The Kindness that Stays

 

Readings 081726 

This weekend I assisted 

at the funeral of a wonderful lady —  

a woman God blessed 

with ninety‑four years of life.  

I met her more than four decades ago 

when we worked at the same place.  

I remember the kindness in her eyes,  

the warmth in her smile.  

And thirty years later, 

when I walked into the parish

the new deacon,  

there it was again —  

the same kindness,  

the same warmth,  

still shining, still steady, still hers.  

This weekend, 

the church was full.  

She had touched many lives.  

Grace has a way of doing that —  

quietly, consistently, without fanfare.  

And as I prayed, 

I felt the old truth rise again:  

God removes false attachments 

so His people can return to Him  

with a poor, honest, undefended heart.  

When pride, idols, or possessions become

*the delight of our eyes*,  

He lets them fall away —  

not to harm us,  

but to awaken us.  

Because anything that replaces God —  

even good things —  

becomes a chain.  

And when those chains break,  

the heart becomes free enough  

to love again,  

to trust again,  

to belong to God again.  

Her life reminded me of that freedom —  

the kind that comes from a heart anchored in Him.

Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ, 

soften my heart 

until it rests fully in You.

Break every false attachment 

that dims Your light in me.

Teach me to cherish what is eternal, 

not what fades.

Let Your kindness shape 

my smile, my steps, my days.

And welcome Your servant 

into the joy that never ends.

Amen

Let Him Love You as You Are - Homily 20th Sunday OTA

 

Readings 081626

Blessed be God.  

Praise Jesus Christ,  

now and forever. Amen.

We pray:  

Come Holy Spirit,  

fill us with your joy,  

set our hearts ablaze  

with your presence.  

Amen.

This week marked the beginning of school.

My daughter Sarah took her children

to meet the teachers—  

Lillian, third grade,  

Liam, second,  

and little Logan, 

starting kindergarten with all the excitement  

a five‑year‑old can hold.

In the hallway stood a cardboard cutout of a student  

holding a pencil almost as tall as Logan.  

He wanted a picture—  

wanted to stand close and to belong.

But as he leaned in,  

the cardboard tipped,  

the pencil snapped,  

and his little heart broke with it.

He burst into tears:  

“They’re not going to let me come to school!”

 

Before Sarah could comfort him,  

Liam—steady, simple, big-brother‑strong—  

put his arm around him and said,  

“Don’t worry. I’ve done a lot worse…  

and they haven’t kicked me out yet.”

That moment—  

that gentle loving arm around another—  

is the doorway into today’s readings.  

Because the heart of the Gospel is this:

God, through Jesus Christ,  

wants us to allow Him  

to love us as we are.

I want to say that again:

God, through Jesus Christ,  

wants us to allow Him  

to love us as we are.

Not the perfect us.  

Not the polished us.  

Not the freshly‑scrubbed‑clean‑by‑confession us.  

Just… us.  

Human.  

Hurting.  

Trying.  

Reaching.

Isaiah tells us:

“Observe what is right, do what is just;  

for my salvation is about to come.”

Salvation is not God waiting for us  

to get our act together.  

Salvation is God bending low,  

reaching out to reassure us  

when we think we’ve broken something  

too big to fix.

God’s justice is not rejection—  

it is restoration.  

It is mercy moving toward fear.

Saint Paul continues the story.  

He says he is sent to the Gentiles—  

to the outsiders,  

to the ones who think they don’t belong.

He glories in that mission  

because he knows something deep and freeing:

“The gifts and the call of God are irrevocable.”

Irrevocable—  

meaning God does not change His mind  

about loving us.

He doesn’t revoke His welcome  

when we knock something over,  

break something fragile,  

or fall apart in fear.

And then Jesus meets a Canaanite woman—  

a mother outside the covenant,  

outside the circle,  

outside the “approved list.”

She cries out:  

“Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David.”

She doesn’t bring perfection.  

She brings need.  

She brings love.  

She brings the fierce hope of a mother  

who refuses to give up.

Jesus tests her,  

but she answers with humility and fire:

“Even the dogs eat the scraps  

that fall from the table.”

And Jesus says:  

“O woman, great is your faith.”

Great—  

not because she was flawless,  

but because she trusted  

that God’s mercy is bigger  

than the boundaries people draw.

She allowed Jesus to love her  

as she was.

The Canaanite woman thought she didn’t belong.  

Paul preached to people who felt unworthy.  

Isaiah spoke to hearts afraid of judgment.

And in all of that,  

God speaks one truth:

Allow me to love you as you are. 

Not the version of you  

you wish you were.  

Not the version others expect.  

Not the version you promise to become someday.

Just you—  

just as you are—  

with all the broken cardboard moments of life,  

your fears,  

your trembling prayers,  

your quiet hopes.

Because the gifts and the call of God  

are irrevocable.  

And His mercy  

is always  

stronger  

than your fear.

God, through Jesus Christ,  

wants us to allow Him  

to love us as we are.

And in that love

We find the source of goodness,.  

The strength reach for holiness 

And we preach the Gospel  

By a life lived,  

love for one another,  

just as we are

and the ability to forgive.

Praise be to Jesus Christ,  

now and forever. Amen.

The Assumption

 

Readings 081526 

Blessed be God.

Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever.

Come, Holy Spirit—fill us with joy,

set our hearts ablaze with Your presence.

Amen.

Brothers and sisters,

there is a strange hostility in the world toward the Blessed Mother.

You hear harsh, confused claims—

sometimes even from those who call themselves Christian.

Not long ago I heard a preacher shouting,

“Mary is not the Mother of God!”

again and again, as if volume could replace truth.

But to deny Mary as Mother of God

is to deny that Jesus is truly God.

They do not understand,

and they do not try to.

And yet—

sometimes a child sees clearly

what adults refuse to see.

My grandson was explaining the Church to his new sister.

He pointed around and said,

“This is God’s house.”

Then he looked toward the tabernacle:

“That’s Jesus’ house,

and He lives there with his momma, Mary.”

My daughter corrected him gently:

“That’s Jesus’ house.

Mary isn’t there.”

He paused, puzzled,

and then said something simple and profound:

“Well… doesn’t Jesus love His mother?

I love you,

and I live with you.

And when I grow up,

I’m going to take care of you forever.”

Why does a six‑year‑old understand

what the world cannot?

The Church gives Mary a unique honor—

hyperdulia—

because in her,

grace reached its fullest human flowering.

And today we celebrate one of the Church’s great dogmas:

that Mary, at the end of her earthly life,

was taken body and soul

into heavenly glory.

This is not a new idea.

It is ancient—

believed from the earliest days of the Church.

And it is one of only two infallible proclamations

ever made by a pope.

But this belief does not float in isolation.

It rises from everything God accomplished in her.

If the Lord looks on the heart,

then in Mary’s heart

He found perfect humility,

perfect trust,

perfect readiness

for His saving plan.

Her whole life was already a “yes”

stretching toward heaven.

And Scripture gives us a vision

that matches this truth:

a woman clothed with the sun,

the moon beneath her feet,

a crown of twelve stars—

not myth,

not symbol,

but Mary

standing in the radiance

of God’s own victory.

The dragon rages,

as evil always does

when holiness draws near.

Yet the Child is lifted to the throne,

and the woman is sheltered

in the heart of God.

This is the pattern of her life:

grace received,

grace protected,

grace fulfilled.

Then the Gospel brings us closer—

from cosmic glory

to quiet obedience.

Mary does all she does

with no spotlight,

no applause,

never drawing attention to herself—

just love and obedience to God.

And from her presence,

and from the One who dwells within her,

joy leaps,

faith awakens,

blessing fills the room.

This is the woman

God assumed into heaven—

the one whose presence

makes souls rise.

And here the Assumption finds its center:

Mary believed.

She believed the promise

would be fulfilled.

And because she believed,

God raised her—

body and soul—

into the fullness of His Kingdom.

Her Assumption is not escape;

it is completion—

God revealing

what He intends

for every faithful heart.

Christ rises first.

Mary follows.

And we—

in our own time,

in our own small obediences—

are invited into that same rising.

Grace draws us upward toward the life she already shares.

Friends, lift your eyes.

Let hope stand beside you.

Let Mary’s faith steady your steps.

Let her joy teach your heart

how to leap again.

Blessed are you

who believe

that what the Lord has spoken

will be fulfilled.

Heaven is Jesus' house

Where He is seated 

at the right hand of the Father.

And be sure, 

He lives there with His mother

Be like Mary—

good and holy.

Preach the Gospel

by the way you live,

love,

and forgive one another.

Praise be to Jesus Christ, 

now and forever. Amen