Holy Resolve in our Walk with God - ​Feast of St Jerome

 

readings 093025 

I went to the doctor the other day.
The numbers weren’t terrible, but they weren’t great either.
Blood pressure a little high. Weight up.
The labs looked decent. But the message was clear.

The doctor looked me in the eye and said,
“You’ve got to get back on your diet.
Move your body every day.
One step at a time.
Do it with conviction—
to stay healthy,
to care for those you love,
and to continue your ministry.”

And I heard it.
Not just as medical advice—
but as a spiritual call.

So I set out, as Jesus did, with holy resolve.

Jesus set his face toward Jerusalem.
Not with fury. Not with fear.
But with quiet strength.

He knew what waited—rejection, suffering, the cross.
Still, he walked.
Still, he sent messengers ahead.
Still, he hoped to be received.

But the village said no.
James and John bristled.
“Lord, shall we call down fire?”
But Jesus turned, rebuked them, and walked on.

No thunder. No revenge.
Just mercy. Just mission.

This is the rhythm of the Gospel—
not domination, but invitation.
Not retaliation, but resolve.
The strength to keep moving in love.

Saint Jerome walked with that same resolve—
translating Scripture so the Word could speak plainly.
Not just words about God,
but the very speech of God.

And Zechariah saw the fruit of that mission:
A people saying,
“Let us go with you—for we have heard that God is with you.”

So today, whether we’re walking toward the cross,
translating the Gospel into kindness,
or simply choosing a salad over the sweets—
let us walk with God.

Let our lives say,
“Come with me—for God is here.”

Pray: Let Us Go With You

Lord Jesus,
you set your face toward Jerusalem
with mercy in your steps
and love in your heart.

Teach us to walk with that same resolve—
not in anger, not in fear,
but in quiet trust.

May your Word speak clearly in our lives,
and may our witness be simple and true.

Let others see your presence in us
and say,
“Let us go with you—
for we have heard that God is with you.”

Amen.

Walk with God – Seeing the Sacred in the Simple

Feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael

Readings 092925 

“Therefore, rejoice, you heavens, and you who dwell in them.”
Jesus said, “You will see greater things than this.”

Our journey of faith is not a sprint.
It’s a walk.
A daily walk with God.
Sometimes uphill.
Sometimes slow.
Sometimes filled with wonder.
And often… very ordinary.

Today, we celebrate the archangels—Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael.
They are not just names in scripture.
They are signs of God’s presence—defenders, messengers, healers.
They appear in moments that shimmer with grace.
Moments that break through the veil between heaven and earth.

But most of our lives… are not shimmering.
Most days are quiet.
Ordinary.
Repetitive.
We wake, we work, we pray, we rest.
And sometimes, we wonder—where is God in all this?

Yet even the ordinary may seem extraordinary to someone else.
A child watching a grandparent pray.
A nurse offering a gentle word.
A parishioner lighting a candle with trembling hands.
These moments—so small—are radiant to the eyes of heaven.

The archangels remind us:
God walks with us.
Not only in the thunder.
But in the whisper.
Not only in the miracle.
But in the mundane.
Not only in the rare.
But in the rhythm.

Find God in all things.
In every step.
In every breath.
In every moment of the journey.

So today, as we honor these heavenly companions,
Let us ask for their help—not only to see the great things,
But to notice the grace in the small things.
To walk with God—not just in the peaks,
But in the path beneath our feet.
To rejoice, not just in heaven,
But here.
In this moment.
In this breath.

Amen.

Pray- Feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael

Lord,
As we walk this daily path,
Help us see You not only in the great things,
But in the quiet ones.
In the whisper, the rhythm, the breath.

With Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael beside us,
May we find You in the simple,
And rejoice in the sacred hidden within the ordinary.

Amen.

Homily Reflection: The Gate Between Us - 26th Sunday OTC

 Readings 092825

Blessed be God.
Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
Come, Holy Spirit.
Fill us with joy, and set us ablaze with the fire of your presence.

My grandchildren are all excited about going to PSR.
They come home with stories, songs, and prayers—
little treasures of faith wrapped in childlike wonder.

My youngest granddaughter, just in first grade,
loves to sing the Gloria.
She belts it out with joy,
as if the angels themselves were joining in.

And when she misbehaves in school,
she prays.
She tells God about her sins.
She confesses with a heart wide open.

My oldest granddaughter, in second grade,
prays for her brothers when they’re scared.
She helps her four-year-old brother learn how to pray—
folding his hands, whispering words of comfort.

That is love.
Simple. Childlike.
Given from the heart.
Love of God.
Love of others.

And it made me wonder—
how often do we forget that kind of love?
How often do we build gates between ourselves and others?

My friends,
Unlike the stories of my grandchildren, today’s readings are not gentle.
They are not polite.
They are not comfortable.

They are a prophetic wake-up call—
a holy alarm ringing in the soul.

Amos cries out against the complacent:
those stretched out on ivory beds,
feasting and singing,
blind to the suffering of their own people.

And Jesus tells the story of a rich man—
dressed in fine linen, dining in luxury—
while Lazarus, covered in sores,
lies starving at his gate.

There was a gate between them.
A physical gate, yes.
But more deeply—a spiritual one.
  A gate of comfort. A gate of indifference.
A gate of blindness.

And I wonder…
how many gates have we built?

Look around.
Really look.

Who is near you, within arm’s reach?

A spouse you’ve been too busy to love.
A teenager you’ve never taken time to understand.
A child who hardly knows your voice.
A coworker you’ve written off as angry or antisocial.
Maybe even the person sitting next to you now.

They cry out—
Love me.
Love me in spite of all.

And yet, in the middle of all this,
my grandchildren remind me what love looks like
when it’s not complicated.
When it’s not guarded.
When it’s not measured or earned.

They pray for each other.
They sing to God.
They confess their faults.
They help one another pray.

They open the gate.

But let’s be honest.
Most of us have fallen short of that high ideal.
We don’t love like saints.
Not naturally.
Not at first.

Even our Christian love, in the beginning, is selfish.
We love in ways that feel good to us.
We love in ways that make us feel loving—
rather than in ways that make others feel loved.

And yet—don’t be too hard on yourself.
Don’t give up.

Because love is not a feeling.
It’s a practice.

We learn to love by loving.
By doing.
Not just by reading about it.
Not just by hearing about it.
But by showing up.
By opening the gate.

Paul tells Timothy:
“Pursue righteousness, faith, love, patience, and gentleness.”
Not just believe in them—pursue them.
Chase them.
Compete well for the faith.
Lay hold of eternal life.

That’s the noble confession.
That’s the Gospel lived—not just spoken.

And yes—sometimes it may seem we love in vain.
That our efforts go unnoticed.
That our tenderness is met with silence.

But take heart.
Even if others never respond to our love,
we are better for having loved them.

Because love transforms us.
It softens the heart.
It opens the eyes.
It breaks down the gate.

When the rich man pleads with Abraham
to send someone to warn his brothers,
Abraham answers:
“They have Moses and the prophets. Let them listen.”

Friends, we have something better.
We have the Word.  We have the truth.
We have the call from Jesus.

The question is—will we respond?

So today,
let us name the gate.
Let us see Lazarus.
Let us live the Gospel—
not just in belief,
but in embodied compassion.

Let us love—
not perfectly, but persistently.
Not because it feels good,
but because it is good.

And in doing so,
may we find that the gate between us…
begins to open.

Lord, bless you with eyes that truly see—
the Lazarus at your gate,
the neighbor at your side,
the silent cry for love hidden in the ordinary.

May your heart be stirred—
not by comfort,
but by compassion that crosses every divide.

Be good, not just in word, but in mercy.
Holy, not just in ritual, but in relationship.

Go now, and preach the Good News—
from the way you live.

Let your life be a homily of hope,
your love a sacrament of grace.

And when love feels hard,
when it seems to fall in vain,
remember: you are better for having loved.

For in every act of kindness,
you open the gate between heaven and earth.

Blessed be God.
Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.