Blowing in the Wind - A Homily for Pentecost 2020, Year A

The Preachin' Deacons bring you Pentecost! Links to the readings and the video are provided below, followed by the text to my contribution. I couldn't resist including a link to that great song as well!

Readings: Acts 2:1-11; Psalm 104; 1 Corinthians 12:3b-7,12-13; John 20:19-23

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Blowing in the Wind

          Anyone who’s climbed Saint Mary’s Hill knows that it’s pretty windy up there. Sometimes we’re welcomed to the hilltop by a refreshing, gentle breeze, like I was this morning. But more often than not, near gale-force winds propel us from our cars to the Church, as if to emphasize how important it is for us to be there on time. I love walking our vast, beautiful Church property, especially when it’s a little windy. It reminds me that the Holy Spirit is always with me, sometimes at my back compelling me forward, sometimes in my face, challenging me or holding me back, but always offering me solutions to my stickiest problems and inspiration to do something about them. You could say that I find those answers Blowing in the Wind.

          Scripture offers us many images for perhaps the most elusive person of the divine Trinity—the Holy Spirit. The Spirit descends like a dove and appears in tongues as of fire. The Spirit came in our first reading like a “strong, driving wind” and is given to the disciples in Christ’s peace-filled breath. Why so many images? Well, we humans need a lot of images to try to describe a mysterious, powerful force that plays so many important roles in our lives. The Spirit is our Comforter and our Advocate. The Spirit consoles us and inspires us. The Spirit gives us the courage, wisdom, and strength we need to tackle any challenge that this storm-tossed life may send us.

          I also think we have a lot of images for the Holy Spirit because the Spirit presents itself and speaks to each one of us in a unique way—precisely in the tone and tenor we need to hear at any given moment. Every one of us is called to play our part in building God’s Kingdom here on earth, and the Spirit persistently prompts us to contribute to that effort in our own unique ways. As our second reading tells us, our spiritual gifts and forms of service are wonderfully diverse, but it’s the same Spirit who guides each one of us to use those gifts in accordance with God’s plan. It’s our job, then, to pay attention to the movements of the Holy Spirit in our lives, to discern the Spirit’s message to us, and to act upon it to the best of our ability.

           Because the Spirit speaks to us individually as well as communally, it’s possible for us to have different Spirit-led responses to what may appear to be similar circumstances. For example, as we begin to return to church, work, and school, the Spirit will guide us, individually, on how and when to do that. For some, the Spirit may compel us to return as quickly as possible. For others, the Spirit may say, “Wait.” If we take the time to listen to the Spirit whispering to us in our well-informed consciences, we’ll come to the right answer, because the answer will come from the Spirit.

           Though we could well say it in any age, it seems like we need the Holy Spirit now more than ever. Tensions are high in our country and in the world, with fear and social distancing weighing heavily on our very human need for community, and continued racial injustice tearing our community apart. Pentecost isn’t just a day to celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit and the creation of the Church. It’s an opportunity to renew the face of the earth by discerning the Holy Spirit’s movements in our lives and to acting on them. It’s a call to “drink from the one Spirit,” who unites us as a community that treats all people with the respect that their God-given dignity commands. It’s an invitation to appreciate God’s presence in a soft breeze upon your cheek or in the cool air that fans your throbbing temple, and to find the answers to our most difficult problems Blowing in the Wind.

The Preachin' Deacons! Fifth Sunday of Easter, Year A. May 10, 2020

Happy Mothers Day!  Welcome back to the Preachin' Deacons. A video link to our three homilies and this week's readings follow, along with the text to my contribution.  We're sorry that there is no discussion at the end--computer problems!

Readings: Acts 6:1-7; Psalm 33; 1 Peter 2:4-9; John 14:1-12

 We Can All Do Something

         The past few weeks have been really frustrating for me, and it has nothing to do with the coronavirus or eight weeks of isolation.  My computer died . . . then my printer died.  I’m not technologically gifted, so when I imagine what hell is like, I think it must involve a computer Help Desk where the only solution offered is, “Did you try rebooting?”  My frustrations came to a head this past Thursday as I was trying to set up my new printer.  I got so frustrated by what I couldn’t do that I needed to get away from the computer and reboot myself.  My little time out helped me realize that while I can do some things, I can’t do everything. I need help sometimes.  This Sunday’s readings agree.

         Our readings today speak to us of service.  In our first reading, we hear of the call of the first deacons—the servants of the Church. The Apostles weren’t cutting it.  The growing number of disciples made it impossible for them to preach and serve at table, and some of their followers were feeling cheated.  So the Apostles turned to their community for help, and the service ministry of the Church was born.  In our second reading, Saint Peter invites us to join this ministry by becoming “living stones” in the foundation of the Church.  And in our Gospel, Jesus calls us to follow his model of service, assuring us that there’s room for all.

          Yes, we’re called to serve.  God has endowed each one of us with unique talents for us to use to build his Kingdom here on earth.  We’re all called to do something . . ., but we’re not called to do everything.  We have a tendency to expect that we can do it all.  Think of our mothers, whom we celebrate today.  Our mothers do so much for us that we think they must have 10 hands in addition to the eyes they have in the back of their heads.  But even mothers can’t do everything, and those that think that they have to usually aren’t very happy.  We need to help out.  We need to share our talents and work together, not just to get through the daily grind of life and to fix our computers, but to love as Jesus loved, to serve as Jesus served, and to build God’s Kingdom here on earth.  As Pope Francis said, “Everyone has something to give to society; no one is excluded from contributing to the good of all.”  You have talents that I don’t have; I have talents that you don’t have.  When we pool our talents, we accomplish amazing things—together.  

           Just yesterday, our parish ran a food drive to stock our pantry and to help out some food pantries in the area.  In these tough times, a lot of people can’t afford even the most basic necessities, so the pantries are running on empty.  We came together as a community, appropriately masked and gloved, and our parishioners didn’t disappoint. For three hours, we had a steady stream of families dropping off food and sundries, so much so, that we filled our pantry wall to wall, with even more food piled on three folding tables in the hall.  None of us could have done that alone, but each of us was able to do something.  Working together, we did something miraculous in the model of Jesus Christ—we fed the hungry.

The Master’s Voice - Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter, Year A 2020

Readings: Acts 2:24a, 36-41; Psalm 23; 1 Peter 2:20b-25; John 10:1-10

Preachin' Deacons YouTube Video

         Otis was a great dog. A 70-pound chocolate Labrador Retriever with a deep, serious bark, Otis cast a formidable figure, but underneath it all was a sweet, licky, kissy guy who wanted nothing more out of life than to be with his humans. He followed me everywhere; he glued himself to my side. If I dared drop a hand, he’d pick it up and hold it in his enormous mouth, periodically running his prehensile tongue through my palm and between my fingers just in case a treat might be hiding in there for him. For as mischievous as a lab can be, he always came when I called. He knew his master’s voice, he trusted me, and he followed me. That’s the kind of relationship I need to have with Jesus.

         Our readings today emphasize the shepherd/sheep metaphor we find throughout Scripture. Psalm 23, which we may well know by heart, tells us so beautifully that the Lord is our shepherd, there is nothing we shall want; he gives us rest in green pastures; he leads us on right paths; his rod and staff comfort us. Saint Peter confirms in our second reading that even when we go astray, Christ our shepherd is there to guard our souls when we return. And in our Gospel, Jesus teaches us to be like the sheep that know their shepherd’s voice, to follow him that we might have life more abundantly.

        Our great advances in science and technology have given us many choices, some might even say too many. We have hundreds of television channels and brands of bread and detergent, and with the internet, innumerable sources of information and entertainment. We’re presented with countless choices every day—some good, some not-so-good, and some downright bad. Unfortunately, there are a lot of golden-tongued wolves in sheep’s clothing out there willing to lead us down wrong paths for a few dollars. Even more unfortunately, too many of us follow. But fortunately, Jesus, the Good Shepherd is there for us, too, calling our names and leading us on right paths.

        We have to ask ourselves, then, will we recognize his voice when we’re called? Will we follow him? Sure, Jesus will be there to receive us down to the moment we enter the valley of the shadow of death, but how will we know that his is the voice to follow, if we don’t start now. Developing a personal, trusting, loving relationship with Jesus is a lifelong challenge. It’s like training for a marathon or learning to play the piano—it takes practice. Our readings tell us that practice starts today.

        As his eyesight dimmed and his hearing failed, Otis became weary and nervous about the world around him—but not when I was there. Though he could barely hear, he had grown so close to me over the years that he knew my scent, my touch, and my every gesture. Otis died this past Tuesday. As his life faded before my eyes, I put my face inches from his nose so he would know I was there. In his last act on this earth, he stuck out his soft, sweet tongue and kissed me. Otis knew his master— he trusted me, he found comfort with me, and yes, he loved me. That’s the kind of relationship I need to have with Jesus.