Fifth Sunday of Lent, Year A

And Jesus wept.


These three words are a pivot point in the Gospel passage we hear today.  A pivot point between Jesus prophesying about the resuscitation of Lazarus, prophesying about the promise of eternal life for His believers, and testifying to His Divine nature as the Resurrection and the Life.  A pivot point between Christ’s prophecy and testimony and Christ acting in His Divine nature as God the Son, calling Lazarus out of the sleep of death, out of the tomb, resuscitating him to life.  And in that pivot point, in those three words — “And Jesus wept” — is the fullness of the humanity of Christ. 


For we profess a God and Savior, Jesus Christ, who is fully Divine and fully human.  And what could be more human than to weep? Biblical scholars note that the word “wept,” translated from the original Greek term, in this Gospel means literally that he burst into tears; he is sobbing.  It is not the same Greek term used to describe the weeping of Mary and Martha, which is translated as crying and wailing aloud.  Jesus’ is a more quiet grief expressed by a profuse flowing of tears. In His incarnation Jesus took on flesh to become one of us, fully human — and there may be no more profound expression of Jesus’ humanity than his sobbing at the tomb of Lazarus.  Psalm 116 tells us that “Dear in the eyes of the Lord is the death of his devoted one” (Ps 116:15). What more dear, more sincere way could God express his love for us than to weep for His beloved, to weep for us?


There was a very popular 1970s television war comedy-drama called M*A*S*H. Most of us here today know and remember that television series well; some of us grew up with it. For those of you who have never heard of M*A*S*H, it was a series set in the 4077th Mobile Army Surgical Hospital — hence M*A*S*H— operating in the early 1950s in Korea during the Korean War.  It was humorous, punctuated with the quick verbal wit of Drs. Hawkeye Pierce, Trapper John McIntyre, and BJ Hunnicutt — and, at the same time, it was also poignant, laying bare the suffering of humanity — physically, emotionally, and spiritually — amidst the tragedy of war.  In one episode, the 4077th receives a wounded soldier with a superficial head wound who has no dog tags.  When asked what his identity is, the soldier responds that he is Jesus Christ, and continues to insist so in a calm manner to all who approach and ask him in the hospital ward. 


The staff learn through Army intelligence that this man was a highly decorated bombardier named Captain Arnold Chandler, a farm boy from Idaho who had flown over 50 bombing missions in North Korea before his B-29 bomber was shot down.  Believing this man might be deeply wounded psychologically, the 4077th doctors bring in the Army psychiatrist Major Sidney Freedman to evaluate him.  In the poignant exchange between Dr. Freedman and the man, Sidney asks the man how long he has known his true identity, that of Arnold Chandler, and then goes on to give him a short synopsis of his life and military career.  The man responds to a series of questions, stating that he is not Captain Chandler, that he is not from Idaho, and that he is not a bombardier and gently insists, “I am Christ the Lord.”  Sidney, going along with the new identity, counters by saying, “But you died,” to which the man responds, “I rose”. Sidney replies, “That was a long time ago. Where have you been since then?”  The man responds, “I live on in all [mankind].”  Sidney then asks, “What are you doing here in an army hospital?”  The man responds, “I’m Christ. Where should I be?”  Countering the man’s question, Sidney asks further, “Should you be in the nose of a B-29, dropping bombs?”  The man responds, “Bombs.  On people?”  At this, the expression on the man’s face becomes troubled.  Sidney replies, “On the enemy,” to which the man responds, “I have no enemies.  I love all men.”  Sidney counters, asking “Even the North Koreans?”  The man looks up, away from Sidney, tears welling in his eyes; now deeply troubled, he says, “They’re my children. Why would I hurt my children?”  A tear runs down his cheek.


And Jesus wept.


Do you suppose Jesus Christ, our Resurrected and Ascended, fully Divine and still fully Human Lord, weeps today?


Does He weep for his children who fight and destroy, who suffer, hurting and killing each other today?


I suppose He does.


Jesus is wounded and suffers in and through his Body, that is, all of us, through whom he lives on.  All of us, made in the image and likeness of God.  We, who are God’s handiwork.  We, who are God’s creation. 


O Jesus, may your grief and weeping give us to know that the actions of humanity hurt you.  May the well-spring of your tears be the living waters that extinguish our thirst for anger, animosity, revenge, and violence.  May they be the waters that wash away our blindness, healing us, reviving us to life again.  May the tears that well up from your eyes wash over us like the waters that flowed from your side upon the Cross.  And may your tears fall upon us like the rains of the Great Flood, flow over us like the waters of baptism, and make an end of our vice and a new beginning of our virtue. 


And Jesus weeps.

Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

By Deacon Paul Cerosaletti • August 16, 2026
We are on the cusp of Delaware County Fair week, and if you've ever been to that fair, you may be well familiar with one of its fixtures: the pancake tent run by a Walton community church. This past week, I was on the fairgrounds in my secular job capacity as Cooperative Extension educator, helping get our displays ready in the Agricultural Awareness area of the fair, which happens to be right next to the pancake tent. The church was also busy getting their tent set up as well. At one point I glanced over and realized that their pastor was leading a small group in a Bible study, while others continued to set up their serving area and kitchen. How nice, I thought, that they made space for this in the busy-ness of their set up. We went about our tasks, while this small group immersed themselves in Scripture. At some point, I realized that I was hearing the pastor’s voice, floating in and out on the light breeze, but in a more sustained way, and I realized he was leading the group in an extemporaneous concluding prayer to their Scripture study. We continued to go about our setup, not really paying close attention to the group in prayer. A bit later, I realized the pastor is still offering this concluding prayer. I don't know how much time elapsed before he eventually stopped, but it seemed like 5-10 minutes! I thought to myself — “Wow” . If you have ever led prayer extemporaneously, it is not easy to do it for an extended time period and have it flow without breaks, in a coherent, non-repetitious manner. How nice, I thought, in the midst of a workday to hear prayer offered, and I admired the pastor’s freedom to offer it in a time, place, and manner I was not expecting. Although I was not directly a participant in this pastor’s Scripture study and prayer, his example within earshot and eyesight was an inspiration of faith to me, no matter how small it may seem. God often brings us to a greater faith through the words and actions of our brothers and sisters around us — Catholic and non-Catholic alike — through the witness of their lived faith. Faith is at the heart of all of the readings we hear today, from the prophet Isaiah, St. Paul’s letter to the Romans, and Matthew’s Gospel. They all speak of foreigners — Gentiles — coming to salvation through faith. In the Jewish world, salvation was through Judaism and Israel. And while Jesus is a Jew, his healing of the Canaanite woman and Paul’s ministry to the Gentiles show that salvation is no longer exclusive to the Jews; rather that they can come to salvation through faith in Christ. It is, in fact, faith that is central to the Gospel passages we have heard each of the last three weeks: the disciples doubting that there was enough food to feed 5000 people, then watching and helping Jesus do so; Peter doubting the presence of Christ and that Christ could sustain him walking across the water and then being rescued by him; and a Canaanite woman believing Jesus, as Lord and Master, could heal her daughter, persevering in her petition for his help…and being rewarded for her great faith. These stories of faith beg questions of faith for us today — which of the characters are we? Are we the disciples, doubting there is enough to feed 5,000 in the presence of God? Are we Peter, wanting to believe, then testing his belief, then sinking in a sea of doubt? And the Canaanite woman, an outsider; is our faith as great as hers? How does the witness of the Canaanite woman challenge us to look and see the witnesses around us today, even those we consider outsiders, who inspire us to a greater Christian way of life — a greater lived Christian faith? A life of greater generosity, deeper compassion, richer mercy, and more fervent faith. In short, a life of love.

Nineteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

By Rev. Christopher Welch • August 9, 2026
We all have storms in our lives. The issue for Peter seemed to have been, when he took his eyes off of Jesus, he began to drown. We need to keep our eyes on Jesus and when we experience storms in our lives that is how we get through, we keep our eyes on Jesus and we get through. The second thing Peter did when he began to drown is he called out to Jesus, “Save me, Jesus.” Jesus reached out and took Peter’s hand. Peter experienced being saved by the hand of Jesus. Today’s Gospel reminds me of the song “Hold On” from the musical The Secret Garden , based upon the book by Frances Hodgson Burnett. In the play, Mary Lennox is orphaned and moves in with her uncle. Her uncle is a hunchback and his wife died in childbirth; their child (Mary's cousin) is kept in isolation for fear he will be a hunchback like his father. Mary discovers her cousin’s mom’s garden and together they work to bring it back to life. The child begins to get well; when her uncle’s brother complains, Mary consults Martha the maid. Martha sings “Hold On”. Martha is singing about the situation with Mary’s cousin and uncle, but holding on to the face of Christ is how we weather our storms. Look up the song on YouTube. Here are some of the words from the song: When you see the storm is coming, See the lightning part the skies, It's too late to run- There's terror in your eyes! What you do then is remember This old thing you heard me say: "It's the storm, not you, That's bound to blow away." Hold on, Hold on to someone standing by. Hold on. Don't even ask how long or why! Child, hold on to what you know is true, Hold on 'til you get through. Child, oh child! Hold on! When you feel your heart is poundin', Fear a devil's at your door. There's no place to hide- You're frozen to the floor! What you do then is you force yourself To wake up, and you say: "It's this dream, not me, that's bound to go away." Hold on, Hold on, the night will soon be by. Hold on, Until there's nothing left to try. Child, hold on, There's angels on their way! Hold on and hear them say, "Child, oh child!" And it doesn't even matter If the danger and the doom Come from up above or down below, Or just come flying At you from across the room!  When you see a man who's raging, And he's jealous and he fears That you've walked through walls He's hid behind for years. What you do then is you tell yourself to wait it out And say it's this day, not me, That's bound to go away.

Eighteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

By Rev. Christopher Welch • August 2, 2026
The gospel begins with the words: When Jesus heard of the death of John the Baptist.... John is Jesus’ cousin; John is the one who leaped in his mother's womb when he met Jesus in his mother’s womb. John is the one who baptized Jesus and now Jesus hears that John is dead by being beheaded. Jesus is in grief and wants to be alone. We are told that in his grief, Jesus went off to be alone. Word gets out where Jesus is and all the people show up looking for him to heal and feed them. We are told that Jesus’ heart is full of compassion for the people. Rather than telling them to go away, to let him be, he heals them. This is the life of a disciple – people are not in need on my schedule. When people show up, I need to attend to them. We can never do ministry with our eye on the clock. Although he was tired and in grief, Jesus cared for the people. He knew he could not be there always and his disciples would need to help out. When the disciples tell Jesus the people are hungry, the disciples were the hungry ones. Jesus tells them to give them something yourselves. This is Jesus’ way of calling them to act as disciples. I have fed them with my words; if they need food for their bodies, give it to them yourselves. The disciples find five loaves and two fish. Jesus offers a prayer. Jesus gives thanks for what has been provided, an action of gratitude. He then gives them to the disciples to distribute. Jesus is asking them to continue his ministry by feeding the people. What is left over fills 12 baskets; the number 12 reminds us of the 12 tribes. Jesus has come to feed the whole world. Jesus provides the feast and we as disciples share what we have been given with others. The five loaves and two fish are enough to feed the crowd and provide many leftovers. Our God is a God of abundance. What God has provided is not wasted and what God has provided is given to us by disciples who participate in God’s work. If we are to be disciples, we need to learn how to feed others. Like Jesus, we may find that being a disciple interrupts our life. When someone is in need we attend, we put aside our own agenda for a time and attend to the person in need. Our grief may come later after we care for the person in need. Those who were fed echo the words of Isaiah in the first reading. They come and are fed body and soul. The feeding of the soul are the words of Jesus and the feeding of the body comes from the hands of the disciples.