What do you offer?

Posted on May 3, 2026 by Friar Musings

There is a quiet misunderstanding that can slip into our spiritual lives. We can begin to think that what happens here at Mass is the real “holy part”… and everything else, the rest of the week just ordinary life. But the Second Reading today from 1 Peter challenges that notion. It says something that is sometimes downplayed in the Catholic tradition. It says something beautiful…and challenging.

“You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood…like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house…to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.”

This is the basis of what is called “the priest of the laity” or sometimes “universal priesthood of believers.” You might have heard the expression. Maybe you’ve given it some thought or discussed it. It is a concept discussed in the Catechism that is rooted in the understanding of the universal call to holiness and the participation of all baptized Christians in the mission of the Church. It is a commissioning imbued indelibly during Baptism. It defines who you are, how you live, and what you bring to worship.

Who you are: you are living stones, not spectators. “You are living stones… built into a spiritual house.” Notice what Peter does not say. He does not say: “You come to the building.” He says: “You are being built into it.” The Church is not just a place we attend. It is something we are becoming.

And even more, he calls us a “holy priesthood.” Through your baptism, you were not only welcomed. You were commissioned. Not to watch. Not to sit on the sidelines. But to participate in the offering of worship. That is what a priest does: offers sacrifice. And Peter is saying: that is who you are. This is your identity

So the question becomes did you come to Mass to watch the mystery of the Mass and Eucharist unfold like a play in three acts? Because if we are honest, it is easy to slip into spectator mode: watch, listen, evaluate, and leave. Did you come to fully and actively participate? I hope so. But did you come as someone who has something to offer?

How you live: Peter tells us: “Offer spiritual sacrifices.” Right “off the bat” we face the question: what are “spiritual sacrifices”? That phrase can sound abstract until we begin to think about it in the course of daily life. Spiritual sacrifices are not dramatic or rare. They are the ordinary moments of life, consciously offered to God:

The patience you choose in a difficult conversation
The work you do with integrity when no one is watching
The forgiveness you extend when it costs you
The suffering you endure without bitterness
The quiet acts of love no one notices

These are the normal moments of life when you sacre fice, “to make holy” because you connect them with God’s call and His grace. Those are not interruptions to your daily or spiritual life. They are your life. They are the sacrifices you, as part of the holy priesthood, are called to offer. And here is the key: a sacrifice is not just something that happens. It is something that is given. Two people can go through the same struggle: one simply endures it; the other offers it. That is the difference the priesthood of the laity makes.

What you bring: And now that you have an idea of what “offer spiritual sacrifices” means, how are you called to live out your priesthood and offer spiritual sacrifices Monday through Saturday? Because now comes Sunday. The day you bring your life to the “spiritual house”. All these sacrifices of Monday thru Saturday, you bring them here to the community – other living stones – and together “let yourselves be built into a spiritual house.”

Every Mass includes an opening prayer: “Let us pray…” This is called the Collect; a prayer when the leader of worship, the ordained priest, calls for each one to call to mind the challenges, the personal prayers, the intentions and more and join them to the Sacrifice of the Mass.

Every Mass includes the Offertory when bread and wine are brought forward; gifts will become the Body and Blood of Christ. But what they represent is also more. They represent your life. Your week. Your efforts. Your failures. Your joys. Your hidden sacrifices. All of it is meant to be placed on the altar. Because here is the truth: The bread and wine do not come alone. They carry with them everything we have offered. The spiritual sacrifices that are taken up into Christ’s sacrifice. Our lives are taken up as well and offered.

This is the mission: not just to attend Mass, but to bring your life to Mass. To consciously place it before God and say: “Take this. Use this. Unite this with Your Son.”

“You are a chosen race, a royal priesthood…like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house…to offer spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.”

Identity: You are a living stone, part of a holy priesthood—not a spectator.
Action: You offer spiritual sacrifices in the ordinary moments of daily life.
Mission: You bring those sacrifices to the altar, where Christ transforms them.

And if we live this way, something changes. Mass is no longer something we “go to.” It becomes the place where our whole week finds meaning. It becomes the moment we remember daily life is part of worship. It becomes the place where our priesthood is lived.

And so, holy priests of God, when you come to Mass, what are you bringing? We are called to bring your presence and offerings, your spiritual sacrifices, your life. Because the priesthood of the laity means this: Your life is not just to be lived. It is to be offered.

Image credit: The Forerunners of Christ with Saints and Martyrs; San Domenico Altarpiece | Fra Angelico | 1420s | National Gallery of Art, Washington DC | PD-US

“I came that you may have life…”

Posted on April 26, 2026 by Friar Musings

“I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.” So, what do you make of the verse? What generally stands out in the hearing and imagination is “the abundant life.” What does it look like? If we don’t have an idea of what it looks like, how will we know when we have it?

Once upon a time in Kenya, an Englishman visiting the central highlands, discovered a beautiful river. Not too far downstream he came upon the chief of the Kikuyu people enjoying a moment of fishing. The chief had a great spot in the shade, the fishing line was tied around his big toe, and the chief seemed like he was napping more than fishing.

The chief had a beautiful string of trout he had already hooked. The Englishman asked how long he had been fishing; the reply was “maybe an hour. It’s hard to know. The fish keep waking me up.” The visitor was amazed, but was even more amazed when, during the conversation, he heard about the astounding productivity of this river for year-round fishing. He saw such great potential for development. So, with great enthusiasm, he explained to the chief how they could build a fishery on this spot.

“Why would I want to do that?” “So, your people could have jobs and money”

“What would we want with money” “You could buy things to make your life easier; jewelry for your wives. You could get the latest and best fishing equipment.”

“What would we do with all these fish?” “You can start another company to transport the fish to the market in Nakuru and Nairobi – then you would have even more money. And more of the tribe would have jobs. And they could build better homes and schools. Some of your best and brightest children could be educated at Oxford and Cambridge and return home to expand your fishery operations.”

You can imagine how the conversation continued to describe an ever-growing empire of commerce and expanding ideas for the good life for the people of the tribe. The Englishman described to the chief a whole lifetime of this operation.

When the visitor finally took a breath, the chief asked, “And when I have built all this for my people, what will I do?” The Englishman said, “Why you can retire”

“What would I do then?” “You could live the good life….why….you could go fishing whenever you want.”

Certainly, advertisers and marketing companies supply images for our consideration. Self-help books will describe how to achieve it. Some of the “prosperity gospel” churches proclaim that financial blessing and physical well-being are always the will of God for you – all you need do is believe… and donate to the church… this increases one’s material wealth and leads to abundant life.

“I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.” So, what do you make of the verse? Clearly, we Catholics do not profess this “name-it-and-claim-it” understanding of the Good News. We have a whole history of people who would tell you they indeed lived an abundant life, poor and persecuted, and in the end, were martyred for their faith. We hear that in the 2nd reading: “Beloved: If you are patient when you suffer for doing what is good, this is a grace before God. For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you.” A life full of grace before God? I think that would qualify as an abundant life.

How do you understand living an abundant life? The Kikuyu chief knew he was blessed with the gift of that river. Maybe that’s a place to start – what are your blessings in this life. And let me suggest a trajectory for your reflection.

Let’s just start with “life” – especially the newness of life given us in baptism. It is a washing clean with water and the Holy Spirit. It is a life of faith, love, hope, wisdom, understanding, right judgment, courage, knowledge, and reverence. These are the gifts of the Holy Spirit. These are the gifts that God gives in abundance. Are we good stewards of the gifts given us?

What would you want on your tombstone? Here lies the person who built the largest fishery in the central highlands of Kenya – or – here lies a person of love, wisdom, courage, and a life well lived? I think it is the second case in which the person was a good steward of the gifts given by God – the one who lived in the light of those gifts and handed them on to the people of his or her life.

God came that we would be more loving, more hopeful, more, …. more, everything – and would give it all away, knowing there is more where that came from and the Father will richly pour these gifts into the one who asks for more. As the one who asks, your life is fuller. As the one who gives, your life is more abundant.

Abundant life is not about what we have. It’s not about what we get. It’s not about what we claim. Ultimately, abundant life is knowing what we receive as a gift from the Lord and to live knowing we are stewards of those blessings of God.

“I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.” What does it look like in your life? That understanding is the start of a life lived well, lived abundantly in the blessings of God.

Image credit: Pixabay on Pexels, CC0

Are you merciful?

Posted on April 12, 2026 by Friar Musings

Do you think of yourself as a merciful person? I suspect the answer is “Yes…sometimes…it depends.” There is a very natural instinct in us when it comes to mercy – there is a part of us that wants it to be earned. We may not say it out loud, but we feel it: “I’ll forgive… if they’re truly sorry.” “I’ll show mercy… if they prove they’ve changed.” “God will forgive me… once I get my life together.” It is that inner voice that tells us mercy should wait for worthiness. But the Gospel today reveals something very different, something unsettling, and at the same time profoundly hopeful: God’s mercy does not wait for worthiness. God’s mercy creates it.

Consider the disciples in today’s Gospel. This is not a heroic group of believers, full of courage and faith. They ran away and hid. Peter denied Jesus. Except John, none of them was at the crucifixion. All of them abandoned Him. And now, after the Resurrection, they are not boldly proclaiming victory. They are doing something very human. They are locked in a room, afraid. Afraid of the authorities. Afraid of what comes next. Perhaps even afraid of Jesus Himself. Afraid of what He might say to them. And into that room, into that fear, into that failure, that is the very place where Jesus comes.

He does not knock. He does not wait for an invitation. He does not stand outside until they get their act together. He simply appears and says: “Peace be with you.” No reproach. No lecture. No conditions. This is mercy. Mercy that comes before they believe, before they are ready, before they are worthy.

And then there is Thomas, the one who is often reduced to a kind of cautionary tale: “Doubting Thomas.” But in many ways, Thomas is the most honest of all. He says what the others are thinking: “Unless I see… unless I touch… I will not believe.” What mercy will Jesus show him? Notice what Jesus does not do. He does not say: “Come back when you’re ready to believe.” or “Prove your faith first.” or “Clear up those doubts and get onboard with the others”

A week later, Jesus comes again and offers exactly what Thomas demanded: “Put your finger here… see my hands… bring your hand and put it into my side.” Jesus meets Thomas not at the level of his faith, but at the level of his doubt. This is mercy enacted. Mercy that is not the reward for faith. Mercy that makes faith possible. And in the experience of that Diving Mercy, Thomas responds with one of the greatest confessions in all of Scripture: “My Lord and my God.” It is as though a moment of new birth. Which is exactly what we hear in the second reading from 1 Peter: “By His great mercy, He gave us a new birth…” Faith did not lead to mercy. Mercy led the way to faith and new life. Mercy comes first. Mercy initiates. Mercy creates. Mercy gives birth to something that was not there before.

What will this group of apostles and disciples do with this experience of Mercy? The first reading from Acts of the Apostles tells us: they go on to describe this amazing community of believers who are united, share everything, pray together, and live with joy and simplicity of heart. This is not the result of a group of already perfect people. This is what happens when people who have received mercy begin to live differently. They have been forgiven much and have been restored via their encounter with the Mercy of the Risen Christ – and now, their lives reflect that mercy.

What about us? First of all we need to let go of the notion that we must become worthy before we come to God. How often do we catch ourselves thinking: “I’ll go to confession when I’ve fixed this.” “I’ve got to learn more before I go back to Church” “I’ll return to God when I clear up these doubts and feel stronger in faith.” You will wait forever if you wait for worthiness. Worthiness is not the precondition of mercy. It is the fruit of mercy. God does not say: “Change, and then I will love you.” He says: “Let me love you and that love will change you.”

And it will change the way we show mercy to others. Here are the instincts of the “old you”: to wait, to measure, and hold back. “They need to prove it first.” or “They haven’t earned forgiveness yet.” In the rebirth of the “new you” you’ll begin to offer mercy when it is needed rather than until it is deserved. You will begin to be merciful not because the other person has already changed but because mercy might be the very thing that allows them to change.

On this Divine Mercy Sunday, we are invited to stand in one of two places. Either outside the room, waiting until we are ready or inside the room. Inside the room is to experience that Christ has already entered the room. Christ has already spoken peace and mercy. Christ has already shown his wounds and offered Himself. And so, the question is not whether we are worthy. The question is whether we will receive what He is already giving.

And if we do, if we dare to receive that mercy, then, like Thomas, like the apostles, like the early Church, we may find that something new is born within us:

A faith we did not manufacture.
A hope we did not earn.
A love we did not create.

Because in the end, God’s mercy does not wait for us to believe. God’s mercy is what teaches us how.

Image credit: GD Arts / iStock 1003676294, download date: April 9, 2026

What was done for us

Posted on March 29, 2026 by Friar Musings

I think it is very possible to drift through life, or at least parts of your life. Looking back into my life, I certainly find that to be true. Over the years listening to people chatting with me on the sidewalks, in the office, in the confessional and more – it seems to be quite common. Maybe it is during a time when there are too many things that you are trying to juggle. Or during a time when one thing occupies a huge amount of your attention and energy. Or maybe it is just a part of your life that is in cruise control so to speak. Your attention is just elsewhere.

My dad used to say that the main thing is making sure that the main thing remains the main thing.

Lent is a season built upon and focused on bringing the “main thing” into focus: the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. I especially remember the Lenten season of almost 40 years ago. I had been growing in faith – at least getting more serious about my spiritual, prayer, and life in the faith. I decided to take a week of vacation during Holy Week. It was a time to relax, visit people, take long bike rides and decompress so I would be ready to celebrate Holy Thursday, Good Friday, the Easter Vigil, and Easter Sunday. And Palm Sunday too – but I have to admit it was a bit of an afterthought. But sure, Palm Sunday is the gateway to the week. Jesus starts Holy Week on a high as he triumphantly enters Jerusalem to the cries of Hosanna – only to reach the low point of Good Friday. As a narrative arc, that makes sense.

It wasn’t my first Palm Sunday, but I remember being surprised there was a Gospel that started the Mass. I was even more surprised at the Passion gospel. I distinctly remember thinking that reading the Passion was jumping the gun a bit, don’t you think? I mean, won’t Good Friday arrive in its own good time? Can’t we wait to hear about the Last Supper, the betrayal, Gethsemane, the trials, Pontius Pilate, scouring, the crucifixion, and Jesus dead, laid in a tomb? What is the rush? Let me enjoy the triumphant entry.

Why did the Church add this to Palm Sunday? Short answer, they didn’t, it had been there for my lifetime. I guess I had been drifting through Holy Week for the whole of my life. Yet I missed it. Lots of people might not be here for Holy Thursday and Good Friday. That sets up a danger in going from the Palm Sunday shouts of “Hosanna to the Son of David; blessed is the he who comes in the name of the Lord; hosanna in the highest;” then jumping to Christ Resurrected. The “danger” is “see, it all works out, Jesus wins” and thinking the glory and love of God is revealed in the Resurrection alone.

I think there is something in reading the Passion today that not only gives us the context for the week. But it points to the heart of Holy Week. And we need to sit with that for a few days before we celebrate the particulars of Holy Thursday and Good Friday. We need time to let it rummage around and let it find its home within us.

Our Lenten journey has brought us to Holy Week where so many folks focus on all that Jesus suffered for us because of our human condition, stiff-neck and unrepentant as we can be. Even though that is true, I think it misses the mark – is incomplete at best. Yes, Jesus suffered for us, but Jesus has entered into the part of humanity where darkness dwells.

It is through the betrayal, Gethsemane, the trials, Pontius Pilate, scouring, the crucifixion that Jesus enters into the darkest part of humanity. Where he is tortured, broken, held in bondage, scourged and crucified – helpless in the hands of Roman power, corrupt authorities and betrayal. Now at the end, there is no vestige of human experience untouched and embraced by God.

Our savior has gone into the place where people are entombed. Where there is torture, brokenness, bondage, hopelessness, and abandonment. The place where we hear “Eli, Eli, lema sabachthani? … My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?” from the voices of the faithful, the lost, the despairing, and those who are afflicted and feel as though there is no place left for hope. Jesus has been there.

And we hear the whole story today – not piecemeal – but in its entirety. A story to carry with us throughout the week when Mary will anoint Jesus’ feet with her hair, where 30 pieces of silver will change hands, where Passover fellowship will give way to betrayal, giving way to scourging and crucifixion. Arms stretched to connect heaven and earth. And yet, in the end, death. Abandoned.

Such is the love of God for us. The glory of God displayed as a Love so vast, a desire that all be saved that runs so deep, that God holds back nothing. Nothing. Not even his only Son. Such love. Such love. It is the glory of God. There on the cross, the glory of God is revealed.

Holy Week is a journey into the Glory of God, rightly understood.

It is to understand the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on Holy Thursday in a profound way. To understand that the Word of God, condescendere, stepped down in humility to pitch his tent with us. Stepped down to wash his disciples feet; knowing that Jesus will step down even further into the full darkness of the human condition. That all will be saved; all will be converted, even the most broken part of our lives. So, when Jesus asks the Apostles on Holy Thursday, “Do you know what I have done for you?” The answer is far richer. Then to sit, watch the altar being stripped, darkness begin to fall within the church, and the grand silence settles, and we ponder – do we really understand what He has done for us?

Holy Week begins today.

And by Sunday morning we pray we will be closer to being able to more completely answer that question: “Do you know what I have done for you?”

We need time to let it rummage around and let it find its home within us.

It is a glimpse into the heart of Holy Week. It is Palm Sunday of the Lord’s Passion. It is our wake up call so that we ensure the main thing remains the main thing. Amen.

Image credit: Canva modified

Dem bones

Posted on March 22, 2026 by Friar Musings

On this 5th Sunday of Lent, 2026, our gospel is the memorable story of the Raising of Lazarus from the Grave. It is an account that foreshadows not only Jesus’ resurrection but also our own. But this year, it is the first reading from Ezekiel that captured my thoughts. The reading is part of Ezekiel’s vision of the Valley of the Dry Bones.

“Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones” so goes the lyrics of the spiritual based on the prophet Ezekiel’s vision in Ezekiel chapter 37. In his vision, the prophet sees himself standing in a valley full of dry human bones. The vision comes at a sad moment in Israel’s history. Jerusalem has fallen, the people exiled to Babylon, and any realistic hope of national restoration seems gone. Ezekiel’s is filled with dry bones scattered across a barren landscape. It is a metaphor of the people who see themselves as not merely defeated, but finished: “Our bones are dried up, our hope is lost.” (Ezek 37:11) The vision captures both the historical devastation and the internal despair of a community that no longer believes in a future.

The vision given to Ezekiel is not subtle. It is stark. These are bones long dead and gone, no longer resembling the humanity that once surrounded them. There is nothing hopeful about the vision. Yet the Lord asks Ezekiel: “Son of man, can these bones live?” (v.3) That question was not just for Ezekiel in his time. It is for us in our times. Before we can hear the promise “I am going to open your graves; I will make you come up out of your graves” we must first recognize where the graves are.

In our own time, those graves are not always visible. They do not always look like death. Often, they look like ordinary life on the surface. But beneath, something essential has been buried. The graves have different names:

Isolation where people are surrounded by others and yet profoundly alone, unknown, unseen. We see this in the breakdown of some family and community bonds, virtual abandonment of the elderly, and people who have a digital “connection” without real communion.
Addiction where freedom is entombed in an ever smaller world. It is the world of substance abuse, pornography, gambling, and digital dependency – often accompanied by denial and more isolation.
There is a grave of despair where hope itself has withered and the future feels closed off. People can be affiliated by a growing sense that life has no deeper purpose, suffering has no redemptive meaning, and the future does not seem to offer hope.
People can be drawn into the void of a type of consumerism – not everyday commerce – but the type that has convinced us that “we are what we own” and that fulfillment can come from acquisition.
These days who hasn’t seen the grand silence brought about by polarization. The place where dialogue is replaced by contempt and a clip more outrageous than the last. There, differences are now clear divisions where relationships, communities, even families, are fractured by suspicion and denigration.
Shame where a person is burdened by unresolved guilt even if forgiven in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. It is the void where a person believes that their sins, their past, places them beyond mercy.
Spiritual Apathy where the hunger for God fades, not through rejection, but through neglect: faith is reduced to routine; worship and prayer are ever more empty, more dry; and, you begin to think God is too distant to notice, to care. This is a quiet grave; the slow burial of the soul.

In these modern graves people suffer and some have quietly given up expecting resurrection. Like the bones in Ezekiel’s vision, they can feel dry, final, beyond restoration.

So the Lord’s question comes again: Can these bones live? Ezekiel’s answer is striking. He does not say yes. He does not say no. He says: “O Lord God, you know.” It is the answer of humility. It is the answer of one who trusts. The answer of someone who has seen too much to rely on human optimism. It is the answer of someone who still leaves room for God. And that is the turning point.

God does not ask Ezekiel to solve the problem. God does not say to fix yourself, try harder or I have opened the grave, now climb out…” God asks Ezekiel to speak the Word of God into “dem bones”, into those graves. “Prophesy over these bones” the Lord tells Ezekiel. And as the word is spoken, something impossible begins to happen: bones come together, sinews and flesh appear, and breath enters them. What was dead becomes alive—not gradually, not symbolically, but decisively. And then comes the promise that stands at the heart of this reading: “I am going to open your graves and I will make you come up out of your [them] I will put my spirit in you that you may come to life,.”

That is the hope of Lent. Lent is the time to let the fasting, prayer, and alms giving be the prophesy you speak into “dem bones.” Lent is the time we allow the power of the Word and the grace of the Sacraments enter the places we have accepted as closed, sealed, and beyond change. The places we avoid. The places we hide. The places we have quietly declared: “There is nothing more that can be done – it’s finished….It’s hopeless… It doesn’t matter.” Those are precisely the places where God speaks: “Look! I am going to open your graves.”

Earlier God promised the people: “I will sprinkle clean water over you to make you clean; from all your impurities and from all your idols I will cleanse you. I will give you a new heart, and a new spirit I will put within you. I will remove the heart of stone from your flesh and give you a heart of flesh.” (Ezek 36:25-26)

That promise has already been given us in our Baptisms. We were given hearts ready to share in the divine life. We were given the Spirit of God so that we could live in communion with God and one another. And together pass through the mountain highs and the dry valleys.

It seems to me the familiar expression “one foot in the grave,” can also describe the graves with different names that we experience in the course of life. The question for us is not simply: Where are the graves in the world? But more personally: what are my graves? And if you find “one foot” in one of those voids, remember the promise: “I will open your grave.” In Baptism we have already been given new hearts and new spirits. It is in the continued practice of this Faith, in the Word proclaimed, the Eucharist received – our hearts and spirits are reinvigorated. And if we can, even with hesitation, answer as Ezekiel did “O Lord God, you know.” In those simple words of trust, we make room for the small miracles that are always there. Perhaps less spectacular than raising Lazarus, but as life-giving. We make room for Hope in our lives.

The God who spoke over dry bones has not changed. His promise stands forever. He is still opening graves and called us into the light of Hope.

Image credit: CANVA AI, downloaded 3-21-2026

A life of on-going conversion

Posted on March 15, 2026 by Friar Musings

The gospels for this Season of Lent have taken us from the wilderness, to a mountain top, to a water well in the land of Samaria, and this Sunday, we are just outside the city walls of Jerusalem. That’s the geography of the stories. The themes of the gospels speak of temptation, revelation and listening to Jesus, and in the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, a message about conversion in belief that led to a mission of telling others the good news that the Messiah has come. Today’s gospel not only continues the message of conversion, but tells a story of people blind to the truth of Jesus and so remain unconverted. These are all episodes we encounter and re-encounter in our life. From womb to tomb, from the waters of Baptism to the gates of Heaven, we are called to a life of continuous conversion. From being children of the Light to being the Light for others.

That all sounds very inspiring, but pause for a moment and think about how busy we are with things … good, holy activities that in their own way build the kingdom of God. But have we put our own on-going conversion on hold? Do we think about it? That is the thing about Lent. It asks us to slow down and consider that very thing. It is an opportunity for our reflection to be guided by a verse from the first reading when the Lord says to the prophet Samuel, “man sees the appearance but the LORD looks into the heart.” What will the Lord find when He looks into our hearts? Of course, it’s our whole life, our being, our thoughts, and more, but what will He find about the conversion on-going in our lives? How would we compare to our 8th grade selves?

During Lent the Catechumens and Candidates in the OCIA program stand in great relief as an exemplar of conversion. Drawn by the grace of God they all want what we already have – full communion with the Catholic Church. Everyone of the 40+ people in this year’s class has an amazing story of on-going conversion in which they are responding to the grace of God and the prompting of the Holy Spirit. They are certainly an inspiration to the OCIA team and hopefully to you too.

I suspect most of us were baptized as infants, were confirmed while still in grade school, and that maybe that was the last experience of formal Catholic religious education and formation. That is not to say that your faith has not been deepening in the years since, but, you know… life gets busy, gets complicated, and there’s not enough time for all we want to do. It’s overcome by what we have to do.

Today’s gospel speaks to us when it says, “Live as children of light, for light produces every kind of goodness and righteousness and truth.” Are we doing that? Are fully, completely, and wholeheartedly living as children of the light.

The story of conversion in the man born blind is easy to follow. His encounter echoes the very story of Creation itself in Genesis. Jesus takes dirt to create a salve, applies it to the man’s eyes and tells him to wash himself. It is as though the man is passing through the waters of Baptism. His journey is now beginning, marked by grace. Now he can see the physical world and now we trace his spiritual conversion. He describes Jesus successively as: “The man called Jesus” then “A prophet” then “A man from God” and finally, “Lord”, whom he worships. This gradual movement mirrors the journey of faith that Lent invites believers to undertake.

But what about the others in the story? This man, blind from birth, is well known in the community. His parents, his neighbors, and his religious leaders all experience the miracle. Which one of them echoes the realization and moves from “The man called Jesus” to “Lord”, and then worship? The parents and neighbors hem and haw, missing a moment in their lives to encounter the One who is the Light of the World. Meanwhile, the Pharisees move in the opposite direction: they become more certain and more blind. As religious leaders that means they are the blind leading the blind. There is a telling verse in the second reading. St. Paul doesn’t describe this as “in darkness.” He says that they are darkness. They are the ones who have witnessed the Light and choose to remain unconverted.

The parents and neighbors? I hope their son returns to them and once they absorb and process the miracle done for their son, free of fear from the religious leaders, they will experience St. Paul’s admonition: “Awake, O sleeper, and arise from the dead, and Christ will give you light.”

In the gospels of Lent, the Church holds up two stories of conversion. The Samaritan Woman came to well alone, she left her jar behind, and she returned to the town as a witness. This is the shape of Christian conversion: encounter, conversion, and mission. She is sent back into life but sent differently – now sustained by the living water of Christ. The man born blind leaves his blindness behind, and I suspect, returns to his life and gives witness sustained by the Light of Christ, trying to live as St. Paul admonishes us in the second reading: “Live as children of light, for light produces every kind of goodness and righteousness and truth. Try to learn what is pleasing to the Lord.”

We came to this Season of Lent as we are. What will we leave behind? What will we have learned? Will we hesitate, hem and haw? Remain in darkness? Become darkness itself? Or will we let the living water sustain us? Will we take the remaining days before Holy Week to reflect on what it would mean for us to live more fully as a child of the Light? Figure out what it might mean for us to produce what is good, righteous and true? Will we try to learn what is pleasing to the Lord? Will we live a life of ongoing conversion that we live fully, becoming the Light of Christ to a world in darkness.

Image credit: Healing of the Man Born Blind, El Greco, 1567, Public Domain

At the crossroad

Posted on March 8, 2026 by Friar Musings

The Church’s choice of the Samaritan Woman at the Well (John 4) for the 3rd Sunday of Lent (Year A) gospel is a great choice for a gospel to follow the readings from the 1st and 2nd Sundays of Lent. Together they form a clear movement of Lenten themes: temptation → revelation → conversion.

The First Sunday of Lent can be described as a battle that begins in the wilderness where Jesus confronts the fundamental human struggle: temptation (Matthew 4:1–11) using the human tendency to place trust on the ability to obtain items of human desire: bread, spectacle and power. The wilderness is the testing ground where Jesus encounters the fullness of human temptation. It is easy to think of the encounter as jousting using Scripture as the weapon of choice, but we need to note that Jesus responds to Satan using verses with one common theme: trust in God. The lesson for us is clear: the first step of conversion is recognizing that trust in God is the only path from the wilderness of temptations.

After the desert encounter with temptation comes a moment of revelation. The Second Sunday of Lent is the story of the Transfiguration that reveals Jesus as the beloved Son (Matthew 17:1–9). On the mountain, the disciples see the glory of Christ, but the center of the reading is the voice of God that proclaims: “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.” In order to listen with need to walk the Lenten road with eyes fixed on Christ, with hearts strengthened by hope, with ears open to the Father’s voice, and with courage to follow Jesus off the safety of the mountain top to the hill top scene of Jesus’ crucifixion. In the horror of that moment we entrust ourselves to God that glory lies on the other side.

This brings us to this Sunday when Jesus encounters the Samaritan woman at the well. If the preceding gospels taught us to trust in God and how to walk the Lenten road of life, this gospel teaches us where the road leads. The Samaritan woman represents the human heart searching for fulfillment. It is her story of a journey of conversion and is held up to us for our consideration.

St. John tells us that Jesus arrived at the well “about noon.” At first this sounds like an unimportant detail, but in the ancient Near East people did not go to the well at noon. Water was drawn in the cool morning or evening, and it was usually a communal activity where women gathered together. For a woman to come alone at the hottest and brightest hour of the day suggests something about her situation: she was socially isolated or marginalized. But there is also a symbolic dimension.

In John’s Gospel, light exposes truth. Noon is the hour when nothing can hide in shadow. Spiritually, it becomes the moment when this woman’s life is brought into the light, not to shame her but to set her out on the path. This small detail reminds us that Christ meets us precisely at those places in life where we feel most exposed, isolated or vulnerable.

This is a story of the gift of Living Water (John 4:5–42). We all recognize that water is absolutely needed for continued life. It is one reason we are drawn to the well. But to first-century listeners, Jesus’ offer of “living water” would have echoed a whole network of biblical images where water represents life, salvation, and God’s sustaining presence.

During the Exodus at God’s command, Moses strikes the rock to bring flowing, life giving water to a people dying of thirst. This moment becomes a defining symbol in Israel’s memory: God gives life to His people when they cannot provide it themselves. When Jesus tells the Samaritan woman: “Whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst ” He is presenting Himself as the new source of water in the wilderness; the one through whom God sustains His people.

The prophets often described Israel’s spiritual problem as abandoning the true source of life. In the Book of Jeremiah 2:13: “My people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and dug for themselves broken cisterns that hold no water.” When Jesus offers “living water,” He is telling the Samaritan woman (and us) that He is the divine source Israel has been seeking.

Another prophetic image appears in Book of Ezekiel 47:1–12. Ezekiel sees a vision of water flowing out from the Temple in Jerusalem. The water becomes a great river that brings life wherever it flows, trees grow, deserts bloom, and even the Dead Sea becomes fresh. It is a vision that looks to the time when God’s presence would one day renew the entire world. In John’s Gospel, Jesus replaces the Temple as the true source of life; the source of “living water.” He is telling the Samaritan woman (and us) He fulfills Ezekiel’s vision.

The choice of this gospel during Lent asks a challenging question: where do we go to quench our thirst? Like Israel in the desert or the people in Jeremiah’s prophecy, we often dig “broken cisterns”; things we hope will satisfy us but never fully do. Christ alone offers the living water, the true wellspring of life. Will we take the offer? Does the Samaritan woman take the offer?

“The woman left her water jar and went into the town.” The detail appears small, but it carries tells that by listening to Jesus she has chosen to follow Him. She came to the well because she was thirsty. The jar represents her original purpose. Yet once she encounters Christ, the jar is forgotten. In other words, she came seeking ordinary water but discovered something far greater. Her priorities change immediately. Instead of continuing her errand, she runs to tell others about Jesus. The abandoned jar symbolizes leaving behind the old life: the habits, identities, and pursuits that once seemed necessary but lose their importance after encountering Christ. This is precisely what Lent invites believers to do: leave the jar behind.

The Samaritan woman comes to the encounter, alone, seeking dignity, belonging and peace. Her faith deepens through honest encounter, not instant certainty. Did you notice the slow unfolding of Jesus’ identity: a Jewish man, a prophet, the Messiah, and finally, “I am he.” This mirrors how faith grows during Lent. Conversion rarely happens all at once. It unfolds through dialogue, resistance, misunderstanding, and trust. The Church places this Gospel here to reassure us that on this Lenten road, faith deepens through honest encounter, not instant certainty.

If the preceding gospels taught us to trust in God and to walk the Lenten road of life, this gospel teaches us how to walk the road: sustained by the living water of Christ.

This is the movement of Lent. The woman comes alone, she leaves her jar behind, and she returns to the town as a witness. This is the shape of Christian conversion: encounter, repentance, and mission. On this Third Sunday of Lent, the Church wants us to see that repentance is about being sent back into life but sent differently.

We all come to this moment in time with our ordinary human experience: broken relationships, unmet desires, spiritual fatigue, and longing for something more. So too, the Samaritan woman. In her encounter with Jesus, she listens, she trusts, and discovers her deepest desire if fulfilled. That is the Lenten promise to all of us. Listen, trust, name our deepest thirst, and decide if we are willing to let Christ satisfy it.

At this crossroad of the Lenten season, will you hope that the “broken cisterns” of human desires satisfy or will you drink deeply of the living waters of Christ?”

Christ and the Woman of Samaria | Pierre Mignard, 1681 | The North Carolina Museum of Art, Raleigh | PD

Why this reading?

Posted on March 6, 2026 by Friar Musings

Note: apparently I did not post my homily for the 2nd Sunday of Lent. Here it is…

Did you ever wonder why the Church the story of the Transfiguration is always the reading for the 2nd Sunday of Lent? I mean, the Feast of the Transfiguration already has its own day – August 6th every year. It is not a paucity of readings or a lack of imagination. It is a well chosen reading that deepens meaning and understanding of the Lenten journey. Let me give you five reasons.

First, Lent is a journey toward the cross not away from it. The first Sunday of Lent was a story of Jesus in the wilderness, tempted by the devil. But the direction of the story is not clear at least as far as Lent is concerned. By the Second Sunday of Lent, the Church wants us to be very clear about where this road leads. The Transfiguration occurs after Jesus has spoken about his suffering, rejection, and death. The disciples have just heard words they do not want to hear. Confusion and fear have entered the picture. Into that void comes speculation, rumor, and conversations among the disciples of what Jesus meant – all fueling the uncertainty. If that was all we proclaimed in the gospel then Lent becomes a grim endurance until we can finally get to the Resurrection.

The Transfiguration does not cancel the Cross. It reveals who Jesus is as he goes toward it. It is about learning to walk with Christ through suffering, trusting that God’s presence and glory is not absent from it.

We are not unlike the disciples. We have uncertainties, things that keep us up at night, and events that are unfolding in ways not our liking. We are left apprehensive, perhaps even fearful – but do we feel the presence of Christ in and around us during all this or are we just grimly enduring?

The second reason: God strengthens us before the hard part. For Jesus the hard part is that He is heading to Jerusalem, there to be betrayed, scourged, and crucified – and He has told his disciples all that is coming. But Jesus does not wait until after the Resurrection to show them his glory. He gives Peter, James, and John a glimpse before the events unfold. Why? You know why. We want assurance things will turn out well. Jesus knows the disciples are having a difficult time taking this all in and discipleship is about to overwhelm them. They need the strengthening the experience of the Transfiguration will give them.

And so, the Transfiguration functions as consolation given in advance. It is a memory meant to sustain faith when everything later seems to contradict it. Lent works the same way. Prayer, fasting, and almsgiving are not ends in themselves. They train the heart to trust God when stress increases, things slip out of control, and when obedience becomes costly. The Church places this Gospel here to remind us that God never asks us to walk into darkness without first giving us light.

Lent is a journey towards the cross and God strengthens us before the hard part. Third, “Listen to Him” is a Lenten command. At the center of the Transfiguration is not the light, but the voice: “This is my beloved Son… listen to him.” Lent is fundamentally about learning to listen again – stripping away distractions, quieting false voices, and letting Christ’s word reorient our lives. Notice that Moses and Elijah, the Law and the Prophets, testify to Jesus, point to him and then fade away. What remains is Jesus alone. This is not accidental. Lent is a season of re-centering, where all religious practices are meant to lead us back to one thing: attentive listening, reflection and obedience to Christ.

Lent is a journey towards the cross and God strengthens us before the hard part, “Listen to Him” is a Lenten command and fourth: Glory is revealed through obedience. “Obedience” from the Latin, obe dire, to listen through. The Transfiguration shows Jesus radiant but not because he avoids suffering. His glory flows from his total alignment with the Father’s will. That matters for Lent, because it reframes holiness. Glory does not come from success or visibility – it comes from faithful obedience, even when misunderstood. Just as Peter misunderstands. But he hangs in there and eventually figures it out.

The Church offers this Gospel early in Lent to prevent a distortion: Lent is not self-improvement.
It is a gift of memory and hope that we can be assured even if we don’t yet understand, Jesus is present and we’ll eventually figure it out.

Fifth and finally, Hope is essential to conversion. The Church knows something about being human: no one perseveres without hope. The Transfiguration is hope made visible. It tells us repentance and change is worth it, obedience is not meaningless in a world amiss, and suffering does not have the final word. It didn’t for Jesus or the Apostles nor with us. Hope reminds us that suffering does not have the final word. Lent with the Transfiguration leads us to trustful surrender.

Lent is a journey toward the cross not away from it
God strengthens us before the hard part
“Listen to Him” is a Lenten command
Glory is revealed through obedience
Hope is essential to conversion

Lent begins in the desert. But this Sunday, the Church teaches us how to walk the Lenten road:

with eyes fixed on Christ,
with hearts strengthened by hope,
with ears open to the Father’s voice,
and with courage to follow Jesus through the Cross, trusting that glory lies on the other side.

Amen

Image credit: Photo by Free Nature Stock on Pexels.com

Never Forget

Posted on February 22, 2026 by Friar Musings

And sin entered the world. In the second reading, St. Paul is pretty clear that sin entered the world through Adam and Eve. Did you ever stop to think about what exactly was the first sin? Maybe it is as simple as disobedience. “The LORD God gave the man this order: You are free to eat from any of the trees of the garden except the tree of knowledge of good and evil. From that tree you shall not eat; when you eat from it you shall die.” (Gen 2:6-7) That seems awfully clear… lots of trees, lots of fruit, help yourself, but not from that one tree. Awfully clear and awfully tempting. We get to listen to Eve’s thoughts as Satan tempts her: “The woman saw that the tree was good for food, pleasing to the eyes, and desirable for gaining wisdom” (Gen 3:6) I suspect I had many the same thoughts when as a child, I stood before the open refrigerator door staring longingly at the last piece of key lime pie – so good, so pleasing to the eye… and there was mom talking from the next room, “Have a piece of fruit. It’s good for you.” You can guess how that story ends. In my case, it was clearly disobedience, but I am not so sure about Adam and Eve.

Satan is not holding up the most awesome piece of fruit ever known to humankind. Satan is holding up the possibility that Adam and Eve can be something other than what they are – that they are not exactly adequate or secure in their present state. Satan is tempting them to not trust God and long for something they are not. “God knows well that when you eat of it your eyes will be opened and you will be like gods” (Gen 3:5) And there it is “be like gods.” There is the temptation. Maybe the sin is forgetting who they were, who they were created to be – stop trusting God. And sin entered the world through the first Adam.

The Gospel opens with the second Adam (as St. Paul often refers to Jesus.) Immediately following Jesus’ baptism in the River Jordan, the Spirit leads Jesus into the desert. This is no Garden of Eden, there is no abundance of fish, fowl, and fruit – there is hunger. And there is Satan. Sa’tan, the ancient word for “tempter” – and Satan is doing what Satan does. He is not here to get Jesus to be disobedient to his heavenly Father, Satan wants Jesus to be something other than what his Father has sent him to be. Satan wants Jesus to trust a new plan, not the one his Father has established to bring new life to the world.

“If you are the Son of God…” Interestingly, an equally good translation is “Since you are the Son of God…” There’s no doubt Satan knows who he is dealing with. “Since you are the Son of God and you are hungry, turn these stones into bread. In fact, turn all these stones into bread, because it is not just you who are hungry, the whole world is hungry. They are hungry for food, hungry for leadership, hungry to follow the One who will lead them to the kingdom. Think about it. As bread, wouldn’t these stones be good for food and pleasing to the eye?”

At this point this Satan dialogue should sound oddly familiar to a conversation in the Garden of Eden.

“OK, how about this… let’s go to Jerusalem, to the highest tower on the Temple, where everyone can see you, and since you are the Son of God, let the people know. Throw yourself off. Make it spectacular and when the angels come to catch you, then everyone will know and follow you. Isn’t that what your Father wants? For everyone to follow you? Come on… work with me! I can make you great!” It is the same old tactic, forget who you are – trust your own plans rather than God’s plan.

But Jesus remembers who he is. Jesus is the one baptized in the Jordan, who arising from the water hears God say, “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” (Mt 3:17) This is Jesus who is like us in all things but sin. This is Jesus who shows us how to navigate these temptations – by remembering who we are and whose we are. Because once we don’t remember who we are and whose we are, we’ll do all kinds of things to dispel the insecurity that attends this life and to find that sense of security and acceptance that is essential to being happy. We’ll begin to trust our own plans. We will begin to trust ourselves more than we trust in God.

At every temptation Jesus resists, not simply by quoting Scripture in general but by quoting Scripture that reminds him of God’s trustworthiness, the need to depend on God for all good things, and consequently of God’s promise to care for him and all God’s children. This is what Adam and Eve forgot.

Here at the beginning of Lent, these readings ask us to remember who we are. So, let me remind you. You are the beloved children of God. You are beloved sisters and brothers to Jesus. You are the ones who at your baptism were claimed for Christ by the sign of the Cross. You are the ones, in your baptism, anointed to be priest, prophets and kings in this world. You are the ones who this past Wednesday, again claimed your inheritance, your family legacy, your baptismal right as you again wore the sign of the Cross on your forehead. And you remembered to whom you belong. You are the beloved of God.

There are lots of temptations in the world – some bright and shiny as that original apple – but the real danger are the subtle messages and whispers that seek to invite you to forget you are and to whom you belong.

You belong to Christ.

You are beloved.

Never forget that.

Amen.

Image credit:The Temptation in the Wilderness, Briton Rivière (1898) | Public Domain

What Anger Reveals

Posted on February 15, 2026 by Friar Musings

“You have heard that it was said to your ancestors, You shall not kill; and whoever kills will be liable to judgment. “But I say to you, whoever is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment.”

It is one thing to murder someone, to wantonly and mercilessly take a life. We instinctively know that is wrong. But anger? I’m not saying it’s good, but what are we to make of Jesus’ statement? Many people struggle with anger in their lives. Is it the occasional flareup? Rage? Has it become a habit? Or maybe one day you look in the mirror and silently wonder, “When did I become an angry person?”

We wonder “Is it ever okay to feel this way?” Is this anger righteous or a sign of failure or sin? When we ask such questions, the next step might be to ask “what would Jesus do?” What comes to mind is Jesus who heals, forgives, and welcomes – not someone who has a meltdown and loses control or someone who stews over something said or done. But Scripture is clear. There are occasions when Jesus gets angry.

Let me give you some examples of Jesus’ anger and see if there something to be learned

Jesus heals a man with a withered hand on the Sabbath while religious leaders watch, hoping to accuse him. “He looked around at them with anger, grieved at their hardness of heart…” (Mark 3:1-6).
The oft cited overturning of the merchants’ tables in the Temple area
The disciples try to prevent children from approaching Jesus. “When Jesus saw this he became indignant…” (Mark 10:13-16).
In the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, Jesus pronounced “woes” upon the scribes and Pharisees when they corrupted true worship or misrepresented what God desires.
In those same Gospels anger expressed as sorrow as Jesus weeps over Jerusalem and her fate.
…and other examples.

Of course, there are lots of instances when things are done to Jesus that if they happened to me, I’d be angry. Just because you don’t like what I said does not mean you can throw me off the edge of a steep hill. That’s what the people of Nazareth tried. Jesus did not get angry. He just walked away.

All this should lead us to ask the question: how is Jesus’ anger different from our anger? And, how are we to reconcile all this with Jesus’ teaching into today’s gospel: “But I say to you, whoever is angry with his brother will be liable to judgment.”

Anger is a common emotion that everyone experiences at some point or another in life. Certain situations can trigger different types of anger and leave you experiencing anything from a minor annoyance to full-blown rage. At one level anger is physiological. There is a flood of stress hormones causing the heart to beat faster, increasing blood flow to the muscles and organs. There is a rise in blood pressure and other effects. Anger emerges in stressful situations, when you’re frustrated, feel you’ve been attacked or disrespected or when you are being treated unfairly. At the root of many angry feelings is a sense of powerlessness like when we are unable to correct or improve a situation: a traffic jam, a job loss, a relationship breakup, a chronic illness. It is in those moments that our frustration, sadness, letdown, and other negative emotions often converge into anger. Sound familiar?

Anger that lashes outward is generally sinful and usually begins with the self: I have been insulted, I don’t have control, I feel threatened. Are any of those the beginning points of Jesus’ anger? No. Jesus’ anger is never about himself. Jesus is not angered by insult, rejection, or misunderstanding. He absorbs those without retaliation. Instead, his anger begins in righteousness: this situation is wrong, someone is being diminished, or love is being denied. He is angry when mercy is blocked, when the vulnerable are excluded, when people are being misled in the name of God, when people are burdened rather than freed. His anger rises not because he has been offended, but because someone else is being harmed.

The spiritual question, then, is not “Do I feel anger?” It is “What does my anger serve?” Is your anger redemptive in nature? Does it move you toward truth, mercy, and courage? Can you express it in love? Does it lead you outward to protect, to speak, to act, to intercede? Can you remain steadfast when the cause of your anger remains unmoved and unchanged? Will you persevere? This is not an anger subject to judgment.

Or does anger move you toward resentment, control, and withdrawal? Anger that turns inward feeding pride, fear, bitterness, self-justification, disappointment is liable to judgment.

The question the Gospel places before us is not, “Do we ever feel anger?” It is, “What does our anger reveal about our love?”

Anger that leads us toward hardness of heart, exclusion, or self-protection – as the Chinese proverb predicts: a moment of anger leads to a 1,000 days of sorrow.

Jesus teaches us that anger, purified by love, can become a force for good. It can name what must change. It can defend the vulnerable. It can clear space for healing to occur. But righteous anger must always remain connected to humility and prayer. Once anger detaches from love, once it begins to justify harm, it ceases to be holy.

In the first reading, Sirach tells us: “Before man are life and death, good and evil, whichever he chooses shall be given him.” So it is with anger. It is always a choice. Will you allow anger to lead you to judgments? Or will anger lead us toward mercy, justice, and deeper faithfulness – a sign that love is alive within us.

When anger arises within you, breathe deeply and choose well.

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the musings of a Franciscan friar…

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