Vigil. Easter (2026-04-04)

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[Easter Vigil 2026]

Welcome to Our Lady of Lourdes, to this most holy night—the Easter Vigil.

The word vigil means to watch – as you know .. to stay awake at night because we are afraid—like the image from the Song of Songs, the warrior with his sword at his side because of fears in the night. But more often, we stay awake in anticipation. Think of Christmas Eve… the night before a wedding… the night before something beautiful is about to happen.

Tonight, the Church asks us to stay awake—not out of fear, but out of hope.

The early Church Fathers said that we keep vigil so that we may be alert for God. As Athanasius writes, “We watch not as mourners, but as those who wait for the Lord.”

And tonight, we are waiting.

But we are not waiting passively. We are watching for something very specific.

We are watching to receive God… to be received by Him… and to receive one another.

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1. Vigilance: Being Received

Many years ago, before I entered the seminary, I had a job that required a lot of travel. I would go from city to city, usually staying in hotels, often eating alone.

One trip brought me to Atlanta, where I had family—my aunt and uncle and my cousins. I called them to let them know I would be in town. I didn’t know what to expect.

They didn’t ask many questions. They simply said:
“Dinner’s at six. We’ll see you.”

That was it.

And I remember how much that meant—to be welcomed.

There’s a line from a poem by Robert Frost that defines this:
“Home is the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in.”

That is what it means to be received.

And that is what God does for us tonight.

In baptism, in the Eucharist, in His mercy—God receives us. Not because we have earned it. Not because we are perfect. But because we belong to Him.

We hear that same invitation in the Gospel story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. As evening approaches, they say to the stranger walking with them,
“Stay with us for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over.”

And He went in to stay with them.

Tonight, God says the same to us—and we say the same to Him:
Stay with us, Lord.

And in a special way tonight, we pray for Parker and Jessica, who are about to be received fully into the Church. This night is not just symbolic. It is personal. God is receiving you. And we, as a parish, receive you as well.

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2. Vigilance: Acting in Faith

But vigilance is not only about being received. It is also about how we respond.

John Henry Newman says that faith gives us a kind of spiritual sight—it allows us to recognize God and understand what we are called to do.

But then he asks an important question: how do we know that our faith is real?

And he answers with the words of the First Letter of John:
“Hereby we know that we know Him, if we keep His commandments.”

In other words, faith is not just something we feel. It is something we live.

That’s why St. Joseph is such a powerful example. Joseph didn’t always understand what God was doing. He didn’t have the full picture. But when God showed him what to do, he acted. He obeyed. His faith was visible in his actions.

And the same is true for us.

The full picture may take time to become clear.

A few weeks ago, before the St. Patrick’s Day Mass here at the parish, there was a lot going on—music, preparations, visitors, everything coming together at once. And just before Mass, I noticed an unmarked cardboard box sitting outside on the church steps.

No label.

I picked it up and brought it inside. A few people offered to help—very kindly—and I declined, which in retrospect may not have been the best decision.

But the real problem was this: I didn’t know what to do with the box until I opened it.

When we finally opened it, we discovered it contained programs for the Mass and parade—and suddenly we knew what to do.

Seeing brought clarity.

But in the life of faith, it often works the other way around. We act first—and understanding comes later.

And I also remember that two people who offered to help me that day are here tonight—Jessica and Parker. And they weren’t just offering to help me—they were already living that spirit of service among you.

This is vigilance.

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3. Vigilance: Following the Light

Years after that first trip to Atlanta, I returned—this time for my uncle’s funeral. I flew in, rented a car, and started driving to where my family was staying in a remote area.

At first, everything was fine. But then my GPS stopped working. No signal. Dark roads. No streetlights. I had no idea where I was going.

I called my brother, who was already there. He stayed on the phone with me, guiding me turn by turn.

And finally, when I was close—but still lost—he said:
“Don’t worry. I’m coming out to the road with a flashlight. Just look for the light.”

And that’s what I did.

In the end, I couldn’t figure it out on my own. I had to follow the light that was given to me.

And that is what Jesus does for us.

He is not simply like a light.
He is the Light.

And tonight, in this Easter Vigil, we see that light in a very real way—in the Paschal candle, in the waters of baptism, in the grace of the sacraments.

Even if your baptism was many years ago, that light is still in you. Christ continues to guide you, to illuminate your path, to call you forward.

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Conclusion: A Vigilant Life

So tonight, we are invited to live a life of vigilance.

To receive God—making space for Him in prayer, in the sacraments, in our daily lives.
To trust that we are received by Him—even in our weakness, even in our failures.
And to receive one another—with patience, with generosity, with love.

This is the way Jesus lived.

He was vigilant in love—loving the Father with all His heart, mind, and strength… and loving us, His neighbors, to the very end.

And now He calls us to do the same.

“Stay with us for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over.”

So as we continue this Easter Vigil, and as we renew our baptismal promises, let us ask:

Am I awake to God in my life—or am I going my own way?

Because if we stay vigilant…
if we stay awake in faith…
then we will not walk in darkness.

We will walk in His light.

Tonight we keep vigil.
We stay awake.
And we follow the Light.

And that light will lead us home.

Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord's Supper (2026-04-02)

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Holy Thursday 7 pm NIGHT  (updated)

1. The Passover That Becomes the First Mass

Tonight, we remember the first Mass—the Lord’s Supper.

It was also the Last Supper.

And it was a Passover meal.

In the first reading, we hear very specific instructions about that meal. Even down to how the lamb is to be shared—if a family is too small, they must join with another household.

These details show us something:

This moment matters.

Even if the people living it didn’t fully understand it yet.

They would only understand it later.

Just like Peter, who doesn’t understand why Jesus is washing his feet—until later.

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2. More Than a Beginning: What Comes After

Sometimes we measure important moments by how they begin.

A wedding day.
A baptism.
A milestone birthday.

We put a lot of effort into getting the moment just right.

I remember when we were planning a surprise party for my mother’s 70th birthday. It took months of preparation, and we worked hard to keep it a secret.

My father, especially, was worried he might say something and give it away. He told me later there were many times he almost did.

On the day of the party, he wanted to go out with my sister and brother-in-law to check on the restaurant, so he told my mother they were all going out to look at / shop for golf clubs—which wasn’t true. And he was nervous the whole time that he had said too much.

My mother didn’t notice at all. She was just happy everyone was doing what they needed to do.

In the end, the surprise worked.

And my sister said something beautiful at the party—that my father’s anxiousness was really a sign of his care, his precision, his love.

But what we were celebrating wasn’t just my mother’s life in the past.

We were celebrating her life still being lived…
and the life still to come.

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3. The Last Supper That Continues

And that’s what tonight is about.

The Last Supper is not just something that happened once.

It is something that continues.

At that meal, Jesus does something astonishing.

He takes bread and says:

“This is my body, given for you.”

He takes the cup:

“This is my blood, poured out for you.”

And then He says:

“Do this in memory of me.”

That moment did not end in the upper room.

It continues every time we come to Mass.

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4. Not Just a Meal: The Living Eucharist

The Eucharist is not just a symbol.
It is not just a reminder.
And it is not just a meal.

In an ordinary meal, we eat food that is no longer alive in order to sustain the life that is already in us.

But in the Eucharist, something very different is happening.

We receive the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ—who is alive.

And instead of the food sustaining our life,
He gives us His life.

He comes to dwell within us.

And that is what a sacrament is:

An outward sign that makes present an inward reality.

What we see is bread and wine.
But what we receive is Jesus Himself—
His Body, His Blood, His life.

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5. The New Commandment: Love Like Christ

But Holy Thursday is not only about the Eucharist.

It is also about how we are called to live because of it.

Because right after giving us the Eucharist…

Jesus kneels down and washes the feet of His disciples.

The Master becomes the servant.

And then He gives us a new commandment:

Love one another as I have loved you.

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6. “The Master Has Need of You”

Several years ago, I heard a homily by Bishop Robert Barron about a line from the Gospel:

“The Master has need of it.”

He first noticed that line on a newly ordained priest’s prayer card.

Just that one line.

“The Master has need of it.”

The Lord chooses to rely on others.

He chooses to work through what is ordinary.

And that includes us.

The Master has need of you.

As a husband.
As a wife.
As a parent.
As a friend.
As a disciple.

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7. Learning to Listen and Share in Mercy

Years ago, before I ever thought seriously about the priesthood, I had an experience that didn’t seem important at the time.

I was on a plane coming back from Washington, D.C., and sitting next to me was my hometown pastor.

We started talking, and he told me he was leaving his parish for a new assignment. In fact, I was the first person he was telling.

And I listened.

But honestly, I didn’t really understand what he was going through. I didn’t understand priestly life or the diocese. If you asked him, he’d probably tell you how clueless I was.

But I was trying to listen.

Looking back, I see that moment differently.

What felt like a coincidence…
was actually a moment of grace.

I was being invited to listen.
To care.
To enter into someone else’s experience.

And that is exactly what Jesus does for us.

“We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness.”

Jesus understands us.

And tonight, He asks us to do the same.

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8. Becoming What We Receive

Because the Eucharist is not just something we receive.

It is something we are meant to become.

When Jesus says:

“This is my body, given for you,”

those are not just words for the priest.

They are words for all of us.

They are the words of a parent for a child.
The words of spouses.
The words of someone caring for a loved one:

“This is my life, given for you.”

So the question tonight is simple:

Are we living those words?

The people in our lives don’t need us to be perfect.

They need us to show up.
To listen.
To forgive.
To love.

And the good news is this:

God does not choose us because we are strong.

He chooses us because He loves us.

And He is faithful.

So tonight, as we receive the Eucharist,

we don’t just remember what Jesus did.

We receive who He is.

And we are sent to live like Him.

Because the Master still has need of you. 

Holy Thursday Midday Prayer (priests, 11 am)

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Holy Thursday Morning Reflection for Priests 

On this Holy Thursday morning, the Church gives us a moment to pause before we enter the Triduum and remember who we are as priests.

Today is not only about what Christ did.

It is about what He entrusted:

The Eucharist.
The priesthood.
And the command to love as He has loved.

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We tend to measure important moments by how they begin.

A wedding day.
A baptism.
A milestone birthday.
Ordination day.

We remember the planning, the details, the celebration.

But what really gives those moments meaning is not how they begin…
but what follows.

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I remember advice from a brother priest, Jim Moran, now gone home to God. And today is a good day to remember and pray for the priests who formed us.

He said:

“Don’t worry too much about the details of your ordination or your first Mass. People may enjoy all of that… but that’s not why they came.

They came to see you. To see you as a priest.”

At the time, I thought—surely they came because of their faith. And that’s true.

But he was right.

They came to see you.

Or better— they came to see Christ in you.

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That is what Holy Thursday brings us back to.

Not simply the memory of ordination…
but the reality of what we are still called to be.

Because priesthood is not something we look back on.

It is something we live.

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At the Last Supper, Jesus gives Himself:

“This is my body, given for you.”
“This is my blood, poured out for you.”
“Do this in memory of me.”

That moment did not end that night.

It continues every time we stand at the altar.

So today is not only about remembering that we were ordained.

It is about asking:

Are we still living what we were ordained for?

We say, “This is my body, given for you.”

Are our lives becoming that?

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There is a line from the Gospel that Bishop Barron once reflected on—he said it was printed on a newly ordained priest’s ordination prayer card:

“The Master has need of it.”

The Lord chooses to rely on others.
He chooses to work through what is ordinary and limited.

The Master has need of you, brothers.

---

I was thinking recently about something that happened to me years before I entered the seminary.

At the time, it didn’t seem important.

I was coming back from Washington, D.C., sitting on a plane, just living my life, not seriously thinking about priesthood.

And next to me was my hometown pastor, Monsignor Tom McDade.

We started talking.

He told me he had just accepted a new assignment in Washington, working for the U.S. bishops—and that I was the first person he was telling.

He spoke about the change, the uncertainty, the weight of leaving his parish.

And I listened.

But honestly, I didn’t really understand what he was going through. I didn’t understand priestly life or “the diocese ”. If you ask Tom McDade himself, he will probably tell you how clueless I was.

But I was trying to listen….

---

Looking back now, I see that moment differently.

What felt like a coincidence…
was actually an invitation.

I was being given a glimpse into the life of a priest.

I was being drawn into sympathy with someone carrying a burden I didn’t yet understand.

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The Letter to the Hebrews says:

“We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness…”

Before we are priests who act,
we are men who are called to sympathize.

To listen.
To stand with people.
To enter into their experience.

Even when we don’t fully understand it.

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That moment on the plane was, in its own quiet way, an experience of mercy.

Christ was already at work, forming something in me that I didn’t yet recognize.

And that is often how He works.

Not in dramatic ways,
but in small encounters that shape us over time.

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The people entrusted to us come in moments of joy—but more often in moments of need.

They come in confusion, in sin, in grief.

And whether they can say it or not, they come for one reason:

They need Christ.

And somehow, in His mercy,
He has chosen to make Himself present through us.

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Our priesthood is not measured by visible success.

It is measured by fidelity.

Fidelity to the Eucharist.
Fidelity to our people.
Fidelity to Christ.

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So today, brothers, we look forward.

Not back to ordination,
but toward the priest we are still being called to become.

Are we still men of the Eucharist?
Men of prayer?
Available when the Master has need of us?

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The people do not need perfect priests.

They need faithful ones.

Priests who show up.
Who listen.
Who forgive.
Who offer the Sacrifice.

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As Deuteronomy reminds us:

The Lord chose us not because of our strength,
but because He loves us—
and because He is faithful.

That is our story.

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So as we enter these sacred days, let us renew our yes.

Not a perfect yes.
But a faithful one.

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Lord Jesus Christ,
you have called us to share in your priesthood
and entrusted to us your people and your mercy.

Renew in us the grace of our ordination.
Make us faithful stewards of your mysteries.
Teach us to be close to your people
and to share in their weakness.

And remind us, when we forget:
that you still have need of us.

Palm Sunday (2016-03-29)

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 [v.4]  2026-March-29–  Palm Sunday Palm Sunday 2026 Homily – The Seed That Cannot Grow Alone

 1. The Knock at the Door → Palm Sunday

In the country of Austria, in the city of Vienna, there is a ritual for the arrival of a deceased Habsburg king or emperor at the cathedral for his funeral.
It is called the Habsburg “Knocking Ritual,” where a herald knocks on the church doors.

When the procession arrives, a herald steps forward and knocks on the great door.

From inside, a voice calls out: “Who seeks entry?”

In 2011, the heralded responds with a long list of titles— Otto of Austria, former Crown Prince of Austria-Hungary, Prince Royal of Hungary…

And the reply comes back: “We do not know him.”

A second knock. Again the question: “Who seeks entry?”

More titles. More achievements.

Again, the answer: “We do not know him.”

A third knock. Again the question: “Who seeks entry?”

No titles. No achievements. Only this: “Otto—a mortal, sinful man.”

And the doors are opened: “Now he may enter.”

In the end, titles do not open the door. Achievements do not open the door.

Palm Sunday proclaims the same truth.

What matters is who we are before God.

Because, as St. Paul writes,
we brought nothing into this world—and we take nothing out.

And today, we see a king—Jesus—who already lives this way.

He enters Jerusalem not with power or wealth, but in humility.

The crowds shout, “Hosanna!”
Yet within minutes, we hear the Passion.

He will be stripped of everything.
He will carry nothing out of this world.

So Palm Sunday asks us:
Who are we—really—before God?

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2. The Grain of Wheat – Not Alone

Jesus says:
Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone.

That word is everything: alone.

A seed cannot grow in isolation.

Even if you could take a seed, soil, water, and oxygen
and place them far from Earth—
it still would not grow.

Because life requires more than ingredients.
It requires relationship… environment… connection.

So it is with faith.

We are nourished here—
but we are meant to be planted out there.

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3. God Gives the Growth

St. Paul tells us:
I planted, Apollos watered, but God gave the growth… you are God’s field.

Faith is not something we manufacture.

We are not self-made.
Growth is not under our control.

We belong to something larger—
a field, a people, a mission.

And God is the one who gives growth.

Even our intelligence is part of that plan—

not only to improve the world,
but to understand suffering
and respond with love.

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4. Learning to Die Each Day

This is where it becomes concrete.

We are called to “die” each day—
not physically, but spiritually.

Through simple, real acts:

·         forgiving someone who hurt us

·         visiting the sick

·         letting go of resentment

·         surrendering control

These are not small sacrifices.

They are the soil of growth.

Because when we cling to pride or anger,
we remain like the seed that stays alone.

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5. The Purpose of What We Learn

God has given us intelligence for something deeper.

Not just to solve problems or achieve success—
but to recognize what truly matters.

When you forgive…
when you endure suffering with patience…
when you serve someone in need…

You begin to understand
how God brings life out of death.

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6. The Danger of Isolation

One of the great dangers today is isolation.

We isolate ourselves:

·         in resentment

·         in comfort or control

·         in work

·         even in religion, if we keep it contained here

But a seed kept safe never grows.

Jesus did not remain safe.

He entered the world.
He suffered in it.
He died in it.

And because of that—he bore fruit.

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7. Sent Into the Field

What happens here today matters.

We are nourished.
We are strengthened.

But this is not the field—
this is where we are prepared.

You are meant to be planted:

·         in your family

·         in your work

·         in your struggles

·         in your relationships

That is where God brings growth.

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8. The Decision of Palm Sunday

So the question is not what the crowd did.

The question is:
What will I do? What will you do?

Will we keep our faith contained—
or allow it to be planted?

Will we hold onto control—
or learn to die to ourselves each day?

Will we remain alone—
or become part of God’s field?

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9. Conclusion

Jesus enters Jerusalem knowing what awaits him.

He will be stripped of everything.
He will carry nothing out of this world.

And yet—he will bear fruit that will never end.

Because he did not remain alone.

So this week, ask yourself:

Where is God asking me to be planted?
What must die… so that something greater can grow?

Because in the end:

We bring nothing in.
We take nothing out.

Except this—
the fruit that God has grown through us.

Why are we here? (2026-03-22, Lent 5th Sunday)

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[v.8]  2026-March-22 – 5th Sunday Lent    ●● Ezekiel 27:12-14 ●● Psalm 130 ●● Romans 8:8-11 ●●  John 11:1-45  ●●   

 [00] “Why Are We Here?”

Have you ever been to a funeral…
and then, not long after, found yourself at another funeral—
with many of the same people?

I had his experience not long ago.

I was at a funeral for a family friend, Catherine — whom I invite you to pray for— who died in her 80s who died after a long illness.

And then, just a few days later,
I found myself at another funeral—this time for her nephew Kevin,
in his 50s, also after a serious illness.

And there we were again—
many of the same people,
gathered in another church, in another town.

Talking, consoling one another…
and quietly asking the same question:

Why are we here?

Maybe you’ve had that experience—
attending several funerals in a short span of time,
and asking that same question.

There is a well-known line from the frequently quoted New York Yankees baseball player Yogi Berra— who used to worship here, by the way.

Yogi Berra once said:

“You should always go to other people’s funerals—otherwise, they won’t come to yours.”

It’s a humorous line—but it points to something true.

We belong to one another.
We are connected.

And in the Catholic faith, that connection does not end at death.

We pray for one another—by name—
in life,  in dying, and even after death.

And so the question becomes deeper:

When we hear the news of death…
is that the whole story?
What happens next?

[01] The Gospel: A Real Death

In today’s Gospel, Jesus stands before the tomb of His friend Lazarus.

And we are told something very important:

Lazarus has been dead four days.

In the understanding of that time, that meant there was no doubt—
he is truly dead.

Not a misunderstanding.
Not a mistake.

This makes what Jesus is about to do all the more touching—because after four days, He meets them in the full reality of death, and meets them in the depths of their grief.

And Jesus is not distant from this moment.

He knows Martha and Mary.
He loves them.

And we are told simply:

“Jesus wept.”

He enters into their grief.

But He does not remain there.

He calls out:

“Lazarus, come out.”

And the dead man comes forth.

This is not only a miracle.
It is a sign—

that in Christ, death does not have the final word.

[02] DENIAL

The Gospel begins with a kind of denial.

The disciples try to stop Jesus from going to Judea.
It is too dangerous. They want to avoid it.

And we understand that instinct.

We also avoid suffering.
We avoid difficult truths.
We avoid even thinking about death.

But Christ does not avoid it.

He walks toward it.

And He invites us to face life honestly—with Him.

[03] DELAY

Then there is delay.

Jesus hears that Lazarus is ill… and He waits.

From our perspective, that is hard to understand.

We know what it is like to wait—
for healing,
for answers,
for something to change.

And sometimes it feels like God is absent.

But the Gospel shows us:

The delay is not indifference.

God is still at work—
often in ways we cannot yet see.

[04] DISAPPOINTMENT

And then comes disappointment.

Martha says it plainly:

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died.”

We have all prayed something like that.

“Lord, where were you?”

And yet, even in that disappointment, there is faith.

Jesus does not reject her words.

He meets her in them.

He weeps with her.

And then He reveals something greater.

[05] “It Is Good That You Exist”

The philosopher Josef Pieper once wrote:

To love someone means to say:
“It is good that you exist.”

That is what we see here.

Jesus stands at the tomb of Lazarus,
calls him by name,
and brings him back to life.

Each life matters.
Each person is loved.

 

[06] Conclusion

When Jesus calls Lazarus out of the tomb,
He is showing us something deeper.

Lazarus will die again.

This is not the final victory.

But it points to what is.

That death is not the end.
That we are not lost.
That we are called by name.

And it reminds us that our connection to one another
does not end at death.

We continue to love—
by praying,
by remembering,
by offering sacrifices for those who have gone before us…

just as we hope others will do for us.

We show up for one another—
in life,
in death,
and beyond.

Because Christ is
the resurrection and the life.

And those who believe in Him—
even if they die—
will live.