
The paint is chipped.
The roofs are weathered.
The driveways—cracked and worn.
In this worldly view, I do what I can—
A little paint here.
Some foundation work there.
But before I move on—physically or spiritually—
I know I’ll need to make some real repairs to my foundation.
I weigh the cost.
I look at the time it will take.
I make decisions.
But I know the truth.
And today, as we celebrate this feast,
Paul’s words echo deep in my soul:
“Each one must be careful how he builds,
for no one can lay a foundation other than the one that is there—
namely, Jesus Christ.” (1 Corinthians 3:10–11)
That truth changes everything.
My life isn’t built on my budget.
Not on my timeline.
Not on my plans.
It’s built on Christ.
This feast reframes everything.
We’re not just tending old houses.
We’re building temples.
Living, breathing, holy dwellings for God.
Not just me.
Not just other deacons and priests.
All of us.
Think of Ezekiel’s vision—
Water flowing from the temple.
Not a flood.
Not a roar.
Just a trickle.
Quiet.
Faithful.
Alive.
I imagine that water—grace—
Seeping beneath the broken parts of my life.
Washing over the cracks.
Softening what’s hardened.
Renewing what’s worn out.
We should all walk the perimeter of our own soul.
Notice where the water flows.
And where it’s still dry.
In that quiet self-examination,
I think of my grandchildren—
Searching for Jesus with childlike longing.
I think of the people I serve—
Each one, cracked and weathered,
Beloved and still being shaped by grace.
Each one a temple under construction.
We are building God’s temple.
And we must be careful how we build.
So we must ask:
What are we building on?
What materials are we using?
Are we building with mercy?
With humility?
With love?
Because anything built apart from Christ—
No matter how polished,
How grand,
How refined—
Will not hold.
Friends, you are not a marketplace.
Not a fortress.
Not a stage.
Paul says, “You are God’s building.”
A dwelling.
A place of encounter.
A place of prayer.
A place where Jesus, in his zeal,
Overturns the tables of our distractions
And calls us to that same holy zeal.
I feel that zeal—
When I comfort someone wounded by religion.
When I preach to stir hearts.
When I see hands reaching across divides.
But I also feel the ache—
The ache of exclusion.
The ache of division.
The ache of being misunderstood.
Zeal stirs me to speak.
But the ache reminds me to listen.
Still, the river of grace flows.
It flows through the Lateran Basilica.
It flows through our homes.
Through the circle of our family and friends.
Through our children and grandchildren.
Through every place consecrated by love.
And grace flows through all that needs repair—
Through our decisions.
Through our waiting.
Through our willingness to tend what’s broken—
The aches, the divisions, the misunderstandings.
We don’t lay the foundation.
That’s already done.
That’s Jesus.
But we do build.
With every word.
Every choice.
Every act of love.
We are called to build wisely.
Build faithfully.
Build on Christ.
For our foundation is Christ.
And the Gospel is not just something we speak—
It’s something we live.
Be good— In the way Jesus was good.
Be holy— Rooted in mercy, shaped by grace.
And preach the Gospel— Not just with words,
But with the way you live.
Let your love be the loudest homily you ever give.
For you are God’s temple.
And the temple is holy.
Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
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