Eighth Sunday Ordinary Time (Year C) - A Series of Teachings

 

Homily for the Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Luke 6:39-45

Good morning, brothers and sisters in Christ.

The Gospel reading today offers us a series of teachings from Jesus, each packed with rich imagery and profound wisdom.

At first glance, these lessons—about the blind leading the blind, the wooden beam in our own eye, and the fruit of a tree—may seem disconnected.

Yet they are beautifully woven together to give us a roadmap for self-examination, humility, and living a life that truly bears witness to Christ.

Let us begin with Jesus’ first question:

“Can a blind person guide a blind person?

Will not both fall into a pit?”

This image immediately grabs our attention.

It’s both straightforward and thought-provoking.

Jesus is speaking to His disciples, the future leaders of the Church, and to us, who are called to lead others to Him in our own ways.

His point is clear: we cannot lead others to Christ unless we are rooted in Him ourselves.

Who or what guides your life?

This is a question we must ask ourselves often.

Are we guided by the wisdom of the world, which often prioritizes power, wealth, and comfort?

Or are we guided by Jesus, who calls us to humility, sacrifice, and love?

The answer will shape not only our lives but also the lives of those we influence—our families, friends, and communities.

To be a faithful guide, we must first let Jesus guide us.

This requires a deep and ongoing relationship with Him.

Through prayer, we listen to His voice.

Through Scripture, we come to know His teachings.

Through the sacraments, especially the Eucharist, we receive His grace to follow Him faithfully.

Only then can we lead others toward the light and avoid the pitfalls of spiritual blindness.

Next, Jesus gives us another vivid and challenging image:

“Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own?”

Here, He addresses a tendency that is all too common—the temptation to judge others while ignoring our own faults.

Why is it so easy to see the shortcomings of others and so hard to see our own?

Perhaps it’s because focusing on others’ faults gives us a false sense of superiority.

It’s easier to point fingers than to take a hard look at our own hearts.

But Jesus calls us to something greater.

He calls us to humility and self-awareness.

When we focus on the “wooden beam” in our own eye, we begin to see ourselves as we truly are—sinners in need of God’s mercy.

This isn’t meant to discourage us.

On the contrary, it’s meant to open us to God’s transformative grace.

When we approach others with this awareness of our own need for mercy, our judgments are replaced with compassion.

Instead of condemning, we seek to build up.

Instead of tearing down, we extend a hand to help.

This doesn’t mean we abandon fraternal correction altogether.

Sometimes, love requires us to point out when a brother or sister is going astray.

But how we do this matters.

Do we approach them with a spirit of humility, acknowledging our own need for growth?

Or do we act out of pride, eager to highlight their flaws?

True correction is rooted in love and seeks the good of the other, not the satisfaction of our ego.

Finally, Jesus gives us the image of a tree and its fruit:

“A good tree does not bear rotten fruit, nor does a rotten tree bear good fruit.”

With this, He brings us to the heart of the matter—our actions, words, and attitudes are the fruit of our inner lives.

What we produce in the world reflects what is in our hearts.

If we are rooted in the love of God, the fruit we bear will be good—acts of kindness, patience, forgiveness, and generosity.

But if our hearts are filled with anger, pride, or selfishness, the fruit we bear will reflect that as well.

The question for us is simple: What kind of fruit are we producing?

The answer lies in how deeply we are connected to Christ.

He is the vine, and we are the branches.

Apart from Him, we can do nothing.

But when we remain in Him—through prayer, the sacraments, and acts of love—His grace flows through us, transforming us and enabling us to bear fruit that glorifies God.

This image of the tree also challenges us to think about the long-term impact of our lives.

A tree doesn’t bear fruit overnight.

It takes time, care, and nourishment.

Similarly, our spiritual growth is a lifelong process.

We must be patient with ourselves and with others, trusting that God is at work in the hidden places of our hearts, shaping us into the people He created us to be.

Today’s Gospel invites us to a threefold response.

First, we are called to examine who or what guides our lives.

Let us make Christ our guide, trusting in His wisdom and grace.

Second, we are called to approach others with humility, focusing on our own conversion before judging.

And third, we are called to bear good fruit by staying rooted in God’s love.

As we prepare to receive the Eucharist, let us bring these reflections to the Lord.

Let us ask Him to open our eyes to His truth, to purify our hearts of pride and judgment, and to help us bear fruit that reflects His love.

May we leave this place today renewed in our commitment to follow Christ, to love one another, and to bear witness to His kingdom in all that we do. Amen.

Second Sunday of Lent (Year C) - The Transfiguration

 

Homily: Listening to the Chosen Son (Luke 9:28-36)

Second Sunday of Lent (Year C)

Today’s Gospel from Luke takes us up a mountain—a place of prayer, revelation, and awe.

 

It’s the story of the Transfiguration, where Jesus gives Peter, James, and John a glimpse of His divine glory.

 

Let’s walk through this together and see what it means for us.

Jesus leads these three disciples up a high mountain to pray.

 

Now, mountains in Scripture are special places—think of Moses on Sinai or Elijah hearing God’s still, small voice.

 

This mountain is no different.

 

As Jesus prays, something incredible happens:

 

His face changes, His clothes turn dazzling white, and suddenly Moses and Elijah are there, talking with Him about His “exodus”—His journey through suffering and death to resurrection.

 

Then, a cloud envelops them, and God’s voice declares, “This is my chosen Son; listen to Him.”

Imagine being Peter, James, or John in that moment.

 

Luke tells us they were heavy with sleep—maybe exhausted from the climb or the whirlwind of following Jesus.

 

But they wake up to this!

 

Peter, ever impulsive, says, “Master, it’s good that we’re here.

 

Let’s build three tents!”

 

He wants to stay, to preserve this glorious moment.

 

And who can blame him?

 

When we encounter God’s presence—whether in a powerful prayer, a kind act, or the peace of this Mass—don’t we want to hold onto it too?

But the Transfiguration isn’t just a spectacle.

 

It’s a revelation.

 

Moses, the giver of the Law, and Elijah, the great prophet, stand with Jesus, showing He’s the fulfillment of all God promised.

 

The dazzling light points to His divinity and the glory of the resurrection.

 

And that voice from the cloud?

 

It’s a command for them—and for us:

“Listen to Him.”

This isn’t just about hearing words; it’s about letting Jesus shape our lives.

Now, let’s bring this down the mountain into our world.

 

We might not see Jesus transfigured in front of us, but we’re still part of this story.

 

Think about your own “mountain moments”—times when God breaks through.

 

Maybe it’s when you hold your child for the first time, or when you feel unexplainable peace amid chaos, or when the Eucharist touches your soul in a new way.

 

These are echoes of the Transfiguration, glimpses of God’s love and power.

But here’s the catch: like the disciples, we don’t stay on the mountain.

 

After this vision, Jesus leads them back down—back to the messiness of life, to the crowds, to the road to the cross.

 

That’s our path too.

 

The glory we see here at Mass isn’t meant to be hoarded; it’s meant to strengthen us for the valleys—those places where we face hardship, doubt, or the daily grind.

 

The Transfiguration reminds us that Jesus is with us, shining even when we can’t see it.

I love how human the disciples are in this story.

 

They’re sleepy, stumbling, unsure what to say.

 

Sound familiar?

 

We can be spiritually drowsy too—distracted by screens, worries, or busyness.

 

Yet God still speaks.

 

Peter didn’t fully understand the Transfiguration until later, after the resurrection.

 

Sometimes, we don’t get it in the moment either.

 

But God is patient.

 

He keeps calling us to wake up, to listen, to trust.

So, what does “listening to Him” look like for us today?

 

Maybe it’s carving out time for prayer instead of rushing through our day.

 

Maybe it’s forgiving someone when it’s hard, because Jesus calls us to mercy.

Or maybe it’s trusting Him when the road ahead feels steep and uncertain.

 

Whatever it is, the Father’s command is clear: Jesus is the Chosen Son, the one worth following.

As we celebrate this Eucharist, let’s ask for the grace to climb our own mountains with Jesus—to seek Him in prayer, to see His glory in our lives, and to carry that light back down into the world.

 

The Transfiguration isn’t just a story from long ago; it’s an invitation now.

 

So, let’s wake up, listen to Him, and let His love transform us.

Amen.

 

Second Sunday in Lent (Year A) - The Transfiguration

Year A – Lent – Second Sunday – Deacon Pat

Today, the Gospel invites us to climb a mountain with Jesus—a mountain that reveals His glory and challenges us to see Him anew.

In the gospel, we hear the story of the Transfiguration:

Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a high mountain, away from the noise of the world below.

There, something extraordinary happens.

He is transfigured before them—His face shines like the sun, His clothes become dazzling white, and He stands in the company of Moses and Elijah, the towering figures of the Law and the Prophets.

Then, a bright cloud overshadows them, and the voice of the Father speaks: “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased; listen to Him.”

The disciples fall to the ground in awe and fear, overwhelmed by this glimpse of the divine.

What does this moment mean for us today?

For Peter, James, and John, it was a revelation of who Jesus truly is—the Son of God, the fulfillment of all that God had promised through the ages.

For us, gathered here in this church, it’s a moment to pause and reflect:

Do we truly see Jesus for who He is?

And are we ready to listen to Him as the Father commands?

The timing of the Transfiguration is no accident.

Just before this event, Jesus had spoken to His disciples about the hard road ahead—His suffering, His death on the cross, and His resurrection.

Peter, in his human weakness, had resisted this talk.

He didn’t want to imagine his Lord enduring such pain.

But here, on the mountain, God offers a vision of hope to sustain them.

The Transfiguration is like a window into eternity, a promise that the cross is not the end.

Yes, suffering will come—for Jesus and for us—but beyond it lies glory.

The radiant light of Christ on the mountain foreshadows the brilliance of the resurrection, reminding us that God’s love always has the final word.

As Catholics, this mystery resonates deeply with our faith.

We are a people who embrace both the cross and the resurrection.

We know that life is not free of struggle.

Perhaps some of you are carrying heavy burdens right now—a illness in the family, a strained relationship, financial worries, or a quiet doubt that gnaws at your faith.

These are our crosses, and they can feel overwhelming.

But the Transfiguration lifts our gaze.

It tells us to look up, to see Christ in His glory, and to trust that He walks with us through every valley.

The light we see on the mountain is not just for Jesus—it’s a light He wants to share with us, transforming our own lives, bit by bit, into reflections of His love.

Let’s turn for a moment to Peter’s reaction.

Caught up in the wonder of it all, he exclaims, “Lord, it is good that we are here. Let’s make three tents—one for you, one for Moses, one for Elijah.”

You can almost hear the excitement in his voice.

He wants to freeze this moment, to build a permanent dwelling place on the mountain and stay there forever.

Don’t we know that feeling?

When we encounter God—maybe during a powerful Mass, a heartfelt confession, or a quiet moment of prayer with our rosary in hand—we long to hold onto that peace, that closeness.

I think of the young mother who told me recently how she felt God’s presence so strongly while praying with her children at bedtime.

She wanted that moment to last.

But Jesus doesn’t let the disciples stay on the mountain.

After the vision fades, He touches them, calms their fears, and leads them back down—back to the world, back to the mission.

This is a profound lesson for us.

The mountaintop moments are gifts, but they’re not the whole of our Christian life.

We’re not called to live in isolation, basking in spiritual highs.

No, we’re called to take what we’ve seen and heard and bring it to others.

Imagine if Peter, James, and John had stayed up there, building their tents—what would have become of the Gospel?

Instead, they descended, and eventually, after the resurrection, they carried the light of Christ to the ends of the earth.

We, too, are sent forth from this Mass to do the same—to bring hope to a coworker who’s struggling, to show kindness to a neighbor in need, to share our faith with a world that often forgets God.

And then there’s the Father’s voice: “Listen to Him.”

These words aren’t just a suggestion—they’re a command, a call to discipleship.

Listening to Jesus means more than nodding at His teachings; it means letting them sink deep into our hearts and change us.

It means trusting Him when He asks us to forgive someone who doesn’t deserve it, to serve when we’re tired, to pray when we’d rather give up.

It means following Him to the cross, knowing that the journey doesn’t end there.

In this Lenten season, as we walk toward Easter, listening to Jesus might mean recommitting to our prayer, fasting with greater intention, or reaching out to someone we’ve neglected.

The Transfiguration is our strength for this journey.

In Lent, we climb the mountain with Jesus through our sacrifices and our penance.

We may not see His glory fully revealed yet—not like the disciples did—but we trust that He is with us, transfiguring us, making us more like Him.

Every time we receive the Eucharist, as we will in a few moments, we encounter the same Christ who shone on that mountain.

His presence fills us with the grace to keep going, to keep listening, to keep following.

So today, let’s ask ourselves:

Are we truly listening to Him?

Are we open to the ways He wants to transform our hearts?

And are we ready to carry His light back down the mountain, into a world that hungers for hope?

May this Eucharist, the living presence of Christ among us, give us the courage to say with Peter,

“Lord, it is good that we are here,”

and then to rise and follow Him—down the mountain, through the cross, and into the glory that awaits.

Amen.

 

Homily for the Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time Luke 6:39-45

 

Homily for the Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time
Luke 6:39-45

Good morning, brothers and sisters in Christ.

The Gospel reading today offers us a series of teachings from Jesus, each packed with rich imagery and profound wisdom.

At first glance, these lessons—about the blind leading the blind, the wooden beam in our own eye, and the fruit of a tree—may seem disconnected.

Yet they are beautifully woven together to give us a roadmap for self-examination, humility, and living a life that truly bears witness to Christ.

Let us begin with Jesus’ first question:

“Can a blind person guide a blind person?

Will not both fall into a pit?”

This image immediately grabs our attention.

It’s both straightforward and thought-provoking.

Jesus is speaking to His disciples, the future leaders of the Church, and to us, who are called to lead others to Him in our own ways.

His point is clear: we cannot lead others to Christ unless we are rooted in Him ourselves.

Who or what guides your life?

This is a question we must ask ourselves often.

Are we guided by the wisdom of the world, which often prioritizes power, wealth, and comfort?

Or are we guided by Jesus, who calls us to humility, sacrifice, and love?

The answer will shape not only our lives but also the lives of those we influence—our families, friends, and communities.

To be a faithful guide, we must first let Jesus guide us.

This requires a deep and ongoing relationship with Him.

Through prayer, we listen to His voice.

Through Scripture, we come to know His teachings.

Through the sacraments, especially the Eucharist, we receive His grace to follow Him faithfully.

Only then can we lead others toward the light and avoid the pitfalls of spiritual blindness.

Next, Jesus gives us another vivid and challenging image:

“Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own?”

Here, He addresses a tendency that is all too common—the temptation to judge others while ignoring our own faults.

Why is it so easy to see the shortcomings of others and so hard to see our own?

Perhaps it’s because focusing on others’ faults gives us a false sense of superiority.

It’s easier to point fingers than to take a hard look at our own hearts.

But Jesus calls us to something greater.

He calls us to humility and self-awareness.

When we focus on the “wooden beam” in our own eye, we begin to see ourselves as we truly are—sinners in need of God’s mercy.

This isn’t meant to discourage us.

On the contrary, it’s meant to open us to God’s transformative grace.

When we approach others with this awareness of our own need for mercy, our judgments are replaced with compassion.

Instead of condemning, we seek to build up.

Instead of tearing down, we extend a hand to help.

This doesn’t mean we abandon fraternal correction altogether.

Sometimes, love requires us to point out when a brother or sister is going astray.

But how we do this matters.

Do we approach them with a spirit of humility, acknowledging our own need for growth?

Or do we act out of pride, eager to highlight their flaws?

True correction is rooted in love and seeks the good of the other, not the satisfaction of our ego.

Finally, Jesus gives us the image of a tree and its fruit:

“A good tree does not bear rotten fruit, nor does a rotten tree bear good fruit.”

With this, He brings us to the heart of the matter—our actions, words, and attitudes are the fruit of our inner lives.

What we produce in the world reflects what is in our hearts.

If we are rooted in the love of God, the fruit we bear will be good—acts of kindness, patience, forgiveness, and generosity.

But if our hearts are filled with anger, pride, or selfishness, the fruit we bear will reflect that as well.

The question for us is simple: What kind of fruit are we producing?

The answer lies in how deeply we are connected to Christ.

He is the vine, and we are the branches.

Apart from Him, we can do nothing.

But when we remain in Him—through prayer, the sacraments, and acts of love—His grace flows through us, transforming us and enabling us to bear fruit that glorifies God.

This image of the tree also challenges us to think about the long-term impact of our lives.

A tree doesn’t bear fruit overnight.

It takes time, care, and nourishment.

Similarly, our spiritual growth is a lifelong process.

We must be patient with ourselves and with others, trusting that God is at work in the hidden places of our hearts, shaping us into the people He created us to be.

Today’s Gospel invites us to a threefold response.

First, we are called to examine who or what guides our lives.

Let us make Christ our guide, trusting in His wisdom and grace.

Second, we are called to approach others with humility, focusing on our own conversion before judging.

And third, we are called to bear good fruit by staying rooted in God’s love.

As we prepare to receive the Eucharist, let us bring these reflections to the Lord.

Let us ask Him to open our eyes to His truth, to purify our hearts of pride and judgment, and to help us bear fruit that reflects His love.

May we leave this place today renewed in our commitment to follow Christ, to love one another, and to bear witness to His kingdom in all that we do. 

Amen.

The Wedding Feast at Cana (John 2, 1-11 - Second Sunday Ordinary Time Year C)

 

Homily – Deacon Pat – The Wedding at Cana (John 2, 1-11)

Good morning, brothers and sisters in Christ.

Today, we reflect on the beautiful Gospel passage of John, the story of the wedding at Cana, where Jesus performs His first public miracle by turning water into wine.

This passage is rich with meaning and offers profound lessons about faith, obedience, and God’s abundant grace.

Let us begin by setting the scene.

A wedding is a time of joy, celebration, and the union of two lives.

In ancient Jewish culture, weddings were grand affairs that lasted for days, filled with feasting and fellowship.

Imagine the embarrassment and disappointment of the host when the wine runs out—a major social faux pas in that time.

But it is in this moment of crisis that Mary, the Mother of Jesus, intervenes.

Mary notices the need and brings it to Jesus, saying, “They have no wine.”

Her statement is simple, yet profound.

She doesn’t make demands; she simply presents the need, trusting that her Son will act.

And though Jesus’ initial response may seem dismissive—“My hour has not yet come”—Mary’s faith remains steadfast.

She turns to the servants and says, “Do whatever he tells you.”

In those words, “Do whatever he tells you,” Mary gives us a model of discipleship.

She invites us to trust in Jesus, even when His plans and timing seem unclear.

And so, the servants obey.

Jesus instructs them to fill six large stone jars with water—jars that would hold 20 to 30 gallons each.

Once filled, He tells them to draw some out and take it to the master of the banquet.

When the master tastes it, the water has miraculously turned into the finest wine.

This miracle is not just about providing for a wedding feast; it is a sign of who Jesus is and the abundant grace He brings.

The six stone jars, used for ceremonial washing, represent the old covenant, which Jesus fulfills and transforms.

The wine symbolizes the new covenant of His blood, poured out for us.

And the abundance—over 120 gallons of the best wine—reveals the generosity of God’s blessings.

Let me share a story to illustrate the power of trust and obedience to God’s will.

There was a young woman named Ainsley who felt a strong call to serve as a missionary.

She had limited resources, no experience, and a thousand reasons to doubt.

But like Mary, she trusted in God’s providence and said, “Do whatever He tells you.”

Ainsley’s journey began with small acts of faith.

She volunteered at her parish, saved money, and sought guidance from her priest.

Eventually, she joined a mission trip to a remote village where clean water was scarce.

Moved by the plight of the community, she prayed for a way to help.

Over time, her efforts grew into a project that provided wells and education about sanitation, transforming the lives of hundreds.

Ainsley often said, “I simply followed where God led me, step by step.”

Ainsley’s story reminds us that when we bring our needs to God and obey His promptings, He can transform our humble efforts into something extraordinary.

Like the servants at Cana, we may not understand His instructions, but our obedience opens the door for His grace to flow abundantly.

Another layer to this Gospel passage is the role of community and intercession.

Notice how the miracle at Cana begins with Mary’s intercession.

She sees the need of the hosts and brings it to Jesus.

Similarly, we are called to intercede for one another, bringing the needs of our family, friends, and even strangers before God.

In doing so, we participate in His work of grace and transformation.

Perhaps today, you know someone who has run out of “wine”—someone who feels empty or overwhelmed.

Bring their needs to Jesus in prayer, trusting that He will provide in ways beyond our understanding.

+

As we reflect on this Gospel, let us ask ourselves:

Where is God calling us to trust Him more deeply?

What “water” in our lives does He wish to transform into “wine”?

Perhaps it’s a challenging relationship, a health issue, or a call to serve in a new way.

Whatever it may be, let us bring it to Jesus through prayer, trust in His timing, and say with Mary, “Do whatever He tells you.”

In this Eucharist, we celebrate the ultimate transformation: bread and wine becoming the Body and Blood of Christ.

May this sacred meal strengthen our faith and inspire us to live as true disciples, open to the miracles God wishes to work in and through us.

Amen.