The Story of a Tattoo - When Rebellion Marks the Body

Readings 102225  

I once knew a man—older than me, long gone now, and I pray he’s home with the Father. He served in the Navy during World War II, and like many sailors of his time, he bore a tattoo: a scantily clad woman inked on his arm. But when he came to Mass, he’d cover the scandalous parts with a bandaid. That small gesture stayed with me. It was as if he knew—this body, once marked by rebellion, was now being offered back to God.

Today, tattoos are everywhere. Piercings too—ears, noses, tongues, and places we don’t see. And while I don’t presume to know the heart behind every mark, I do see a pattern: a world aching to express itself, but often doing so through rebellion. Not just in skin, but in speech, in systems, in silence.

St. Paul writes:
"Sin must not reign over your mortal bodies, so that you obey their desires. Do not present the parts of your bodies to sin as weapons for wickedness, but present yourselves to God."
(Romans 6:12–13)

Our bodies—our tongues, our hands, our feet—are meant to be instruments of righteousness. But too often, they’re used to divide, to exploit, to destroy.

The tongue becomes a weapon—amplified by social media, used to shame, to lie, to stir division.
The hands sign off on injustice—corruption, exploitation, environmental harm.
The feet walk paths of indifference—stepping over the poor, avoiding the hard work of reconciliation.

And yet, we are not helpless.
"Our help is in the name of the Lord, who made heaven and earth."
(Psalm 124:8)

Jesus reminds us:
"Stay awake! For you do not know when the Son of Man will come."
(Matthew 24:42)

This is not a call to fear. It’s a call to readiness.
To wake up.
To offer our bodies—not as weapons of rebellion, but as vessels of grace.
To be found faithful, not frantic.
To be stewards who serve, not servants who squander.

So let us gird our loins. Let us light our lamps.

Let us be marked—not by rebellion, but by righteousness.

And when the Master comes, may He find us ready.

Prayer for Readiness and Grace

Lord,
In a world marked by rebellion and noise,
quiet our hearts.
Help us offer every part of ourselves—
our words, our hands, our choices—
as vessels of Your grace.

Keep us awake,
not with fear, but with faith.
Not with judgment, but with mercy.
May we be found ready when You come,
lit from within,
and faithful in Your work.

Amen

Vigilance and Grace

Readings 102125 

We live in a time of loud headlines and rising fear.
Crime is up.
The blame spreads quickly—homelessness, illegal immigration, drugs, broken families, poor education.
But beneath all these symptoms lies a deeper wound: sin.

Not just the sins of criminals.
Not just the failures of leaders.
But our own sins too—
Our comfort in judgment.
Our silence when truth is needed.
Our habit of blaming instead of building.

That’s why Scripture calls us to wake up:
"Be vigilant at all times and pray
that you may have the strength to stand before the Son of Man."
(Luke 21:36)

This isn’t just about watching the world fall apart.
It’s about watching our own hearts.
It’s about being ready—ready to serve, ready to love, ready to be God’s light in a world that desperately needs Him.

Jesus tells us:
"Gird your loins and light your lamps.
Be like servants who await their master's return,
ready to open immediately when he comes and knocks."
(Luke 12:35–36)

Yes, it’s a frightening world.
But we are not called to fear.
We are called to grace.
To a hope that overflows in a sinful world.

"Where sin increased, grace overflowed all the more."
(Romans 5:20)

We are not helpless.
We are not abandoned.
Through the obedience of One—Jesus Christ—
we are offered righteousness, strength, and eternal life.

So today, as the noise grows louder,
let us grow quieter.
Let us pray.
Let us be vigilant—not with clenched fists,
but with open hands and lit lamps.

Blessed are those servants
whom the Master finds prepared.

Prayer of Vigilance and Grace

Lord Jesus,
In a world clouded by fear and blame,
help us see with Your eyes.
Forgive our silence, our judgment, our distraction.
Make us vigilant—ready to serve,
ready to love,
ready to open the door when You knock.

Let Your grace overflow in us,
lighting our lamps,
guiding our steps,
and preparing our hearts
to stand before You with joy.

Amen.

Rich in What Matters to God

readings 102025 

This weekend, a young man I know—a school resource officer—shared something holy.
He was walking the field before a football game, doing what he always does.
The sun was just right. The air was still.
And then, over the loudspeakers, the song “Our God is an Awesome God” began to play.

He didn’t think much of it—until the chorus.
And in that moment, he said it felt like the Lord Himself reached down and touched him.
Tears came. Peace followed.
And he understood, maybe for the first time, that God works in mysterious ways.

That’s what Paul is talking about when he speaks of Abraham.
Abraham didn’t doubt. He didn’t demand proof.
He was empowered by faith and gave glory to God.
And that faith—simple, surrendered, persistent—was credited to him as righteousness.

Not because he earned it.
Not because he built bigger barns.
But because he trusted the promise.

That moment experienced on the field is consolation—a movement of the soul toward God.
A sudden awareness. A grace that says, “Pay attention. God is here.”
And like Abraham, we’re invited to respond—not with certainty, but with trust.
Not with control, but with surrender.

So I ask myself—and I ask you:
Are we rich in what matters to God?

Not rich in possessions.
Not rich in opinions.
But rich in faith.
Rich in surrender.
Rich in moments like that 30-yard line—when God breaks through and says, I am here.

Let us be rich in what matters to God.
Let us notice. Let us respond. Let us give glory.

Lord,
You are an awesome God—
wise, powerful, and full of love.
You touched Abraham’s heart,
and You still touch ours.

Teach us to trust Your promise,
to be rich in faith,
not in things that fade.

Help us see You in quiet moments,
in music, in sunlight,
in the peace that follows surrender.

Make us poor in spirit,
so we may be full of grace.
And when You come,
may You find faith in us.

Amen.

“Persistant Prayer and Love” Homily – 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Year C)

Readings 101925 

Blessed be God.
Praised be Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.
And we pray: Come, Holy Spirit—fill us with joy, set our hearts ablaze with your presence.

Next week, I’ll be at the annual deacons’ retreat—a sacred time of communion with brother deacons from the Dioceses of Shreveport and Alexandria. Some of these men I’ve known since high school. In them, faith and prayer come alive. Their witness strengthens their communities and renews the Church.

Jesus speaks plainly today: “Pray always without becoming weary.”
This isn’t just advice—it’s a spiritual imperative. A command rooted in love. A call to endurance in a world that wears us down.

As this week comes to a close, I find myself praying for my brother deacons, for all ministers of the Gospel, and for each of you. That your faith may be persistent. That you may not grow weary. That when the Son of Man comes, He will find faith—in your homes, in your hearts, and in our Church.

Jesus gives us the image of a widow—vulnerable, ignored, yet unrelenting. She keeps knocking. She keeps asking. She refuses to be dismissed.

This is the kind of prayer Jesus calls us to. Not polite, passive prayer—but persistent, faithful, inconvenient prayer. Prayer that stands its ground when the world pushes back.

St. Paul echoes this in his letter to Timothy: “Be persistent, whether it is convenient or inconvenient.”

And let’s be honest—faith is inconvenient for many today.
There are Catholics who say, “I believe in God, but not in the Church.”
“I love Jesus, but not the teachings.”
Why? Because it cramps their lifestyle. Because it demands conversion. Because it calls us to holiness.

My friend Deacon Bill Klienpeter calls it “third grade theology syndrome.”
Too many of us stopped learning about God after First Communion. We try to live adult lives on a child’s understanding of faith. And when life gets hard, when prayer feels dry, when suffering comes—we grow weary. We give up.

But the truth is this: God has not changed. God will never change.
And if we want to know Him, we must be persistent. We must grow. We must endure.

Remember Moses on the hilltop.
He holds the staff of God high as Israel fights below. But when he grows tired, the battle turns. So Aaron and Hur come beside him. They hold up his arms. They become his strength.

This is the Church.
This is what it means to be a prayer warrior.
To hold one another up.
To pray when others cannot.
To be the Aaron and Hur for someone whose arms are trembling.

Our prayers are the victorious staff of God.
And our community—the Church—is what makes them strong, persistent, enduring.

At a retreat several years ago, Bishop Duca reminded us:
Prayer is faithful.
Prayer is listening.
Prayer is expectant.

We don’t just talk to God—we listen.
We don’t just hope—we expect.
We don’t just pray when it’s easy—we pray always.

For me, prayer is a love story.
It’s saying “I love you” to God.
It’s loving those around you with the strength that comes from grace.
And like all great love stories, it’s built on endurance. On persistence. On faith that doesn’t quit.

I see that love story in your prayers—and in the prayers of my brother deacons.

So pray always. Don’t grow weary.
Love always. Don’t grow weary.

This is our call today:
To be persistent in faith.
To be persistent in prayer.
To be the people who hold up the arms of the weary.
To be the Church whose prayers endure.

Teach your children. Pray for your spouse. Intercede for the sick.
Be faithful. Be expectant. Be strong.

And when the Son of Man comes, may He find faith in us.

Y’all be good.  Y’all be holy.
And preach the Gospel by the way you live and love.

Praised be Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.