30th Sunday in Ordinary Time 2025 - Priesthood Sunday - Humble Trust & Risks for God

 

A few years ago, for my new year’s resolution, I attempted to learn how to play the violin. I grew up playing a little bit of piano and trumpet and sang in the choir in high school and in seminary; so, I was pretty familiar with reading music, and figured, how hard could the violin really be? So, I got a hold of a violin, and realized pretty quickly that if I was going to progress in this instrument, I was going to need to take some lessons: I didn’t even know if I was holding the thing correctly.

And I have to admit, those first few violin lessons, were very humbling. I admitted to my violin teacher that I was a bit uncomfortable and embarrassed: a grown adult, a priest, several college degrees, and I could barely get through “Mary Had a Little Lamb” without the violin sounding like I was torturing some poor animal.

After several months there was some progression and I decided that I had fulfilled my new year’s resolution. But, I really have to admit: those first few weeks, were very humbling, and very uncomfortable. The violin didn’t care about my degrees, about the time I spent visiting the sick, or teaching in the classroom. And to sit with this professional violin player was kind of embarrassing. I felt like a little child.

But, I’m so glad I risked a little embarrassment, because now I can pick up the violin every now and then—one of my favorite musical instruments—and enjoy playing it a bit.

You may have had a similar experience: learning a new skill always involves that initial moment when you feel a bit like a child. But that’s not a bad thing: children are often much more courageous than adults. They don’t worry about what people think of them, they just engage. They’ll try new things because they look fun. They play without self-regard. They quickly make new friends—they are able to do things that many adults would be humiliated over doing—but that’s the key to their joy isn’t it…not fearing humiliation.

Would we honor Saint Francis of Assisi, if he had allowed his fears of what others thought of him to control his life? If he worried about being considered “overly religious”? Or St. Paul, what if he had allowed his fear of leaving his home country keep him from his missionary journeys. Or Saint Clare? What if she let social pressures keep her from leaving behind her family wealth to pursue radical holiness. So many of the great Saints risk humiliation, they risk failure, they risk mockery, in order to pursue true greatness.

Many of our young people do not consider entering the religious life or going to the seminary because of social and even family pressure “What will they think of me if I joined the monastery.” But, in the Christian life, each one of us absolutely needs to ask ourselves: do I want to be great in the eyes of the world, or in the eyes of God?

I pray that fear—fear of being considered “overly religious”—is not keeping anyone here from becoming more active in the life of holiness and the life of the parish. The parish needs your creativity; the Church needs you to take risks for God.

When I first started considering my priestly vocation and I visited the seminary for the first time as a freshman in college—what deeply impressed me most of all—was that here were men my age—and I was just 18 years old at the time—men my age willing to take a risk for God—not for themselves, but for Christ and His Church. And these were talented, smart, athletic young men who could go on to be very successful businessmen and find beautiful wives and have happy families if they wanted. None of them HAD to go to seminary. But I tell you, for myself, and for many of those men who are now priests, the risk has paid off. Because it’s not really a risk when the one you are trusting is God. God is the great “Guaranteer”. It’s guaranteed that what you give to God will be blessed and multiplied. And I hope that you believe that. That you will be blessed in this life and in the next, when you entrust your time, talent, treasure, and life to God for the good of the mission of the Church.

Since 2003, in the United States, the last Sunday of October has been designated Priesthood Sunday, an opportunity for us to pray for vocations to the priesthood and to consider the role of the priesthood.

But, where do priestly vocations come from? From family members pushing their sons to consider seminary? Maybe. Family support is helpful. But I think on a deeper level vocations come from humble trust—trust, that when we put God first, we are blessed. It comes from asking personally, “God how are you calling me, personally to serve the mission of the Church” That’s what needs to be cultivated in families. Openness to serving in whatever way God calls you to.

That’s a major reason why I left my pastorate of St. Ignatius of Antioch to come here. I was happy there. It was challenging, but I like challenges: a country boy in the inner city surrounded by homelessness, drug problems, crime, gang violence, prostitution, poverty. But when the Bishop asked me to come here—and he did ask, he didn’t command—when he asked, I believe God speaks through the bishop to his priests, to all of us. And amidst the challenges of these last four months, I’ve had to call that to mind once or twice—to recall that with the challenges of the two parishes—the needs of the parishes in 2025, I have to trust God.

Where is God calling you to humbly trust Him—with your time, energy, ability—in your prayer life, your civic life, your family life, your leisure time, your involvement in the parish?

“Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.” Don’t you want to be exalted by God? Then follow where he calls. Humbly trust, that what you have to offer IS what the Father desires to be entrusted back to Him.

May God bless our priests, on this priesthood Sunday. And may he guide and strengthen all of us in His service, for the glory of God and the salvation of souls.

2nd Sunday of Lent 2020 - The dangerous business of going out your door

 One of the great works of literature from the 20th century was written by Catholic author J.R.R. Tolkien. You may have read or watched the film production of his “Lord of the Rings” Trilogy. This fantasy saga about hobbits and elves and wizards and dragons is heavily infused with imagery inspired by Tolkien’s Catholic faith.

The tale begins with the discovery of a magic ring. The main character, Frodo, and his friend Sam are tasked with the perilous quest of bringing the mysterious ring to a group of wise elves who will determine what to do with this dangerous artifact.

I thought of Tolkien’s story in regards to our first reading today. Abraham is tasked by God to leave his home, his native land, and venture to a new place, filled with strangers and enemies. A perilous quest for anyone, but particularly Abraham who was 75 years old.

There is a great scene near the beginning of Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, where Frodo and Sam, having walked for about a day and half from their village, reach the edge of field, and Sam stops and says, “this is it…If I take one more step, I'll be the farthest away from home I've ever been.” To which Frodo responds, “Come on, Sam. Remember what my uncle used to say: "It's a dangerous business,  going out your door. You step onto the road, and if you don't keep your feet, there's no telling where you might be swept off to."

Sam spoke those words with no idea that his feet would take him so far from home, farther than he could ever dream of, and he would do things he never thought himself possible of doing. Like Abraham, like moses, like the prophets, like the apostles and saints. These holy men and women all took a risk of stepping out their front door, and allowing God to lead them to unknown lands, figuratively and oftentimes literally, further from home than they’ve ever been. God invites all of us to trust him, to allow him to lead us into the unknown, into new ways of service and sacrifice,
prayer and evamgelization.

In the Gospel we hear of Peter, James, and John being led up a mountain by Jesus. They had already taken the risk of leaving their fathers’ fishing businesses, following this itinerant preacher and miracle worker all over Galilee. And now, he was leading them up this strange mountain. St. Matthew uses this wonderful word in the Greek for Jesus’ act of leading his apostles up the mountain side. The word is anaphora. Anaphora means to lead up or carry up or bring up.  The word also has the connotation of offering up:  as in the high priest offering up sacrifices for the forgiveness of the sins of the people.

This connection of being led up a mountain and offering up a sacrifice, should certainly make us think of our blessed Lord being led up to mount calvary by the will of his father. And indeed, Christians have always seen the story of the Transfiguration as a foreshadowing of the Lord climbing the Mount of Calvary and also our vocation of following where our master has gone before us.
Peter, James, and John, like their Lord would go on to climb the mountain of suffering for the sake of the Gospel; they “bore their share of hardship for the gospel” as Paul writes to timothy in our second reading. Peter, like the Lord, was crucified. James, was the first to be martyred among the apostles. John, though he died of old age, suffered greatly, he was even boiled in oil, but he survived.
We must all trust the Lord enough to allow him to lead us up the holy mountain. It’s not an easy journey. It’s steep. It’s hard. It requires courage and fortitude. It might even be, like it was for Peter James and John, quite terrifying, initially.

But something happens at the top of the mountain that makes the terrible journey worth it. At the top of the mountain, we encounter God. And that too might be terrifying at first, as it was for Peter, James, and John. But that mountain top encounter with God, changes you, bolsters you, in fact, we long for it. This desire for the mountaintop encounter with the true and living God is deeper than our fears.

Pope Benedict writes, “This letting oneself be guided where one does not want to be led is an essential dimension of our service, and it is exactly what makes us free. In this being guided, which can be contrary to our ideas and plans, we experience something new—the wealth of God’s love.”
There is no doubt, for each and every person here, some place, that God wants to lead us, where we, initially, don’t want to be led. It could be because of our swollen ego, or our fear of suffering, our fear of being rejected by our fellow man. But each one of us, no doubt, is being called by God up a mountain.

That mountain’s name for some of us, might be “forgiveness”, forgiving someone who hurt you deeply. For some, it might be “chastity or self-control”, putting an end to unchaste or spiritually unhealthy habits and actions. For some, it might be “generosity”—learning to trust God enough to give to others more generously. For some, the name of that mountain might be “Confession”. The Sacrament of Confession is sometimes daunting because it requires us to name our failures and seek to change, a very steep mountain indeed.

But, atop each of these daunting, steep mountains, is an encounter with Jesus Christ, which will set you free and bring you joy. In the end, that holy mountain, is the only one worth climbing.
The Eucharistic preface for this second Sunday of Lent, proclaims how the Lord brings the apostles up the holy mountain to show them that the Passion leads to the glory of the Resurrection. We willingly undergo the sufferings of the Christian life because of that promise, that what we suffer leads to the glory of the resurrection.

So this Lent, take a risk. Pray more than you ever have. Read the Bible more devoutly and reflectively. Fast more strictly than you ever have, trust that the Lord will feed you with what you will give you life. And Give like you never have. Take a risk, step out your front door, climb the mountain. Offer him your time, your body and soul.

The early Greek Christians used that wonderful word Anaphora to describe the Mass. And we Romans Catholics too, refer to that part of the Mass as the anaphora, when bread and wine are offered to God to become the flesh and blood of Jesus the High Priest who offers himself to the Father for our salvation.

As the Lord is offered up, may we offer our lives in union with him, and allow him to lead us in holiness, to grant us courage in leaving the comfort of our native lands, further from home than we’ve ever been. It’s dangerous out there, but he is with us, leading the way, for the glory of God and salvation of souls.