Clothed in Love

Readings 082026 

Memorial Saint Bernard, Abbot and Doctor of the Church

St. Bernard taught

There is a journey every soul must take,  

a quiet unfolding of love in four movements.  

At first, we love God for what He gives —  

the blessings, the comfort, the answered prayers.  

But grace nudges us forward,  

until we love God simply for who He is—  

holy, faithful, steady in mercy.

And as His love settles deeper,  

we begin to love ourselves in God,  

seeing our worth through His eyes,  

not our own.  

From there, love ripens into its final stage —  

we love others with God’s own heart,  

a love that pours itself out.

A friend once told me  

about “religious people” —  

there are those who love 

the ceremony, the liturgy, 

the preacher, the show.  

And most of them forget 

the One they are

to truly love and worship.

His words remind me  

without true love,  

religion becomes noise.

Jesus tells a story  

that brings this truth into sharp focus.  

A king enters his banquet  

and finds a man without a wedding garment.  

The invitation was free,  

but the garment required a changed heart.  

The man is silent —  

because he wanted the feast  

without the transformation.

Many are invited,  

but few are chosen.

And the chosen are simply those  

who let love mature —  

from gifts,  

to God,  

to self in God,  

to others through God —  

until Christ Himself becomes the garment  

we wear into the Kingdom.

Prayer

Lord, 

Dress my soul in the garment 

of Your grace.  

Let my heart seek Christ 

above all things.  

Make my life 

a quiet offering of love.  

Clothe me today in the

 beauty of Your holiness.

Amen

St Bernard, pray for us.

When the Shepherd Calls My Name Again

 

Readings 081926 

In the quiet truth of my own story,  

I know this much—  

God has been with me. 

Long before I listened,  

long before I followed,  

long before my heart learned how to be still.  

His voice was there,  

steady as morning light,  

but I refused to hear it.  

I wandered.  

I strayed.  

I walked paths that were never mine.  

Yet the Shepherd never stopped searching.  

Never stopped seeing.  

Never stopped restoring.  

Because God Himself shepherds His people—  

with justice for the wounded,  

mercy for the weary,  

and a generosity that overturns everything 

we think we deserve.  

His shepherding is not distant.  

It is personal.  

Protective.  

Sustaining.  

It is the hand that lifts,  

the voice that calls,  

the grace that gathers us home.  

And in the goodness of that grace,  

He welcomes us  

with the same love,  

the same mercy,  

the same overflowing kindness—  

no matter when we finally turn toward Him.  

So today I strive—  

to walk closer,  

to listen deeper,  

to follow more faithfully.  

Because the Shepherd who never left me  

now leads me  

into the peace I once refused to see.  

Prayer

Shepherd of my wandering soul, 

draw me close again.  

Speak Your steady voice 

into the quiet places of my heart.  

Lift me from the paths 

where I have strayed too long.  

Wrap me in the mercy 

that keeps finding me.  

And lead me forward 

by the generosity of Your grace.  

Amen

The Quiet Strength God Sees

 

Readings 081826 

Pride makes many believe  

they are a god—  

better than others,  

entitled to privilege,  

born to be first.

But then I stand at my grandson’s football practice.  

He loves the game,  

works hard,  

but he’s not as big  

as the boys held back for size—  

older, heavier, stronger,  

running with the advantage  

of extra years.

Just turned 13, 

beside an about to turn 15  

is a different world.  

And I wonder—  

is this pride shaping the child,  

or pride shaping the parent?

The disciples once asked Jesus,  

“Who then can be saved?”  

And He answered,  

“For men this is impossible,  

but for God all things are possible.”

Because God sees differently.  

He lifts the small.  

He honors the steady.  

He strengthens the humble.

And in His Kingdom,  

“the first will be last,  

and the last will be first.”

So today,  

run your race with quiet strength—  

not grasping for first place,  

but trusting the God  

who makes the impossible possible  

and raises up those  

the world overlooks.

Prayer  

Lord, 

teach us to walk humbly 

in Your light.

Lift our hearts 

above the pride that blinds us.

Strengthen us when we feel 

small or overlooked.

Let Your grace reorder 

what the world calls great.

Make us faithful in every quiet step 

we take today.

Amen

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.