Homily for Twenty-eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time - Year C

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

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/101225.cfm

In today’s Gospel from the evangelist St. Luke, 

we find ten men suffering from leprosy - 

a disease that in their time 

meant not only physical pain, 

but social and spiritual isolation. 

They were cut off from family, from worship, 

from their community - and even from hope.

But notice what they do.

From a distance they cry out, "Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!"

And Jesus does. He tells them, 

"Go show yourselves to the priests."

And as they go, they are healed.

Yet only one of them returns to Jesus, 

falls at His feet, and gives thanks. 

To whom Jesus says,"Stand up and go; your faith has saved you."

This parable is not only about gratitude - 

it is about returning to the Lord who restores us. 

It is about healing that goes deeper than the body - 

It’s about the healing of the soul.

Like the lepers, 

we too know what it means to be distant from God.

Sin separates us from Him. 

It isolates us, not physically, but spiritually.

It often begins quietly - 

a grudge, a small temptation, a neglect of prayer - 

and before long, we find ourselves far from God.

That’s why the cry of the lepers is so powerful, 

"Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!"

It’s the same cry we make at the beginning of every Mass - 

“Lord, have mercy; Christ, have mercy; Lord, have mercy”

We say those words not out of habit, 

but because we are all sinners in need of His healing touch.

As Catholics, we are blessed to be able to encounter 

the mercy of Jesus in the Sacrament of Reconciliation.

Just as He sent the lepers to the priests, 

He sends us to the confessional - 

not to be shamed, but to be restored.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church calls confession 

“a conversion of heart to God, a return to the Father”.

In that sacrament, we kneel before Christ,

confessing our sins to the priest,

acting in persona christi, in the person of Jesus,

it’s as if we are that one leper who turns back - 

who falls at His feet in trust and thanks Him.

Confession is not about punishment; 

it’s about coming home.

It brings us from the distance of sin 

back into the embrace of God’s mercy, 

and it restores our place in the community of faith.

There is a peace that comes from hearing those words: 

“I absolve you from your sins.”

In that moment, the soul is cleansed, and we are once again 

ready to come fully into communion with Christ.

Yet, for some reason, we resist His mercy.

How quickly we reach for medicine when our body is unwell. 

but when our soul aches with guilt or regret, 

we sometimes hesitate to see the Divine Physician.

Still, confession and the Eucharist belong together.

When the leper returned to give thanks, 

he did what we do every time we come to Mass.

The word Eucharist itself means “thanksgiving.”

And only a heart that knows it has been forgiven 

can truly give thanks.

That’s why the Church asks us to receive the Eucharist 

only when we are in a state of grace.

The Eucharist is not a prize for the perfect - 

it is food for the forgiven.

At this altar, we bring everything - 

our joys, our wounds, our whole life - 

and we join them to Christ’s perfect offering of love.

Here, heaven touches earth.

Here, the outsider becomes a beloved son or daughter again.

And just as the leper was restored to health and to community, 

so we are restored to communion with God and one another.

Today, let us see ourselves,

in that one leper who turned back -

the one who returned to Jesus and found salvation.

Each time we go to confession, we return.

Each time we approach this altar with a clean heart, we return.

Each time we fall to our knees in gratitude, 

we return to the Lord who has made us whole.

May the Eucharist renew in us that same spirit -

a heart that knows it has been forgiven,

a soul that cannot help but give thanks,

and a faith that keeps returning

to the merciful heart of Jesus, 

in hope and thanksgiving, again and again and again.

Homily for Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross

The readings for Feast of the Exaltation of the Holy Cross may be found at:

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/091425.cfm

Today, we celebrate the Exaltation of the Holy Cross, 

a Feast that invites us 

not simply to remember the Cross, 

but to lift it up, to honor it, 

and most importantly, to let it reshape our lives.

But this is hard,

because we live in a world 

that avoids the cross.

In this day and age especially,

many of us are bombarded by media telling us -

that suffering is meaningless, 

that success is measured by comfort, 

and that our worth is tied 

to how much we produce, achieve or earn. 

We're conditioned that every pain should be medicated, 

that failure is weakness, 

and that sacrifice is an old, outdated notion. 

Even in our spiritual lives, the temptation is often 

to seek only the blessings of God, 

and rarely the cross of Christ.

But today’s Gospel, tells us something radically different - 

“So must the Son of Man be lifted up.” 

Because it's only through the cross - 

through Christ’s suffering and death - that salvation comes.

Jesus does not avoid the cross - He embraces it. 

And in doing so, He shows us that suffering is not empty. 

Pain is not meaningless. 

And that love - true love - always - involves sacrifice.

Today, we live in a time of deep divisions - 

socially, politically, even spiritually. 

Consider just the events of this past week,

fear, violence, and hatred seem everywhere.

Yet, St. John reminds us of God's response to brokenness, 

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so 

that everyone who believes in him might not perish

but might have eternal life.”

He didn’t send a political solution or a new law or even an angel. 

He gave His Son - to die on a cross

because that is what love looks like.

Yet, somehow we still seem to think we can follow 

a crucified Savior and live a perfectly comfortable life. 

But this world needs witnesses, not opinions.

People willing to live sacrificial love 

in their families, their workplaces and in public.

The good news is that 

we don’t have to be martyred to celebrate this feast.

Every time we forgive someone 

who doesn’t deserve it - we lift high the cross.

Every time we choose patience 

instead of reacting or retaliating -  we carry the cross.

Every time we stand up for truth when it’s unpopular, 

or choose integrity when it costs us - 

we are exalting the cross.

Because being a disciple of Christ, 

isn’t about escaping suffering,

it’s about redeeming that suffering through Him, 

from the inside out.

The cross is not just a sign of suffering,

it's a sign of victory.  That's why we exalt it.

The cross - an instrument of death 

that became the source of life.

We wear it around our necks, 

hang it in our homes, trace it on our bodies, 

and mark it on our graves. 

Because the worst act this world could ever do - 

to kill the Son of God - 

became our doorway to eternal life.

This week, 

Let us pray for the strength

not to run away from the crosses in our life.

Whether they be chronic illness, 

broken relationships, or deep struggles - 

remembering that Christ is in our cross, 

and wants to redeem it.

Let us pray for the strength 

to choose sacrificial love daily. 

In a world of convenient answers and shallow comforts, 

let us live the deeper truth that real love costs something.

Because if it doesn’t cost - it probably isn’t love.

And Let us pray for the strength 

to hold fast to the hope of the resurrection - 

where the cross is not the end, but the way to glory. 

That when we exalt the cross,

when we lift it high through our day-to-day lives - 

we are proclaiming to the world

that God so loved the world.

Let us lift high the Cross as a declaration,

that in the face of suffering, we will not despair.

That in the face of division, we will choose love.

That in the shadow of death, we will look forward with hope 

to the resurrection.

Lifting high the cross. 

Living by the cross. 

And letting the world see

through us 

and through our own cross,

that love has won.