Homily for John 1:35-42 - Order of Christian Initiation of Adults

Gospel for OCIA 09/20/26 10:30am Mass is John 1:35-42 found at:

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=John%201%3A35-42&version=NRSVCE

In this gospel 

from the evangelist Saint John,

there’s a simple question 

that goes right to the heart 

of our faith.

John the Baptist is standing 

with two of his disciples 

when Jesus walks by.

John looks at Jesus 

and says,

“Behold, the Lamb of God.”

Those words 

should sound familiar to us.

We hear them at every Mass, 

when the priest holds up the Eucharist and says,

“Behold the Lamb of God, 

behold him 

who takes away the sins of the world.”

When the two disciples hear John’s words, 

they begin to follow Jesus.

And Jesus turns around 

and asks them,

“What are you looking for?”

Which is interesting, isn’t it?

Jesus could have asked, 

“Who are you?”

He could have asked, 

“Why are you following me?”

Instead, 

He asks,

“What are you looking for?”

And I think Jesus asks every one of us 

that same question all the time.

What are you looking for?

Maybe it’s peace.

Maybe forgiveness.

Maybe direction in our life.

Maybe a deeper relationship with God.

Maybe we’re carrying something today 

that nobody else in this church knows about, 

and we’re simply hoping 

God will help us.

We all 

come through those doors 

looking for something.

And today, 

we have some brothers and sisters with us,

in the inquiry phase of OCIA,

The Order of Christian Initiation of Adults

who are exploring more deeply 

what it means to follow Christ 

in the Catholic Church.

To each of them, 

I hope 

you hear Jesus speaking personally to you today,

“What are you looking for?”

You may not completely know the answer yet.

And that's okay.

Because neither did those first disciples.

They simply ask Jesus, 

“Where are you staying?”

Yet, Jesus gives them 

one of the simplest invitations 

in all of Sacred Scripture,

“Come, and you will see.”

He doesn't give them all the answers.

He doesn't explain everything that lies ahead.

He simply invites them 

to take the next step.

To come and see.

And that 

is not only an invitation for OCIA,

it’s an invitation 

for every one of us here.

Because none of us 

ever finishes 

becoming a disciple of Jesus.

Whether we’ve been exploring the Catholic faith 

for eight weeks, 

or eight years 

or eighty years, 

Jesus continues to invite us 

to come closer.

The Catechism tells us 

that “the desire for God 

is written in the human heart.”

There is something in us 

that keeps searching for Him.

And the beautiful truth of our faith is 

that long before we begin searching for Him, 

God is already searching for us.

And look 

at what happens next.

Andrew spends time with Jesus, 

and then immediately 

goes looking for his brother Simon.

He tells him,

“We have found the Messiah.”

And “Then he brought him to Jesus.”

Andrew, 

didn't have all the answers.

He didn't give Peter 

a theology lesson.

He simply brought him to Jesus.

And that 

is what we’re all called to do.

Parents, 

bringing their children to Jesus.

Husbands and wives, 

encouraging one another in faith.

Friends inviting friends to Mass.

Parishioners welcoming someone 

who walks through these doors 

for the first time.

And maybe, 

that’s how those 

in the inquiry stage of OCIA 

got here.

Someone planted a seed.

Someone answered a question.

Someone offered an invitation.

Someone lived their Catholic faith 

in a way that made another person curious.

That helped bring someone to Jesus.

In a few moments, 

we will hear the words of John the Baptist again,

“Behold the Lamb of God.”

And this time, 

our attention will not be 

on Jesus walking beside the Jordan.

It will be on this altar,

where Jesus Christ 

is truly present in the Eucharist.

So, whether we are exploring the faith 

or have been receiving 

the Eucharist our entire life, 

Jesus asks us the same question,

“What are you looking for?”

Giving us the same invitation,

“Come, and you will see.”

Maybe this coming week 

our prayer can be very simple,

“Jesus, 

help me follow You 

more closely.”

And maybe, 

Just maybe,

like Andrew, 

we can do one more thing along the way,

bring someone else 

a little closer to Jesus

in the process.

Homily for Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

The readings for Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time may be found at:

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/092026.cfm

In today’s first reading,

the Lord tells us through the prophet Isaiah,

“My thoughts are not your thoughts,

nor are your ways my ways.”

And today’s Gospel 

shows us exactly what that means.

Jesus tells us about a landowner who goes out looking for

workers for his vineyard.

Some begin early in the morning.

Others start at nine, noon, three, and even five o’clock,

when the workday is almost over.

And at the end of the day,

when it’s time to receive the day’s pay,

everyone receives the same wage.

The person who worked one hour 

receives the same amount

as the person who worked all day.

And that doesn’t seem very fair, does it?

Yet the workers who started early weren’t cheated.

They received exactly what was promised.

Their problem wasn’t that they received too little.

Their problem

was that somebody else received more

then they thought that person deserved.

And that’s where this Gospel becomes real for us.

Because sometimes

we’re more comfortable with judgment

then we are with grace.

We look at another person’s life,

their choices, their sins, their past

and decide what we think they deserve.

Who’s been faithful enough.

Who’s done enough.

Who deserves mercy.

But that’s not our job.

We don’t own the vineyard.

God does.

God knows the whole story.

And God alone is the judge.

Sometimes we want a God of judgment

when we’re looking at somebody else’s sins -

but a God of mercy

when we’re looking at our own.

But our God is perfectly just

and infinitely merciful.

And thank God for that,

because none of us stands before God

on the strength of what we’ve earned.

If God gave each of us only what we deserved,

who among us could stand before Him?

The Catechism teaches that grace

is the “free and undeserved help” God gives us.

Grace is not something God owes us.

It’s His gift.

We can’t earn it.

And that’s what we can learn from the vineyard.

The landowner keeps going out.

Morning.

Noon.

Afternoon.

And even when the day is almost finished,

He goes out again.

Why?

Because there are still people waiting.

That is our God.

He never stops coming out looking for us.

Some encounter Christ early

and remain close to Him throughout their lives.

Some wander away

and return years later.

And some may turn toward Him

only near the end of their lives.

Like the good thief hanging beside Jesus on the Cross.

With no lifetime of service to offer.

No time to make up for his past.

He simply said,

“Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

And Jesus answered,

“Today you will be with me in Paradise.”

The good thief entered the vineyard

at the very last hour.

And we know him as Saint Dismas.

That is grace.

That is mercy.

And maybe that’s what Jesus is asking us to remember today.

That, it’s not our job to decide

what another person deserves.

It’s our job to remember

how much we need mercy ourselves.

Whether we came to the vineyard early or late,

every one of us is there because God called us.

Every one of us is a sinner in need of grace.

Every time we come to Confession,

we come asking for that mercy.

And every time we approach this altar,

we say,

“Lord, I am not worthy

that you should enter under my roof.”

And despite our unworthiness -

He comes.

He gives us His own Body and Blood.

Not because we deserve Him,

but because He loves us.

And when we really understand

how much mercy God has shown us,

maybe, we can stop keeping score.

We can stop judging.

And instead, become more grateful.

So maybe this week, 

each of us can think of one person we’ve been judging.

Someone whose choices we don’t understand.

Whose past we haven’t forgotten.

Someone we’re not sure deserves another chance.

And instead of judging that person,

pray for them.

Ask God to show them the same mercy

we hope He will show us.

And then thank God

for all the times He has shown that mercy to us.

Because God’s mercy is greater

than anything we could ever earn,

and His grace is greater

than anything we could ever deserve.

Homily for Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

The readings for Twenty-second Sunday in Ordinary Time may be found at:

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/083026.cfm

This week, the evangelist St. Matthew shares a scene that should make us uncomfortable.

Peter loves Jesus. 

Peter believes in Jesus. 

But Peter wants Jesus on Peter's terms.

We all have a little Peter in us.

Because there are some things in life we don’t want to hear.

And in those moments, our first reaction may be, No, this cannot be happening.

Today, Jesus tells His disciples that He must go to Jerusalem, suffer, be killed, and on the third day be raised.

Peter’s immediate response is “God forbid, Lord! No such thing shall ever happen to you.”

We can understand Peter.

Peter loves Jesus. 

He has left everything to follow Him. 

But Peter had his own idea about what following Jesus should look like.

And so do we.

We want Jesus.

We want His peace.

We want His promises.

But we don’t always want what it takes to get there.

Jesus tells Peter, “You are thinking not as God does, but as human beings do.”

And then Jesus turns to His disciples, and to us, and says,

“Whoever wishes to come after me must deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me.”

Throughout the Gospels, Jesus invites us to follow Him.

And when He does, He’s not just asking us to admire Him or to just know things about Him.

And He certainly is not asking us to spend an hour with Him on the weekend and then live the rest of the week like He doesn’t exist.

He says, “Follow me” or in other words, give me your life.

Walk with Me.

Love as I love.

Forgive as I forgive.

Serve as I serve.

Trust the Father as I trust the Father.

Be willing to follow Me wherever that road leads.

And sometimes that road leads to the Cross.

We don’t have to go looking.

Life gives us enough crosses on its own.

Jesus didn’t go around searching for ways to suffer and neither should we.

Maybe taking up our cross is much simpler - and much harder - than we sometimes imagine.

Accepting what we would rather avoid.

Remaining faithful when walking away would be easier.

Forgiving when we would rather hold onto the anger.

Serving someone when we would rather serve ourselves.

Getting up tomorrow morning and following Jesus again.

And then doing it again and again and again.

Following Jesus means that, little by little, something in us has to die.

Each time we put someone else's needs before our own, a little selfishness dies.

Each time we forgive, a little pride dies.

Each time we give rather than take, a little self-centeredness dies.

Each time we say, “Lord, not my will, but Yours be done” something in us dies so that something better can live.

Maybe that is what taking up the Cross looks like most days.

Not one heroic act, but a thousand small decisions to follow Jesus.

Jesus continues,

“Whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will find it.”

And while that may sound like a contradiction, it’s at the heart of what it means to follow Jesus.

The world tells us to protect ourselves, put ourselves first, and make life as comfortable as possible. 

But we were not created for comfort. 

We were created to love, to serve, and ultimately to give ourselves away.

In a few moments, the ultimate giving will happen at this altar.

Jesus doesn’t just tell us to give ourselves away.

He does it first.

“This is my Body, which will be given up for you.”

That’s what love looks like.

That’s what the Cross looks like.

And that’s what following Jesus looks like.

So maybe the question for us this week is not simply,

“What cross am I carrying?”

The more important question is,

“Am I following Jesus while I carry it?”

Because suffering by itself is simply suffering. 

But when we unite our suffering to Christ and follow Him through it, even suffering can become a place of grace.

Peter heard Jesus speak about suffering and death, but he couldn't yet understand where that road was leading.

And sometimes neither can we.

But that’s why Jesus doesn't simply tell us to carry the Cross.

He tells us to follow Him.

Because the road with Jesus may pass through the Cross.

But it doesn't ends there.

It leads to resurrection.

It leads to new life.

It leads us home.

Homily for Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year A

The readings for Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time may be found at:

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/081626.cfm

Today, the evangelist St. Matthew 

introduces us to a woman who just won’t give up.

She is a Canaanite woman.

An outsider.

And more importantly, a mother whose daughter is suffering terribly.

And every parent understands that.

When your child is hurting, you hurt.

So this mother comes to Jesus and cries out,

“Have pity on me, Lord, Son of David!”

Eventually, kneeling before Him and saying just three words,

“Lord, help me.”

Those three words tell us something very important about prayer, we need God.

We spend so much of our lives trying to handle things ourselves.

Fix our own problems.

Make our own plans.

Stay in control.

And then life gives us something we cannot fix.

And suddenly we discover we are not as in control as we thought.

Maybe that is where some of our deepest prayer begins,

when we finally admit we need God.

That is what this woman does.

She kneels before Him and says,

“Lord, help me.”

At first, Jesus says nothing.

The disciples want to send her away.

And then the scene becomes really uncomfortable.

Jesus says,

“It is not right to take the food of the children and throw it to the dogs.”

Ouch.

This woman could have become offended.

She could have walked away.

Instead, she takes the very image Jesus gives her and turns it into a prayer,

“Please, Lord, for even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from the table of their masters.”

She’s not trying to win an argument with Jesus. 

She just continues trusting Jesus.

That is humility.

That’s persistence.

She isn't saying, “Lord, I deserve this.”

She is saying, “Lord, I trust that even the smallest gift of Your mercy is enough.”

She could have become angry.

She could have walked away.

But she stays.

Jesus is silent. She stays.

The disciples want her gone. She stays.

The answer she gets is difficult. She stays.

She stays and she keeps praying.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church points to this woman as an example of prayer offered with ‘loving persistence’.

You can look that up in CCC 2610.

Persistence in prayer isn't about wearing God down until He gives us what we want.

It is about trusting Him enough to keep coming back.

Jesus finally says:

"O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish."

And her daughter is healed.

Her persistence does not earn God's mercy. 

Instead, it reveals a faith that refuses to stop trusting in Him.

And in the process, this woman becomes our teacher.

If you prayed yesterday and nothing happened - 

pray today.

If you have been praying for months -

keep praying.

If you have been praying for years -

keep bringing it to Jesus.

Not because God will always give us exactly what we ask for.

Prayer isn't a transaction.

Sometimes God changes the situation.

Sometimes He changes us.

Sometimes He opens a door.

Sometimes He gives us the strength to accept what we cannot change.

But persistent prayer keeps us close to Him through all of it.

So think about the situation you’ve been carrying in prayer.

Bring it to Jesus again.

Not, “Lord, You owe it to me.” But, “Lord, help me.”

Sometimes great faith doesn’t have to be dramatic.

Sometimes great faith is simply showing up before God one more time.

One more prayer.

One more Rosary.

One more Mass.

One more visit before the Blessed Sacrament.

One more, “Lord, help me.”

And there is one more thing.

This woman believed that a crumb from the table of Jesus would be enough.

And look where we are today.

We’ve been invited to the table of the Lord.

Where we are not offered crumbs.

In the Eucharist, Christ gives us Himself.

His Body and Blood.

His Real Presence.

She believed that even a crumb from the Lord's table was enough.

How much more should we trust the One who gives us not a crumb, but nothing less than Himself?

This week, let us remember the lessons of the Canaanite woman.

To go to the Lord.

To stay, even when it is hard.

To pray  “Lord, help me.”

Because He hears.

He sees.

He knows.

And even when His answer

is not the answer we expected,

He never abandons

the one

who calls upon Him.

Lord, help me.