The Matter of Sacraments

Fourth Sunday of Lent
March 19, 2023 — Year A
Readings: 1 Sm 16:1b, 6-7, 10-13a / Ps 23 / Eph 5:8-14 / Jn 9:1-41
by Rev. Nixon Negparanon, Pastor

Our gospel today is about a man who was born blind.  What a privilege for the blind man to have met Jesus and be healed by Him!  What a privilege for him to have Jesus touch his eyes and bring him sight!  Yet who would think that a paste of clay put on one’s eyes and then washing in the Pool of Siloam would restore the blind man’s sight?  But Jesus worked through clay and water.  Jesus used ordinary elements around us in nature to convey his healing power.  Jesus gave the gift of sight by using matter.  The blind man could feel the paste of clay on his eyes; he could feel Jesus touching his eyes; he could hear Jesus.  He could feel the water washing off the clay.  He could not see Jesus, but Jesus came to him through touch and hearing.

In the first reading God works in a similar way.  Samuel, under instructions from God, anointed David with oil, and when he did so, the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon David from that day forward.  In the first reading and gospel, God’s power and healing were conveyed through elements of nature applied to the body and were conveyed through matter.

So, when Jesus comes to us, how does He come?  Every time we receive the sacraments, Jesus comes to us, and there is a visible sign of Jesus coming to us invisibly through His sacrament.  Just as the Holy Spirit came mightily upon David when he was anointed with oil by Samuel, and just as Jesus used matter of clay and water for the healing of the blind man, Jesus comes to us in each sacrament with matter used together with prayer, and we call the prayer “the form.”  So the matter and form of every sacrament is the visible sign of Jesus coming to us invisibly, but powerfully, in the sacrament.

In the Sacrament of Baptism, the matter is water, which is poured over the head to baptize and symbolizes washing.  And the form is that the priest will say the name of the person or the baby, and then continue by saying, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit,” which is prayed at the same time as the water is poured.

In the Sacrament of Confirmation, the matter is the bishop using his thumb to anoint the forehead with Oil of Chrism.  And the form is that he says the name of the person and says, “Be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit.”

In the Sacrament of the Eucharist, the matter is bread made from wheat and wine fermented from grapes.  The form is the words of the Consecration at Mass over the bread and wine.  “Take this, all of you, and eat it.  This is my body which will be given up for you.  Take this, all of you, and drink from it.  This is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant.”

In the Sacrament of Reconciliation, the matter is not something that we can see as in the other Sacraments, or something that touches our senses.  Instead, it is our sorrow and repentance and the penance we perform after receiving the absolution.  The form is the words of absolution prayed over us by the priest, which conclude, “And I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father (the priest makes the sign of the cross), and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

In the Sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick, the matter is the anointing with the Oil of the Sick on the forehead and on the palms of the hands.  The form is a prayer prayed by the priest at the same time, when he says, “Through this Holy Anointing, may the Lord, in His love and mercy, help you through the grace of the Holy Spirit.”  Then he anoints the forehead, and he continues by saying, “May the Lord who frees you from sin save you and raise you up.”  Then he anoints the palms.

In the Sacrament of Holy Orders, in which deacons, priests, and bishops are ordained, the matter is the laying on of hands by the bishop on the head of the man being ordained.  The form, the prayer of consecration immediately following the laying on of hands, differs on whether it is a deacon, priest, or bishop who is being ordained.

In the Sacrament of Matrimony, the matter and form of the Sacrament is the mutual self-giving and self-acceptance by the couple as they hold each other’s right hand.

When David was chosen by God as King, the spirit of the Lord came mightily upon him when he was anointed by Samuel with oil.  When the blind man was healed by Jesus, the healing of Jesus came to him through being anointed with a paste of clay and washed in the Pool of Siloam.  He could feel the paste of clay on his eyes, he could feel Jesus touching his eyes, he could hear Jesus, he could feel the water washing off the clay.  He could not see Jesus, but Jesus came to him through touch and hearing.

Every time we receive the sacraments, Jesus comes to us by touching our senses, and there is a visible sign of Jesus coming to us invisibly in these sacraments.  Who would think that anointing with oil would be the signal for the spirit of the Lord to fall mightily on David?  Who would think that anointing with a paste of clay and washing would restore sight?

But God uses ordinary elements of nature to convey His power and healing to us in the sacraments, and in every sacrament, Jesus comes to us invisibly, but powerfully.  So, as you receive the sacraments, you hear Jesus and Jesus touches you.  Jesus touched the blind man and Jesus touches you when you receive the sacraments.

The Woman at the Well

Third Sunday of Lent
March 12, 2023 — Year A
Readings: Ex 17:3-7 / Ps 95 / Rom 5:1-2, 5-8 / Jn 4:5-42
by Rev. Mr. Barry Welch, Guest Homilist

For a few moments I’d like for you to put yourself in the place of the woman at the well in today’s story.  Imagine you’re her and you’re there.  It’s dusty and it’s hot, even in the shade.  The dust and the wind are hot, and they’re sticking to you because you’re sweaty.  You’re a long walk from the village. You’re alone.  The jars are heavy even when empty.

I am the woman at the well, and I swim in dirty waters.  I exist and I swim in the waters of this world, this culture. It can be a cesspool really. The world doesn’t love me; it doesn’t care about me. Society, the culture, they wish for my power as their own. I’m worth what I produce for it. My dignity is ambiguous, my morality is ambiguous, dependent on what others might see in me or gain from me, so I behave the same. This culture that corrupts me by bombarding me with its messages: consume, it’s your truth, love whomever you’d like, if it feels good do it, the baby is not a person, the old man is a burden. This culture that has shaped me is the same that will condemn me, shun me, ignore me, separate me whenever it seems helpful to it. Governments, business, academics, art, media, these can’t save me. I am the woman at the well, and I swim in dirty waters.

I am the woman at the well, and I am a cast away, rejected, shunned, alone with my sin and my pain. There’s a reason I’m at the well far outside of town, alone with the sun at its peak and the heat. I am a cast away. That’s because no one will be there, no one carries heavy containers of water in the heat of the day; they go in the early morning or the late evening when it’s cool. But me, I go when no one will be there, no one to deride me, no one to judge me, no one to make me feel worse about myself than I already do. No one can help me, no one cares, no one loves me. Do I even deserve love anyway? I just need to exist. I just need to get by. I am the woman at the well and I am a cast away.

I am the woman at the well and I doubt Him. Why talk to me? Why care about me? I am a woman, I am from Samaria, I’m a pagan. You don’t know me; You can’t know me. Everything about me is the antithesis of what someone like You would value. I float in sin. I doubt You can help me. You don’t even have a vessel, a container for the water, and my darkness is deep, too deep for You to reach. How could You sustain me for even a few moments, let alone eternally? No, this doesn’t make sense, this must be some trick. You must want something from me or wish to gain something by this encounter. I am the woman at the well and I doubt Him.

I am the woman at the well and I accept Him. Wait, He does know me. He really, truly, knows me. He knows my heart, hardened and despairing as it is. I’ve never met Him, and yet He softly identifies everything about my darkness. He dips deeply into my well of shame and loathing and somehow accepts it, accepts me. He accepts who I am. His grace is bigger than my past, much bigger. He’s met me in the dark and barren places of my heart where I am and offered me His love without requiring anything. And yet, I feel I want to return to Him somehow. I want to acknowledge this immense gift. I welcome His gift. It’s what I’ve unknowingly been seeking. He has risen me to pure living water. I’m unsinkable. I live. I am the woman at the well and I accept Him.

I am the woman at the well and I know Him. I’m not even going to haul the water back or the containers. I’m lighter than air now. I’m restored. My burdens lifted. My guilt and shame washed away. I’m floating. But what about the others? They don’t know, they can’t know. They swim in dirty waters. They are castaways. They doubt love. If they knew Him, they might be light. I must share. I must let them know, because even me, and all my darkness and brokenness and doubt, even me He loves and wants to save. You’ve got to meet Him. There’s nothing greater, nothing more important, nothing more beautiful. He is the living water, salvation, the Christ. I am the woman at the well and I want you to know Him.

Come Down

Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time
October 30, 2022 — Year C
Readings: Wis 11:22-12:2 / Ps 145 / 2 Thes 1:11-2:2 / Lk 19:1-10
by Rev. Nixon Negparanon, Pastor

Benjamin Franklin was a scientist, inventor, political philosopher.  Before I could get my citizenship, I had to study a little bit about the history of the United States of America.  He helped draft and signed the Declaration of Independence and was the first postmaster of the US.

One day Benjamin Franklin met a lady walking along with her young son.  She asked him, “Why is it that the riches of the world bring unhappiness?”  He didn’t answer her.  Instead, he got an apple from a basket and gave it to the boy.  The little boy was very happy and ate the apple immediately.  Franklin gave him another, and then another one, until both of the boy’s hands had three apples.  Since he couldn’t hold them all, an apple eventually fell to the ground.  The boy cried loudly.

Franklin then said to the mother, “You see, when the boy had two apples, which he could comfortably carry, he was happy.  But look, when he had too many to carry, and one of them dropped, he started crying.  So also with wealth.”

Zacchaeus was a wealthy man, but he was lonely.  He had everything, but he was not happy.  He was at the top of his profession, but he was despised by his fellow men.

His parents named him “Zacchaeus.”  Jewish names have meanings that correspond to one’s personality, just like when we give names to our children.  For example, Gabriel means “man of God.”  Dominic means “belonging to the Lord.”  Irene means “peace.”  Ann means “grace,” Corazon means “heart.”   The name Zacchaeus means “just” or “clean.”  Yet, when the people of Jericho heard the name “Zacchaeus,” they did not think of a just man or a “Mr. Clean” guy, but a detestable and dishonest man.

Tax collectors were despised and considered outcasts, traitors, puppets of the Romans, no doubt because they accumulated great wealth at the expense of others.  Zacchaeus was a chief tax collector and was much hated by all the people.  Beyond collecting his quota that he turned into the state, he surcharged the poor and pocketed the extra money that he collected.

The chances of Zacchaeus entering God’s Kingdom were minimal.  No self-respecting Jew would endorse his application.  Even Jesus Christ pointed out that a rich person would find it very difficult to enter the Kingdom.  The rich young man who actually led a clean life was not able to follow; how much more difficult for Zacchaeus, who had sold his soul for money?

Yet Jesus, in today’s gospel, singled out Zacchaeus for the honor of staying at his home.  Jesus said to Zacchaeus, “Zacchaeus, hurry down, for I must stay at your house today.”  Imagine that Jesus said to you, “I must stay at your house today.”  How would you react to such an invitation?  Would you be excited or embarrassed?  Would your home be ready?  Would you be personally ready to welcome Jesus into your home?

Why would Jesus single him out?  It is because Zacchaeus needed God’s merciful love and forgiveness.  In his encounter with Jesus, he found more than he imagined possible.  He shows the depth of his repentance by deciding to give up half of his goods to the poor, and to use the other half for making restitution for fraud.  This shows how radical his conversion was, coupled with restitution.  Just like in the sacrament of Reconciliation, after we have confessed all our sins to the priest, the priest will advise us to return what we have taken, restore the dignity of others that we have destroyed, and more.  Then he gives penitential works to restore what we have destroyed.

We have another reason why Jesus singled out Zacchaeus.  It is because in Zacchaeus’s entire life, he was always looking down for money and business.  His focus is on profit and worldly pleasure.  But he was asked to rise up and see that the love and forgiveness of God is vast, and that he has the opportunity to change himself for the better.

When he was at the top of the sycamore tree, Jesus asked him to go down.  It means that we should not always be at the top and seeing heaven, but to go down and continue doing the mission that Jesus has given us.

There are people who keep their distance from Jesus.  They call themselves Christians, but they do not get involved.  They are in the tree observing all that is going on in the Church.  They are liberal with their comments, generous with their recommendations, and always ready with advice.  But they will stay there at a safe distance, looking down from a sheltered observation point.

Today’s gospel ends with a beautiful saying of Jesus:  The Son of Man has come to seek and to save what was lost.  Jesus Christ is telling us that He seeks the sinners and the lost in order to offer them, and us, salvation.  Such is the great love of God.  The sinners have an important place in His plan of salvation.  But seeking God does not mean that we need to wait until He finds us.  Choosing to hide ourselves from Him never helps us in the process.  Life is, and should be, a constant search for God.

So, answering the call of Jesus means to come down from our position as observer.  We cannot be spectators.  We have to join the community and participate in its activities.  We have to let Jesus enter the inner sanctuary of our personal lives.

As we continue the celebration of the Holy Mass, let us pray for those who do not have the Lord God dwelling in their homes.  Let us ask the Lord to reach out to these souls so that they, too, may partake in the universal salvation plan of God.

Untethered and Obedient

Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion
April 10, 2022 — Year C
Readings: Lk 19:28-40 / Is 50:4-7 / Ps 22 / Phil 2:6-11 / Lk 22:14 – 23:56
by Rev. Mr. Barry Welch, Guest Homilist

Today is Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion.  On this Palm Sunday, we gather together to join Jesus in His final journey toward His divine purpose.  After five weeks in the desert of Lent, we are all joyful and relieved that Easter is coming, and Jesus is near.

Just a few moments ago, we gathered in the commons with our palms being blessed, anticipating Him of whom we’ve heard so much.  There was a little excitement and a sense of community as we looked at others across the circle.  You could feel a sense of purpose.  Then we joined in that triumphant procession toward this holy place, our “temple,” just like the people in the gospel arriving in Jerusalem.  We, like them, were marrying our hopes and aspirations to those of this simple teacher from Galilee.

In very short order, however, our joy and hopes were crushed, as we listened in horror to the gospel dialog of the Lord’s Passion.  Thankfully, we know the outcome.  We know the victory.  We have the blessing to be on this side of history, looking back for our assurances.  The people there, the disciples there that day, had an uncertain future.  Their lives were so difficult in a brutal and occupied territory.

I’ve heard this Palm Sunday set of readings for years, and I read it quite a few times as I was preparing for preaching this weekend.  There is one character in the story that I could not get out of my mind this past week.  He’s a minor detail, really, easily brushed off and forgotten.  I’m talking about the donkey.

Why did Jesus need a ride and why did He choose a donkey?  Jesus had been walking all over Galilee, Judea, and Samaria, for three years.  He walked everywhere and I would imagine that He was very fit and used to walking.  He had set His mind on the journey to Jerusalem just a few weeks ago.  He was making a beeline to Jerusalem, and yet He stopped just a mile or so from the destination, and decided to send two of His disciples to go get a donkey for this last little piece.  Curious, isn’t it?

Every Jew in Jesus’ day and especially in His audience would have been very familiar with the prophesy of Zechariah about the king’s entry into Jerusalem.  Zechariah 9: 9-10 says:

Exult greatly, O daughter Zion!  Shout for joy, O daughter Jerusalem!
Behold: your king is coming to you, a just savior is he,
Humble, and riding on a donkey, on a colt, the foal of a donkey.
He shall banish the chariot from Ephraim, and the horse from Jerusalem;
The warrior’s bow will be banished, and he will proclaim peace to all the nations.
His dominion will be from sea to sea, and from the River to the ends of the earth.

Jesus, choosing this donkey, verifies this prophecy.

What does it say to us, that He is riding in on a donkey?  It says to us that Jesus is a king, and that the King is coming to you.  To you and to me by name.  It says Jesus is a just Savior.  He wants to save you, to remove you from sin and death, to justify you, moving you from darkness to light.  It says Jesus is humble.  He is not riding a great stallion or being carried in an ornate wagon.  He is gentle, caring, and arriving on a common donkey.  It says Jesus is peaceful.  He is not conquering with horse and chariot, and bow.  No violence.  Peacefully, He comes to you.  He doesn’t force your heart.  He asks.  It says Jesus’ reign, His dominion, is universal from sea to sea.  That tells us He’s coming for everyone, every single one of us.  Are we open?  Are we ready?

Another curious thing about the story is that in order to complete this divine mission, in getting the help of this common creature, we learn that the donkey was born for one purpose and one purpose only.  The donkey had never been sat upon by anyone.  The donkey’s purpose was to serve the Lord.  But the donkey couldn’t come on his own.  He was tethered and needed guidance.  Luke makes so much of the fact that the donkey was tethered and needed to be untied.

I started thinking that maybe you and I are the donkey.  Weren’t we all born for one purpose:  to serve the Lord?  Aren’t we also tied up, bound to so many other things?  Take a moment and think about what ties you, what binds you, what holds you back and separates you from truly loving and truly serving Him?  Jesus, in His wisdom and compassion, sent disciples to help us, to untie us and lead us to Him.  The Church, her Sacraments, her clergy, and all her holy and prayerful people have all been around and are still here to help set our hearts free and guide us to the Master, whom we were born to serve.

What binds you?  What is your tether?  Is it pride, or fear, indifference, busy-ness, or shame?  There is something in the world out there causing separation.  Our tether has been expertly bound by sin.  Satan works around the clock to keep those knots tight and secure.  But this week, as we go through Holy Week, we learn how and by whom we are liberated.

Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord.

Judging With Mercy

Fifth Sunday of Lent
April 3, 2022 — Year C
Readings: Is 43:16-21 / Ps 126 / Phil 3:8-14 / Jn 8:1-11
by Rev. Nixon Negparanon, Pastor

There is a little-known sidelight to the story of the woman taken in adultery.  After the Pharisees dragged her before Jesus for sentencing, and Jesus says, “Let anyone among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her,” a stone comes flying from the crowd.  Jesus looks up, frowns slightly, smiles a little and says, “If you don’t mind, mother, I am only trying to make a point here.”

In one way, this is a good joke because it shows the natural tendency of good people like the Pharisees and the Scribes to throw stones at those they consider sinners.  In other ways it is a bad joke because it tries to paint sinless Mary in the colors of sinful humanity.  The last person who would want to throw a stone at the woman caught in adultery would be the Blessed Virgin Mary, God’s most favored one.  According to the joke, Jesus says He’s trying to make a point here.  So now the question is:  What is the point that Jesus is trying to make?  Why would the Church give us this story for our spiritual nourishment on the last Sunday before Holy Week, when we commemorate the suffering and death of Jesus on our behalf?

The story of the woman caught in adultery had a very curious history in the early Church.  Many ancient Bibles do not have it.  Some have it as part of a different chapter in the Gospel of John.  Still others have it as part of the Gospel of Luke.  Some scholars think that originally this story could have been part of Luke’s Gospel.  Why?  Because it reflects themes that are dear to Luke, such as concern for sinners, interest in women, and the compassion of Jesus.

The fact that it is missing in some early Bibles and found in different locations in others suggest that some early Christian communities had removed this story from the Bible.  When later Christians tried to put it back into the Bible, they were no longer sure of its original location.

So why would anyone want to remove this story from the Bible?  There are people who cannot understand why Jesus would sympathize with a convicted adulterer.  After all, it is decreed in the Bible that such offenders should be put to death.  (Lv 20:10)

Does this not seem like an obstruction of justice?  What do you think?  Perhaps you remember the case of Karla Faye Tucker, a self-confessed repentant murderer who was executed in Texas in February 1998.  Many Christian organizations, including the Vatican, pleaded for her pardon, yet her execution was carried out.  Supporters of the death penalty argued that no one should interfere with the course of justice.  Well, Jesus just did in our gospel today.

There are people who think that compassion and leniency are a sign of weakness.  These are probably the kind of Christians who tried to suppress the story by removing it from the Church’s Bible.  How could Christians read this marvelous story of Jesus’ compassion and still take a hardline stand with regard to correctional services?

The answer lies in how one reads the story.  Some people identify themselves with the Pharisees when they read it.  Their interest is in how to deal with other people who break the law.   Their answer is usually that justice should be allowed to run its due course.

Now you can begin to understand, in the history of the Church, why the medieval Church did not see anything wrong with burning at the stake convicted witches like Joan of Arc.  Didn’t the Bible say that no one who practices sorcery should be allowed to live?  That is the law; that is justice.  Our only duty is to implement it.

But when we read this story, identifying ourselves, not with the Pharisees, but with the woman herself, then we begin to see the story for the good news that it really is.  Like the woman, we all have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God.  Like her, we all deserve death.  Why?  Because the scripture says “the wages of sin is death.”  But when Jesus comes into the picture, He overturns our death sentence.  He sets us free with His words of absolution: “Neither do I condemn you.  Go your way and sin no more. “

The story shows how Jesus stands up for sinners before the law.  In doing so, he draws upon Himself the hostility of the hardline officers, who will eventually arrest Him and give Him a taste of their justice.  The Church puts this story before us today, so that we can see ourselves in the sinner woman, whom Jesus saves from sure death, at the risk of attracting death to Himself.

This season of Lent urges us not to be judgmental of others.  We are all sinners and in need of God’s mercy and grace.  Only God has the right to judge people, because He alone is perfect.

Somebody said that God Himself does not propose to judge a person until he’s dead.  So why should we judge him?

Sometimes people ask me, “Father, is it wrong to judge?”  Of course, the answer is: It depends on how you deal with judgment.

There are two ways of judging people:  with compassion or without mercy.  If we judge the person with compassion, just like Jesus did, then we are doing the right thing.  If we judge the person without mercy, without compassion, then we end up like the Scribes and the Pharisees in our gospel today.  They want the woman to be stoned to death.  Or we end up being like the older brother in the parable of the Prodigal Son.  He could not accept his brother for having squandered his parents’ money and property.

Someone asked me yesterday, “Father, what if I tell my children, “Don’t go with a drug addict.’  Am I judging the drug addict?”

Of course, that is a different story.  Your intention is not to judge the drug addict, but to keep your children away from drugs.

Or how about Putin, who killed all these innocent people?  Are we not going to judge him?  Judge him with mercy.  That is what Jesus wants us to do.  Mother Teresa of Calcutta reminds us of this when she said, “If you judge people, you have no time to love them.”

So perhaps the question we need to ask ourselves is this:  When do you judge and act like the Pharisees and the Scribes?  Are there times when you judge others because of your biases and prejudices?  Are there times when you judge others even though you only know a little about the person?

If you are a person who judges others, try reflecting on these pieces of advice:

1)         Never judge someone without knowing the whole story.  You may think you understand, but you don’t.

2)        Never judge someone by the opinion of others.  Often, we are victims of this kind of judgment.  We easily listen, especially when the person telling us the judgment or the criticism is someone we trust, or someone who is close to us.

3)        Every single person on the planet has a story.  Don’t judge people before you truly know them.  The truth might surprise you.  Sometimes it is very easy to judge a person by their face, especially if the person’s face is ugly or he looks like a madman.  But we may end up realizing that the person leads a very saintly life.  And there are people who look like saints, but the way they lead their life is the other way around.

4)        Don’t judge a person without fully understanding them.  Just because you and the person don’t agree doesn’t mean you’re right.

We must be conscious that the way we judge things is limited.  Our minds, our intellect, is just limited.  That’s why, in philosophy, only God is an unlimited being.  He’s the only perfect being.  We, created beings, are all limited beings.  Even our thinking is limited; the way we say things; the way we understand things; the way we hear things is limited, and prone to mistakes.  If we are aware of that from the very beginning, then we end up realizing that we are not supposed to judge others right away.  Jesus is telling us in our gospel today to judge others with compassion, with mercy, so that we won’t end up to be condemning.

We may be hounded by remorse for our past sins we have committed, like stealing, giving or accepting bribes, committing abortion, gossiping, making intrigues, or infidelity to one’s spouse.  We feel we must do something more in order to make a balance of our spiritual account sheet.  In short, make reparations.

So, this story is a fitting preparation for Holy Week.  We see Jesus making the ultimate sacrifice to grant us clemency; we who are already sentenced to death by our sins.

As we prepare for Holy Week, let us thank Jesus for His mercy and love.  And let us promise him that we shall commit ourselves to doing exactly as He tells us:  To go and sin no more.

Choose to Love

Thirty-first Sunday in Ordinary Time
October 31, 2021 — Year B
Readings: Dt 6:2-6 / Ps 18 / Heb 7:23-28 / Mk 12:28b-34
by Rev. Nixon Negparanon, Pastor

There is a story told of a man who was liberated from a concentration camp in WWII. He was called “Wild Bill Cody.” They called him that because the man had an unpronounceable seven-syllable Polish name and a handlebar moustache like the ones on Old West heroes.

While the rest of the Jewish prisoners were emaciated and haggard, Wild Bill was in excellent condition. Because of his amazingly good health, the Americans assumed that he had been in prison a very short time.  When his papers came through, however, they showed that Wild Bill had lived on a starvation diet and slept in airless, disease-ridden barracks for six years – just like the rest of the prisoners.  But Wild Bill had done it without physical or mental deterioration. (more…)

Ask For Your Miracle

Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time
October 24, 2021 — Year B
Readings: Jer 31:7-9 / Ps 126 / Heb 5:1-6 / Mk 10:46-52
by Rev. Mr. Mark De La Hunt, Permanent Deacon

Jesus performed miracles two thousand years ago and is still doing so today. Today, may we leave this church with a renewed faith in Jesus’ power to heal us and to truly help us when we are in need, and to heal and help others through our prayer.

In today’s gospel, the setting is important. Jesus is walking from Jericho to Jerusalem. Said another way, Jesus is walking from the site of the opening of the Promised Land through Joshua’s obedience to God, to the site of the opening of the gates to our final Promised Land through Jesus’ obedience to His Father. (more…)

What God Has Joined Together

Twenty-seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time
October 3, 2021 — Year B
Readings: Gn 2:18-24 / Ps 128 / Heb 2:9-11 / Mk 10:2-16
by Rev. Nixon Negparanon, Pastor

Someone once said that, when a person gets into deep trouble, he or she is surrounded by close friends and family.  And he continued by saying, “If you don’t believe this, just take a look at your wedding pictures.”

Brothers and sisters, from time to time, we tell jokes about married couples, but that is not at all to belittle the sanctity and permanence of marriage.  In today’s gospel, Jesus is very clear and emphatic: “Therefore, what God has joined together, no human being must separate.”  Marriage is forever and for always. (more…)

The Beauty of Confessing

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time
September 26, 2021 — Year B
Readings: Nm 11:25-29 / Ps 19 / Jas 5:1-6 / Mk 9:38-43, 45, 47-48
by Rev. Mr. Mark De La Hunt, Permanent Deacon

My hope in today’s homily is that all of us might leave today with one temptation and sin in mind that we are going to root out of our life with an intentional plan of attack that includes changes in our behavior and Jesus’ grace in the Sacrament of Confession. (more…)

The Real Presence

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time
August 8, 2021 — Year B
Readings: 1 Kgs 19:4-8 / Ps 34 / Eph 4:30 – 5:2 / Jn 6:41-51
by Rev. Nixon Negparanon, Pastor

There is a story I heard when I was in the Philippines:  A young boy from a very remote province went to a city to look for a job. One day he posted a picture on Facebook. He was leaning on a very expensive car, a Lamborghini. His mother saw the picture and posted a comment, “Oh, son, I’m glad that you were finally able to get a job, and that you got such an expensive car.”  But the son sent a private message to his mom, “Mom, I have to lean on the car or else I’ll pass out, because I have not eaten in days.” (more…)