"In the Eyes of Jesse:" The Fourth Sunday of Lent

Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Lent (RCIA)
Second Draft

[Homilists: If you wish to compare the second draft with the first, you can find the previous version directly below this one. Major editing occurred near the end where the conclusion was substantially shortened. I welcome any constructive criticism you might have. E-mail me direct at jms48@fuse.net. Also, an audio version can be heard on the homily page of the St. Aloysius Gonzage web site. The link appears in the side column to the right.]

Jesse had eight sons.
On the day that Samuel arrives at Jesse’s ranch
to select a future king
from among Jesse’s eight boys,
the prophet did something that old man Jesse had surely done
a thousand times before:

Like a basketball coach, he looked them over and sized them up.

The passage tells us that Eliab was tall.
We get the sense that Shammah was athletic.
If you turn to the book of I Chronicles,
you learn the names of some of the other brothers.
One was named Raddai
(which sounds a lot like “Red-eye”
which sounds like a guy I wouldn’t want to mess with).
Then there was Abinadab
and Shimea
and Ozem
and on down the line the prophet went,
inspecting the young men like a drill sergeant at morning roll call.
But one’s missing.
So Samuel gets Jesse to call the youngest one, David,
from the field.

This lad truly impresses Samuel
and the Lord tells him that David is one he is anoint as king
Now, we could look at this passage from a historical viewpoint;
we could look at it from a theological viewpoint.
We might even look at it from sibling viewpoint
and wonder how the seven older brothers got along with David
after they were passed over for the job of being king.

But every one of these vantage points
would miss the main point of the story.
If you listened closely you heard that,
as Samuel worked his way down the line,
it was God’s opinion and God’s opinion alone that mattered.

What is the main point?
The main point is that God does not see things as human beings see things.
Appearances mean nothing,
it’s what is in the heart that counts.

So, let’s go back to the lineup.
But this time, don’t view those young men
through the eyes of Samuel the prophet,
look at them through the eyes of Jesse, their father.

Do this, and you’ll discover the true meaning of these words.
Consider the passage from the perspective of a father or mother
and you’ll know what this story is all about.

It’s telling us that God look to the heart
and I can’t think of any better comparison
that the way a parent looks upon a child.

A lot of you here know what that’s like firsthand.

For the day your child is born to the day of that first step…
to the first day your daughter goes to school…
to the first time you throw a fast pitch to your son…
to the night of the senior prom…
to the day you move your daughter into a college dorm…
to you stand in the back of church with your son in a tux…

tell me, parents, do you not often…if not daily…
look at them and study them and thank God for the good things in their heart?

God does not “go by the outside,”
God goes on what’s “inside.”
And that’s exactly the way a parent perceives a child.
So, follow me back to the passage one last time.
Forget about Samuel, set your eyes on Jesse.
You’ll see that, even as Samuel goes about the job
he’s appointed to do,
Jesse knows what every parent knows.
Jesse knows that each one of his children
holds a place in God’s heart.

And, by the way, Jesse also had daughters.
[Look at the geneology in I Chronicles
to find their names: Zeruiah and Abigail.]

Jesse knew that his daughters, along with his boys,
had a place in the world
and held a place in God’s plan for the world.

Could each child be chosen leader of Israel?
No, there can only be one leader at a time
and not everyone has the stomach for politics.
So, don’t get hung-up on the history
or the social conventions
at the time this ancient text was written.

Rather, look closely at this passage
and peer into the eyes of Jesse.

They are the eyes of every parent
who looks into to the heart of each child.

Look at Jesse... and marvel at the way God looks at us.



First Draft

Jesse had eight sons.
On the day that Samuel arrives to select a future king
from among Jesse’s eight boys,
the prophet did something that old man Jesse had surely done
a thousand times before:

He sized them up.

Each one of them had notable characteristics
be fitting a future leader and ruler of God’s people.

The passage tells us that Eliab was tall.
We get the sense that Shammah was athletic.
If you turn to the book of I Chronicles,
you learn the names of some of the other brothers.
One was named Raddai
(which sounds a lot like “Red-eye”
which sounds like a guy I wouldn’t want to mess with).
Then there was Abinadab
and Shimea
and Ozem
and on down the line the prophet went,
inspecting the young men like a drill sergeant at morning roll call.

Finally, he gets Jesse to call the youngest one, David,
from the field.

The lad impresses Samuel
and the Lord tells him that he is one he is anoint as king.

Now, we could look at this passage from a historical viewpoint,
we could look at it from a theological viewpoint.
We might even look at it from sibling viewpoint
and wonder how the seven older brothers got along with David
after they were passed over for the job.

But every one of these vantage points
would miss the main point of the story.
If you listened closely you heard that,
as Samuel worked his way down the line,
it was God’s opinion and God’s opinion alone that mattered.

And God does not see things as human beings perceive things.
Appearances mean nothing,
it’s what is in the heart that counts.

So, let’s go back to the lineup
and take another look.
In fact, I suggest we look at this passage
the way Jesse must have looked upon his sons that day.

Do this, and we’ll get closer to the meaning of these words
and the power contained in them.

Look at this passage through the eyes of any father or mother
and you know what’s going on here:
it’s about knowing the heart of your children.

For the day a child is born
to the first day your daughter goes to school
to the first time you throw a fast pitch to your son
to the night of the senior prom
to moving your daughter into a college dorm
to standing in the back of church with your son in a tux…

do you not often, practically constantly,
look at them and study them and thank God for the good things in their heart?

God does not “go by the outside,”
God goes on what’s “inside.”

And the closest example to that
that I can think of
is the way a parent perceives a child.

So, getting back to the passage,
I got my eyes on Jesse, the father,
not Samuel, the prophet.

While Samuel has a job to do,
that is to anoint the next king of Israel,
Jesse knows, as surely as God also knows,
each one of his children,
(yes, he had daughters too: Zeruiah and Abigail)
would have a place in the world
and a place in God’s plan for the world.
Could each one of them be chosen leader of Israel?
No, there can only be one leader at a time
and not everyone has the stomach for politics.

But look closely at this passage
and look closely into the eyes of Jesse.
They are the eyes of every parent
who looks into to the heart of each child.

Look at him... and see how God looks at us.

Despite our appearance
despite our status or the type of job we do
despite our sins
despite our set-backs
despite our failures…

we all have a heart…

and what resides in our heart,
and that which is lodged in the heart,
and whatever it is that drives the heart and gives life to our heart

this is what God sees
for this is the person you truly are;
and this is the person God knows.

"Ancient Wells:" The Third Sunday of Lent

Homily for the Third Sunday of Lent
(Third draft)

Not far from the farm where I grew up
was the stagnant water and over-grown tow path
of what remains of the Miami-Erie Canal,
a once-heavily traveled waterway
connecting Lake Erie with the Ohio River.

Here in Cincinnati,
the Miami-Canal inspired the name of the neighborhood
we all know as Over-the-Rhine.
The path of the canal eventually became the roadbed
of Central Parkway.

Anyway as a boy, I used to ride my bike down to the canal quite often.
It was great hide-away,
as dark and a mysterious as a Louisiana bayou.

I grew up hearing a lot of stories about the canal.

In my mother’s day,
gypsies used to travel the abandoned waterway
and camp in the meadows along its banks.

My grandmother occasionally mentioned
the ruins of a hotel
that once served the immigrants
who came up the canal from Cincinnati
to carve out farms from the deep forests that once
covered all the land.

These stories always fascinated me.

One summer I spent most of my free time
looking for the remnants of that hotel.
Late one Sunday afternoon,
some friends and I finally came across
some foundation stones.
We located what we thought was probably the entrance and then,
about fifty yards away, hidden in a thicket of brambles and locust trees,
we found the well.

It was an amazing discovery.
The chiseled stones were dry-stacked
in a perfect-fit pattern that had not slipped out of place
for over a hundred years.
And the walls of the well
were as straight as a plumb line.

Obviously, the immigrants knew how to construct a good well.
And it is a good thing that they did
because, back then, traveling people needed a reliable source of water
to slake their thirst
to cook their meals
and refresh their livestock.

They brought with them skills for locating water
and tools for digging the wells.

But that is only part of what they brought with them.
They also brought their faith.
For as soon as trees were cleared
and fields were plowed,
they went about building churches
and in those churches another type of well was dug,
deep wells of grace that we refer to as baptismal fonts.

Every church has one.

Traveling people, as I said, need a reliable source of water.
And travelers on the way to heaven
require a reliable source of grace.

And that’s what today’s gospel is all about.

Today’s gospel passage recalls a conversation at the Well of Jacob.
where Jesus engages in conversation
a woman who is thirsting for
for healing, forgiveness, restoration and meaning in her life.

He says to her,
“The water that I provide will be a spring of water
gushing up to eternal life.”

* * *

Now, we’ve heard this story many times.
We hear it each year as we draw near the midpoint of Lent.
We listen to it in anticipation of the baptisms
to be celebrated at Easter.

As most of you here know, here at St. Al’s we have 18 individuals
preparing for either Baptism or reception into the Church at Easter.

Like the woman in today’s gospel,
like all of us who worship Christ here at St. Al’s,
they come to this place looking for deep wells of faith
from which to draw life-giving water.

So, what is it about the Catholic faith that draws them here to St. Al’s?
Indeed, what is it that draws you and me to this place of worship week after week?

Whatever it is, it has to do with Christ
and the grace that springs up here in a fountain of worship;
whatever it is that draws us here has to do with Christ…
and the deep wells called Sacraments
though which Christ provides us with the promise and hope of heaven.

* * *
Where do you finds signs of that kind of hope and promise?

I’ll tell you where I find it.

I find it in the eyes of young parents
as they see grace flowing like water
over the soft skin of their babies on the day of their baptisms.

But that’s not the only place I find it.

I also see it on the faces of people who come dragging into church
tired from working overtime and worn down by the stress of raising a family…

I see it as these folks come there to offer to God
their tired-to-the-bone days and their nights of not-enough-sleep.
I see them offering their daily labor and their daily love
and joining it to the offering of Christ.

And this is an amazing thing to see
because it is this offering here at this sacrifice of the Mass
that makes all their personal sacrifices make sense.

Because here, at Mass, we know that our live and our toil are worth a lot,
we offer work to God because we know that God values the work that we do
and will—somehow, someday--make something of it
that will last a lot longer than a stone well…
God will make of our work and the labor of our love
something will last forever!
* * *
So, what brings you here to Mass?

Is it the welcome you receive at the door?
The friends with whom you visit after Mass?

Is it the gentle touch of the sacred Bread
that becomes for us the Body of Christ?

Or is it something more?

Might be that a conversation takes place
in some deep part of your soul
at some point during the Mass
when the Lord speaks to words of healing
as he did for the woman at the well?

Might it be that at some point
in the holy celebration of the sacred sacraments
Christ himself drops a bucket down the shaft
then hands you a ladle of forgiveness
offers you a cup running over with friendship
shoves into your arms a canteen of mercy…
something we experience as complete and total acceptance?

If you ask me, these are just a few of the things that he draws up
from the stone cisterns and deep sacraments of the Church.

“I give to you water that gushes up
to eternal life,” says the Lord.

This—and nothing less—is what transpires here at the liturgy.

So, pray this morning
that your heart and the heart of everyone here today
will be open to the grace that is offered here in this place…

pray that we all will be open to receive the water that sparkles with promise,
the promise of a life brimming with grace,
a life rippling with love…
a life in which the words of Christ echo deep in our souls…

like a voice echoing down the sturdy shafts of those ancient wells
called the Sacraments of the Church.

"Trail Markers:" The Second Sunday of Lent

Homily for the Second Sunday of the Year

[I will be on the road this weekend. The following homily will be delivered at St. Joseph Parish, New Hope, MN, a suburb of Minneapolis]


I don’t know if there are many deer hunters in a community like New Hope.
In the part of Ohio that I come from,
deer hunters are as common as pickup trucks.

The hunters I know don’t read the Bible much,
but they’re good at reading trails.

I’d like you to follow me down a deer trail
for just a minute because it’s going lead us into the story
about that day when
Abraham set off for the woods
holding Isaac with one hand and a hunting knife in the other.

It’s a hard trail to follow,
but eventually it’s going to bring us back here to New Hope
where, by the grace of the God, we’ll be able to spot the God
we’re all hunting for with a bit more skill.

* * *

Hunters, as you might suspect, know a lot about trails.
Most trails are easy to follow.
You can see the tracks laid down on a hillside,
the bent blades of grass in the meadows.
These trails are traveled by does and fawns
as they hurry from one protective stand of trees to another.

But these aren’t the trails traveled by the bucks.
They travel alone and are exceptionally wary.
They seldom move out of dense cover.
They might travel a well-established route,
but only occasionally.

Sometimes, they seem to lay down trails that lead nowhere.

Hunters call these trails “teasers.”
They lead nowhere but confusion.

In my opinion, the story about Abraham taking Isaac
on a three-day trek to some primitive altar of stone
in the land of Moriah
is a teaser trail.

* * *

These trails exist not only in the woods;.
not in the Bible.
They’re everywhere.
Even here in the Twin Cities.

For instance, if you’ve ever in a car
following an ambulance
carrying your child down Chicago Avenuew
on the way to Minneapolis Children’s Hospital…
wondering what’s going to happen,
what’s this mean,
and where in world is God at a time like this…
if you’ve ever been in a situation like this
then you’ve been on the trail to Moriah.

If you’ve ever received a call from the police at 3 a.m.
and found yourself driving downtown,
turning off on Park Avenue
and pulling into the lot next to the Hennepin Co. Detention Facility,
you’ve been on this kind of trail.

A “teaser trail” leading you into a forest
of confusion and desperation.

* * *
Have you been on a trail like this?
I have.
A couple of months ago, a young man from my parish in Cincinnati,
working as a security guard at a Sears Store,
was stabbed by a deranged man and critically injured.

When I got the news, I rushed to the hospital.
And I prayed with his parents.
And all we could say was
“Don’t take him from us, Lord!”

The words that we used were polite;
the prayers we prayed were respectful.

But the panic in our hearts was red hot
and what we meant to say was:
“Don’t ask this of us, God,
don’t you dare ask this of us!”

I’ve been on that trail.
You’ve been on that trail.
None of us want to be on that trail.

* * *

Fortunately, that’s not the only kind of trail there is.
There are other kinds of trails in the Bible.

In today’s gospel passage
we find Peter, James and John
hiking their way up Mt. Tabor
with Jesus at their side.

A close look at the passage suggests
that the day was overcast,
the sky was cloudy.

Suddenly a flash of light blinded their eyes,
the apostles were stunned, they were terrified.

Yet the vision…that strange vision they saw…and the Voice they heard
managed to clear the air
and dispel their doubts…
for just a moment they encountered—and knew they had encountered--
the ancient presence of a powerful God falling about them
like sunlight on a summer day.

And when the incident it was over,
they looked around,
and all they saw was Jesus.

* * *

Now, as we know,
they would soon return to the trailhead
and descend the mountain.

Normal conversation would resume,
soon worries about the future would shove aside
the memory of the dazzling Light
and that moment when everything was good
and life made sense.

But the experience remained in their memory
and the purpose of hiking up the mountain was clear.
It was clear to them and it’s clear to us.

It’s telling us that the trail ends with Christ at our side,
always at our side.
Any trail that it true leads us to grace.
The trail that is true takes to the Son
and reveals the face of God.

Any other trail is nothing but a teaser.

* * *

So, have you walked the mountain trail?
Have you seen the Son?

Have you encountered grace falling like sunlight
on the side of a mountain:
Or thunder like water down the side of a canyon?
Or, better yet, have you seen grace fall like diamonds,
not outdoors but just inside the door of a church,
water full of grace flowing across the soft skin of your daughter
on the day of her baptism?

This is the water that we seek,
the cool water we’ve come to expect
up there on the mountains of Transfiguration
as we make our way to heaven.

Today’s gospel provides us
with trail markers to get us there…

If you missed them, let me list a few:

White garments.
Dazzling light.
A canvas tent.
The sound of a Voice.

Were you able to catch the signs in the passage?
More importantly,
are you able to note the markers in your day-to-day life?

Let’s talk about it.

Today’s passage mentions the voice of God.

Now, if you’re a young man, let me ask you this:
Have you ever hear the pleasure of God (the pleasure God takes in you),
have you ever heard God’s pleasure within the voice of your dad
that day when he happened to say to you,
“Good job, son. I’m proud of you. You make me proud.”

Today’s passage refers to garment
of dazzling white.

If you are a mother, have had the opportunity
to feel the joy of God well up within you on a day
your daughter walked down the aisle of church
lovely and radiant
and dressed in a wedding gown
so beautiful…and white.

If you have young children at home,
did this passage make you think of a summer night
when the neighborhood kids camped in the back yard
and your five-year-old turned to you and pleaded.
“This is so neat! I love this tent,
Can we sleep in it? Can we sleep out all night?”

Have you been walking the trail?
Have you been reading the signs?

Have you reached a spot on your journey where,
on a given day, you look around
and all you see is Him;
everywhere you look is Christ?

That’s where this trail is leading us.
It’s leading you,
it’s leading me.

And we’re going to find the grace we need;
we’re going to find the God we seek.

[Please Note: There is a new feature on the St. Aloysius Web Site. Audio versions of my homilies are now available beginning with the 2nd Sunday of Ordinary Time, 2006. Just click on the desired homily, then click "Play."]

"Holy Days of Observation:" The First Sunday of Lent

Homily for the First Sunday of Lent
(Second draft)

What color are your eyes?

That’s a question you can expect
when you apply for a driver’s license
at the Ohio Bureau of Motor Vehicles.

The color of our eyes
is a standard part of our physical description.

The next part of the process
entails reading an eye chart
to determine if you have adequate sight
to operate a motor vehicle.

As we begin the season of Lent,
the Church requires us to engage in a similar eye exam.

We’re not asked the color of eyes,
but to what extent
do the teachings of Christ
color our world?

Sometimes, it’s a hard test to pass.
Like the lower lines on an eye chart,
the season of Lent forces us to squint.

But there’s a purpose behind the test.
The purpose is to help us assess our ability
to detect the hand of God at work.
In particular
the those blurry areas of our personal lives;
in the small print of our compromises;
and in the crowded-together-letters and lack of focus
that confuses our perception and understanding
of the world at large.

Sometimes, it’s a hard test to pass.
In other words, there are situations in which
it is difficult, mighty difficult,
to get a clear focus on the presence of God.

And today’s readings present us
with two examples of such situations:

An boat floating without direction
on a vast expanse of water;
a barren desert with no food or water in sight.

Finding God in situations like that
is harder than trying to read
the last line on a eye chart.

Yet Noah, leaning over the deck railing of his ship
persevered and came to see what his eyes
were straining to behold:
a distance shore and, with it,
the hand of God guiding the Ark
to the safety of dry land.

A similar thing occurs in the scene in today’s gospel.
In the desert, with no food in sight,
Jesus witnessed the presence of
angelic waiters offering him the rich banquet
of God’s Word…
a table laden with God’s grace;
powerful words and powerful prayer that gave him the strength
to withstand temptation and refuse the empty plate of Satan’s promises.

Now, you mention the word to most of us Catholics,
and the first thing we think of is “giving something up.”
Yet, the readings on this first Sunday of Lent
don’t even mention it.

That tells me that Lent isn’t so much about giving up things,
but learning “to see” things that others do not see.

Yes, I know the value of fasting and self-sacrifice and acts of charity.
But there is also a value to entering this holy season
mindful of the fact that
Lent is also meant to be a season
full of “holy days of observation.”

“Holy days of observation.”

What does that mean?

I’m not talking “ordinary observation,”
I’m talking “close observation.”

There’s a difference.

“Ordinary observation” of God’s help and grace
is what we employ on ordinary days in ordinary time;

I’m thinking here of the kind of grace
that does not require glasses or magnifying glasses
to detect;

I’m referring to the easy-to-see signs of God’s love and grace:
a daughter’s sixteenth birthday,
a son’s graduation,
a silver wedding anniversary…
that moment the most wonderful girl in the world
says yes to your proposal;
that moment that a grandchild is first placed in your lap.

We love and appreciate this signs and reminders of grace.
We don’t need glasses to see the hand of God at work
on such occasions.

But not everyday is a celebration
and it is highly important that we Catholics also learn
how to detect the power and presence of God
when fear sets in or the going gets tough:

days when the rain pour down
and the waves start crashing
and we wonder how long we’ll stay afloat;

days when life is as dry as a desert
and our spirits ache like an empty stomach.

On days like that,
can we learn to see with the eyes of Noah?

On days like that,
can we learn to see with the eyes of Christ
and detect the angels of God
coming to wait on us in the middle of a desert?

You what I think is sad?

It think it’s sad that, when it comes to the season of Lent,
a lot of people can’t seem to get their eyes off of themselves
and focused on Christ.

So long as we focus on “what we’re giving up for God,”
and never get around to focusing on about what God gave up for us,
our vision remains blurred.

Yet the emphasis on what God did for us
is the very essence of the Gospel of Christ.

Other religions speak in wonderful and beautiful terms
about the beauty of God reflected in the beauty of creation…
and their teaching is true…as far as it goes.

Other religions speak in wonderful and convincing ways
about the dignity of human life and the virtues of human love and compassion.
And this teaching reflects the true value of religion in general.

These religions teach their followers to do all kinds of good things
for the good of others and for the honor of God as they understand God to be.

Yet, only those of us who belong to Christ
know a God who was “born in a barn;”

a God who came down to earth
and willingly walked into a desert for forty days
and felt the cramp of hunger in his gut;

angry people spat on…God;
soldiers tortured…God.

Lent is the “eye chart” that registers our ability
to detect the power and grace of God…
in the lower lines of our life
Blurred by pain
distorted with confusion
obscured by despair.

It’s a hard test to pass.
Fortunately we have a well-crafted lens
to help us adjust our focus and see more clearly.

The lens has been around a long time
and it goes by an old name.

It’s called the Sacrifice of the Mass.

Specifically, its that part of the Mass
in which we place on the altar

all the things that confuse us and trouble us:

that feeling we get when walk into a doctor’s office,
that desperation we sense when the boss calls us in and tells us to hit the road,
the ache we feel in the gut when we hear about a child being abused
the anger we experience when someone we love is in pain…

here at Mass, this community of St. Al’s,
…everyone of us here…
we bring to this altar not only our hopes and dreams,
but also our suffering, our doubts and our pain…

and we place them in the hands of Christ…

the Savior of the world…

the Savior…who wept at the grave of his friend, Lazarus;

the a Savior who looked into the eyes
of a mother who child was languishing

and touched the skin of a leper…

and clothed the body of a tormented man living among the tombs…

a Savior who offered his back to the whip
and opened his hands to the nails.

He did this…all of this…so we’d never forget
that God sees every line of worry that crosses your face,
knows every doubt that clouds your vision,
feels the fear that makes your palms sweat.

In Christ Jesus, God became one of us
so that we might become one with God.

This is the deep reality that experience at the Eucharist,
this is the deep insight that the Mass unveils before our eyes:

pray deeply the mystery of the Mass
and you’re sight grows clear,
the focus gets sharp:

and you start to see, truly see,
that God is close, very close;

you are not alone,
you are never alone.