Reflection for the Memorial of Saint Dominic
For years, our parish’s annual chicken barbeque wasn’t just a fundraiser—it was a ritual of belonging. The men of our little country church would gather on Saturday night, preparing 750 plates of barbeque chicken. Not because that’s all we could sell, but because that’s all we could prepare. It was a labor of love wrapped in smoke, laughter, and the kind of fellowship that only fire and storytelling can kindle.
There was beer, maybe a cigar or two, and plenty of good-natured ribbing about who was the best grill master. It was sacred in its own way—an echo of the holy in the ordinary.
But times change. The Diocese asked us to set aside the drinking. Some of the elders passed on. The rest of us got older. Then came COVID, and the pits went cold. We haven’t had a barbeque since 2019.
Recently, the ladies on the community council asked, “Can we do it again?”
The men said, “No. We’re old.” But then added, “We can do something else.”
That moment—of letting go, of surrender—felt like more than just a decision. It felt like a spiritual turning point. The fire may not burn the same way, but the call remains. The form may change, but the invitation doesn’t.
Moses, in today’s reading from Deuteronomy, says: “Ask now of the days of old… Did anything so great ever happen before?” He’s not stirring up nostalgia. He’s anchoring us in truth. “Fix in your heart,” he says, “that the LORD is God… and there is no other.”
Psalm 77 echoes: “I remember the deeds of the Lord.” Not just the miracles, but the way God led His people like a flock—through fire, through wilderness, through change.
Our barbeque was one of those “wonders of old.” A memory that still warms us. But in Ignatian spirituality, memory isn’t a museum—it’s a doorway. We remember not to preserve, but to discern. What is God inviting us to now?
Jesus says in the Gospel: “Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.” For us, the cross was once the physical labor of the barbeque. Now, it’s the humility to say, “We can’t do what we used to. But we can still serve.”
Saint Dominic didn’t cling to comfort. He responded to the needs of his time. He preached, walked, adapted. Through him, the fire of truth spread.
So maybe we won’t gather around the pits like we used to. But we can still gather around the Word. Around the needs of our parish. Around the call to serve, however it looks now.
Because faith isn’t about preserving the past. It’s about remembering the deeds of the Lord—and letting that memory shape our present. It’s about discerning the new cross we’re called to carry, and trusting that even now, God is leading us like a flock.
We’re not just called to barbecue. We’re called to burn with love.
Let us pray:
Lord of fire and memory,
You led your people through wilderness and wonder,
through smoke and surrender.
Help us remember not just what was,
but what You are doing now.
Teach us to let go of comfort,
to take up the cross You offer today,
and to serve with the same love that once gathered us around the pit.
May our hearts burn—not with nostalgia,
but with the flame of Your Spirit.
Lead us, Lord, like a flock.
Amen.
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