Who is Jesus? - Homily 21st Sunday A

 

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Blessed be God…

praise be to Jesus Christ,

now and forever. Amen.

And we pray:

Come Holy Spirit…

fill us with joy,

set our hearts ablaze

with Your presence.

My friends in Christ…  

sometimes the deepest truths  

come from the smallest voices.

If I were to ask my grandchildren,  

or any of the children here today,  

“Who is Jesus?”  

almost every one of them would answer,  

“He is God.”

A simple truth.  

A profound truth.  

A truth so small a child can hold it…  

and so great an adult can spend a lifetime  

trying to understand it.

But here is the bridge—  

that childlike answer  

is not just a sweet moment.  

It is the doorway  

to the greatest mystery of our faith.

Because if Jesus is God…  

then He is the One  

from whom,  

through whom,  

and for whom  

all things exist.

And that truth—  

that confession—  

is the “key to the kingdom of heaven”.

Yet we do not live  

in a childlike world.  

We live in a world  

full of opinions,  

full of interpretations,  

full of different versions  

of who people "think" Jesus is.

Some take pieces of Scripture  

and build a Christ  

who fits their preferences.  

Others quietly set aside  

the words Jesus actually spoke  

and create a Savior  

who never challenges,  

never confronts,  

never calls them deeper.

But the Church…  

the Church does not invent Christ.  

The Church receives Him.  

The Church proclaims Him.  

The Church guards the truth  

handed down through the apostles.

And today’s Gospel  

brings us right to the center  

of that apostolic truth.

Jesus looks at His disciples—  

and He looks at us—  

and asks the question  

that echoes through every generation:

“But who do you say that I am?”

Not—  

Who do you wish I were?  

But—  

Who do you say that I am?

And Peter,  

with a heart touched by grace,  

steps forward and speaks the confession  

that unlocks heaven:

“You are the Christ,  

the Son of the living God.”

This is not a symbol.  

Not a personal invention.  

Not a comfortable idea.  

This is the Christ—  

the One who holds  

the key of David,  

the key of truth,  

the key of heaven.

And Saint Paul invites us  

to stand on the edge  

of that mystery:

“Oh, the depth of the riches  

and wisdom  

and knowledge of God.”

My friends…  

in a world full of opinions about Jesus,  

each opinion tries to make  

its own key.  

But only one key  

opens the kingdom of heaven—  

the key Peter held,  

the key the Church guards,  

the key of the true Christ.

So Jesus still asks us,  

every single day:

“Who do you say that I am?”

May our answer be Peter’s answer.  

May our hearts echo his confession.  

And may our lives proclaim  

the Christ who is Lord of all.

To Him be glory forever.  

Amen.

Be good…  

be holy…  

and preach the Gospel  

with a childlike truth—  

in the way you live your life,  

in the way you love one another,  

and in the way you forgive.

Praise be Jesus Christ,  

now and forever.  

Amen.

Prayer

Lord Jesus,

You are the Christ, 

the Son of the living God.

Set our hearts ablaze 

with Your Holy Spirit.

Keep us faithful to the truth

 of Your Word.

Make our lives a quiet Gospel 

for all to see.

Amen

Love That Raises the Fallen

 

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Memorial St. Pius X

St. Pius X was a pope of the people—  

humble, ordinary,  

a shepherd whose deepest desire  

was to reclaim children  

from ignorance of Our Lord.  

He believed that if you could awaken faith  

in the smallest hearts,  

you could revive the whole Church.  

And in that simple conviction,  

he revealed a truth we still need today—  

that God’s love restores 

what has grown weary  

and brings those dead in faith  

back to life again.

I know a man who carries a quiet testimony,  

a story without drama,  

yet filled with grace.  

He says God sent him a messenger—  

a stranger he met only once.  

A man who looked straight into him and said,  

“God told me to tell you to change your ways.”

And then he disappeared.  

No one else saw him.  

No one else heard him.  

But the words stayed…  

and they awakened 

what had grown silent inside him.  

This is the rhythm of grace.  

Just as St. Pius believed  

that a single moment of teaching  

could open a child’s heart,  

God often uses a single word,  

a single encounter,  

a single whisper  

to stir a soul back to life.  

The Pharisees once asked Jesus  

for the greatest commandment.  

And He gave them the heartbeat of holiness:  

Love the Lord your God with all your heart,  

all your soul,  

all your mind.

And the second—  

Love your neighbor as yourself.

Everything hangs on love.  

St. Pius lived this truth.  

He knew that love teaches,  

love restores,  

love resurrects.  

He knew that when love is spoken—  

even once—  

it can reclaim a wandering heart  

and revive a fading faith.  

Dry bones, hear the word of the Lord:  

“I will bring spirit into you,  

that you may come to life.”

This is what God still does.  

He breathes into what has grown weary,  

He strengthens what has fallen apart,  

He calls life out of places  

we thought were gone.  

His love still finds us.  

His love still raises us.  

His love still brings the dead in faith  

back to life again.

Prayer

Lord, breathe Your spirit 

into every weary heart.  

Awaken faith where 

it has grown silent or forgotten.  

Teach us, to love You 

with simplicity and joy.  

Bring us to life again 

in Your holy love.

Amen.

St Pius X, pray for us

The Quiet Work of Humility

 

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Humility has been sitting  

on my heart lately—  

a quiet nudge from God,  

a gentle invitation  

to look deeper,  

to bow lower,  

to surrender more fully.

A future deacon and I  

have been praying through this together.  

Talking about how surrender  

is not dramatic…  

it’s simply letting go  

of the prideful habits  

we once protected,  

once cherished,  

once thought we needed.

We prayed the Litany of Humility—  

slowly, honestly,  

asking for the grace  

to live what we preach,  

to practice what we proclaim,  

to become small enough  

for Christ to shine through.

I shared with him  

the humility of being a deacon—  

serving wherever God points,  

even in the hidden corners  

where no one applauds.

Like the older couple,  

both ill,  

who called asked for some help.  

Not a sacrament.  

Not a ceremony.  

Just help.  

And I went…  

because that’s what love does.  

That’s what Christ asks.

“The greatest among you  

must be your servant.  

Whoever exalts himself  

will be humbled;  

but whoever humbles himself  

will be exalted.”  

Humility is not a posture—  

it’s a way of life.  

A quiet yes.  

A simple offering.  

A willingness to serve  

in small places  

so God can work  

in great ones.

Prayer 

Lord, 

Make my heart 

small enough to serve.  

Teach me to surrender 

the pride I once held tight.  

Let Your mercy shape my steps.  

Fill my hands with 

simple acts of love.  

And lift me only in the ways 

that glorify You.

Amen