Our Journey of Faith: Walk with God - “Eyes Opened, Heart Surrendered”

 readings 091225m 

When I was in college, I felt the call.
Not loud. Not dramatic.
But deep—like a whisper in the soul.
A call to preach. To serve. To speak of God’s love.

But I was lost.
I wandered from church to church—Baptist, Methodist, Nazarene, Church of Christ, Assembly of God.
Good people. Faithful hearts.
But something in the teaching didn’t sit right.
I was searching for the Kingdom,
but I kept settling for pieces of it.

I didn’t yet know the fullness of truth.
I didn’t yet know the Church.

You can’t expect God to be glorified
when you choose the world over Heaven.
And many do.
Not because they don’t believe—
but because they’re not ready.
Not ready to surrender.
Not ready to let go of comfort, control, or pride.

Saint Paul understood.
He said, “I was once a blasphemer, a persecutor, an arrogant man—
but I was mercifully treated because I acted out of ignorance in my unbelief.”
(1 Timothy 1:13)

That’s grace.
That’s the mercy of a God who calls us even when we’re confused.

Jesus said, “Can a blind person lead a blind person?
Will not both fall into a pit?” (Luke 6:39)
I was blind.
I saw the splinters in other churches,
but missed the beam in my own heart.
I wanted clarity,
but hadn’t yet asked for conversion.

And then—God opened my eyes.
I found the Eucharist.
Not symbol. Not memory.
But Christ Himself—Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity.
I found the Sacraments.
Not rituals. Not customs.
But encounters with grace—
Baptism that cleanses,
Confession that heals,
Anointing that strengthens.

I found the teachings of the Apostles.
Not opinions.
But truth handed down, guarded by the Church,
rooted in Christ.

And I knew—this is home.
This is the Church.
This is the walk I was made for.

Now I walk not with perfect knowledge,
but with perfect trust.
I walk with gratitude, like Paul, who said,
“I am grateful to Him who has strengthened me…
because He considered me trustworthy in appointing me to the ministry.”
(1 Timothy 1:12)

We are all on a journey.
And if we walk with God,
even our detours become holy ground.

Lord Jesus,
You found me in my wandering,
You opened my eyes to Your truth.

Lead me by Your Eucharistic Presence,
Heal me through Your Sacraments,
Form me in the wisdom of Your Apostles.

Let my steps be Yours.
Let my heart be Yours.
Let my life glorify You.

Amen.

“Love That Lasts: Acts That Endure”

 readings/091125 

When I was young—before I met my wife—I fell in love quite often.

I was a romantic. I wrote poetry. I wrote songs.
I even tried to put them to music.

And being who I was, those poems and songs always danced between love and heartbreak.
Maybe I was a poet. Maybe I was a philosopher.
Or maybe I was just searching.

The love of my youth was mostly infatuation.
And usually, it was just on my part.
That kind of love—if it is really love—is weak.
It’s fragile. It breaks easily.

But real love…
Real love is strong.

Real love is a relationship.
It’s mutual.
It’s caring.
It’s marked by gentleness, kindness, trust, and respect.
And it’s sustained—sustained—by continuing acts of love.

I know what love is.
I’ve known it in over forty years of marriage.
I’ve known it in my family.
I’ve known it in the high points and the low ones.
And yes, those low points often came from pride—mine, theirs, ours.
But even then, my wife never stopped loving me.
My family never stopped loving me.

And the most powerful love I’ve ever known—the love that never stops—is God’s love.

Even when my pride builds a wall,
Even when I turn away,
Even when I forget to pray,
God never stops loving me.

That’s the truth.
That’s the gospel.

Saint Paul writes to the Colossians:
“Put on love.”
Put it on like a garment.
Put it on like armor.
Put it on like a daily habit.

Put on compassion.
Put on kindness.
Put on humility.
Put on gentleness.
Put on patience.

Bear with one another.
Forgive one another.
And over all these—put on love.
Because love is the bond of perfection.

And Jesus—Jesus takes it even further.
He says:
Love your enemies.
Bless those who curse you.
Pray for those who mistreat you.
Give without expecting return.
Forgive without keeping score.

This is not the love of youth.
This is not infatuation.
This is not fragile.

This is divine love.
This is cruciform love.
This is the love that pours itself out,
That turns the other cheek,
That gives the cloak and the tunic,
That sings psalms and hymns with gratitude.

This is the love that measures generously—
Packed together,
Shaken down,
Overflowing.

This is the love that makes us children of the Most High.

Because love is not a feeling.
Love is not a poem.
Love is not a song.

Love is a choice. Love is a practice.
Love is a way of life.

And God—God is love.

Amen.

Prayer: Root Me in Love

Lord Jesus,
Clothe me in compassion,
bind me with mercy,
and teach me to love as You love.

Where pride divides,
let Your peace reign.
Where love feels fragile,
root me in grace.

May all I do be done in Your name,
with thanks to the Father
and love that endures.

Amen.

When the Mind Wanders: Challenging the Distracted Heart

 

readings/091025 

I’ve heard it said—more times than I’d like to admit—that homilies are boring.
That some priests and deacons just aren’t good preachers.

And I understand.

I’ve sat there in the sanctuary,
next to the altar and the ambo,
in front of the people of God—
and my own mind has wandered.

I’ve watched lips move and words tumble,
while my heart drifted elsewhere.

Sometimes it’s my fault.
Sometimes it’s the preacher’s.
But always, it’s a moment that calls us back.

Because whether we are proclaiming the Word or receiving it,
we cannot expect the Holy Spirit to work in us
if our minds are rooted in the world
and not lifted toward the Kingdom.

Before I proclaim the Gospel, I pray—
not just for clarity of speech,
but for fire.

I ask the Holy Spirit to come upon me,
that my tongue may not trip,
my lips may not stumble,
and that my simple message might touch hearts.

I begin each homily with this prayer:

Come, Holy Spirit,
fill us with joy
and set our hearts ablaze
with the fire of your presence.

Because preaching is not performance.
It’s surrender.
It’s dying to self so that Christ may speak.

St. Paul reminds us in Colossians:

“If you were raised with Christ, seek what is above…
Think of what is above, not of what is on earth…
You have taken off the old self…
and have put on the new self,
which is being renewed…
in the image of its creator.”

This is the preacher’s task.
And it is the listener’s task too.

To put away distraction, anger, malice, and slander.
To stop lying to one another—
not just with words,
but with the masks we wear in church.

To be renewed in Christ,
who is all and in all.

Jesus, raising His eyes to His disciples,
didn’t offer comfort.
He offered truth:

“Blessed are you who are poor…
who hunger…
who weep…
who are hated for My sake.
Rejoice and leap for joy!”

That’s not boring.
That’s revolutionary.

So if the homily feels dry,
maybe it’s not the words.
Maybe it’s the soil.

Maybe we need to ask again
for the Spirit to till our hearts
and set them ablaze.

Because when the Word is alive,
even a whisper
can shake the pews.

Prayer Before the Word

Lord Jesus,
quiet the noise within me,
that I may hear Your voice.

Strip away distraction,
and clothe me in Your presence.
Let my heart burn with Your Word,
and my lips speak only what You have planted.

May those who listen be stirred,
not by eloquence,
but by Your Spirit alive in the message.

Come, Holy Spirit—
make the soil ready,
and let the seed take root.

Amen.