Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

Jesus’ message in the Gospel passage we hear today is one of encouragement for the disciples.  He has three main messages: First, proclaim the Gospel; second, “Do not be afraid” — three times in this passage Jesus tells them literally “do not be afraid” — and third, God is with them; they are not abandoned. 


It's easy to hear and understand these messages in the context of the early Christians being persecuted and even martyred for being Christians and living the Gospel.  Christians were a super-minority group that had beliefs challenging the majority.  But that is not our experience today and stories of the witness of those Christians for the faith centuries and millennia ago might not ring with relevance in our contemporary experience — or do they?


In 1999, our country experienced the horrific tragedy of the Columbine High School shooting.  In the midst of that massacre one of the students, a 17-year-old girl named Valeen Schnurr, who had already been shot, was asked by one of the shooters if she believed in God.  She was afraid to say ‘yes’, fearing they would shoot her again, but. afraid she was already dying and not wanting to deny her faith, did not want to say ‘no’.  So she said, “Yes, I do believe in God.”  Asked by the shooter, “Why?” she said, “Because I do, and because my mom and dad have taught me.”  Would any of us have the courage to respond similarly?  I pray so.  What an incredible modern-day witness to the faith we profess when we say, “I believe in God the Father Almighty...”.  And what a witness to the faith we profess in the Rite of Christian Baptism of infants when we pray for the parents, saying, “you are this child’s first teachers of the faith; may you be the best of teachers.” 

  

Persecution takes many forms, from oppression to repression to physical violence, kidnappings and, yes, even killings.  Many Christians around the world still experience persecution, especially in North Korea, the Middle East, other parts of Asia, and in several countries in Africa.  We have parishioners at St. Mary’s with relatives in Syria, who report to them of the struggles of the Christian church there, where the Christian population is about a quarter to a third of the size it was 15 years ago.  Many have fled to be able to live and profess their belief in our Lord Jesus Christ.  Would we have the courage to persist in practicing our faith where it is difficult to do so, or the courage to leave home to find a place where we can? 


As real as this persecution for the faith is in the world today, it is not our contemporary experience in the United States.  For this we can be grateful to our county’s founding fathers and the freedom of religion won for us and preserved to this day.  This does not mean, however, that we are insulated from persecution here and now in the US for proclaiming and living the Gospel truths Jesus gave us.  For us in the United States today, it is more likely to take the form of ridicule for standing up for the Gospel message of love, compassion, peace and mercy.  We might experience it in standing up for the poor and marginalized, whom many do not see as deserving of support and mercy, seeing their situations as just consequences of their own bad decisions.  We might experience it in advocating for peace, amidst clamor for war.  When military action in Venezuela and the war in Iran began earlier this year, our Holy Father Pope Leo XIV spoke out publicly and with increasing directness in advocating for peace and against the growing use of military force in resolving situations.  Pope Leo was not expressing his opinions but proclaiming and applying the Gospel message of peace, communion, and respect for human life to our current contemporary situation, as shepherd of the Gospel.  For that he was roundly criticized and ridiculed by leaders of our country.  Yet he had the courage to speak these Gospel truths to power, believing he has no other mandate, saying “As a shepherd, I cannot be in favor of war”. 


What are the ways we might be called to proclaim the Gospel in the face of persecution?  How do our lives make that proclamation, using words when necessary?  Do we have the courage to make that proclamation, the courage of so many martyrs, the courage of Valeen Schnurr, the courage of Pope Leo XIV, the courage of so many of our brothers and sisters around us?  And can we find that courage in Jesus’ encouragement: “Do not be afraid. I am with you always.”

Twenty-sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

By Rev. Christopher Welch • September 27, 2026
In today's parable we meet two brothers; one says he will go and doesn’t, the other says he will not go and does. The listeners decide the second did his father’s will. In life we judge people not by their words but by their actions. Those who act upon their words we honor. We are given second chances to reconsider our words and decide to do what we are asked to do. Too often it is hard to say 'yes' and act upon our 'yes'. This may have been the case with the second brother, but in time he said 'yes' by his actions. I am reminded of a meditation by Michael Quoist: I am afraid of saying "Yes," Lord. Where will you take me? I am afraid of drawing the longer straw, I am afraid of signing my name to an unread agreement, I am afraid of the "yes" that entails other "yeses." And yet I am not at peace. You pursue me, Lord, you besiege me. I seek out the din for fear of hearing you, but in a moment of silence you slip through. I turn from the road, for I have caught sight of you, but at the end of the path you are there awaiting me. Where shall I hide? I meet you everywhere. Is it then impossible to escape you? But I am afraid to say "Yes," Lord. I am afraid of putting my hand in yours, for you hold on to it. I am afraid of meeting your eyes, for you can win me. I am afraid of your demands, for you are a jealous God. I am hemmed in, yet I hide. I am captured, yet I struggle, and I fight knowing that I am defeated. For you are the stronger, Lord, you own the world and you take it from me. When I stretch out my hand to catch hold of people and things, they vanish before my eyes. It's no fun, Lord, I can't keep anything for myself. The flower I pick fades in my hands. My laugh freezes on my lips. The waltz I dance leaves me restless and uneasy. Everything seems empty, Everything seems hollow, You have made a desert around me. I am hungry and thirsty, And the whole world cannot satisfy me. And yet I loved you, Lord; what have I done to you? I worked for you; I gave myself for you. O great and terrible God, What more do you want? * * * Son, I want more for you and for the world. Until now you have planned your actions, but I have no need of them. You have asked for my approval, you have asked for my support, You have wanted to interest me in your work. But don't you see, son, that you were reversing the roles? I have watched you, I have seen your good will, And I want more than you, now. You will no longer do your own works, but the will of your Father in heaven. Say "Yes," son. I need your "yes" as I needed Mary's "yes" to come to earth, For it is I who must do your work, It is I who must live in your family, It is I who must be in your neighborhood, and not you. For it is my look that penetrates, and not yours, My words that carry weight, and not yours, My life that transforms, and not yours. Give all to me, abandon all to me. I need your "yes" to be united with you and to come down to earth, I need your "yes" to continue saving the world! * * * O Lord, I am afraid of your demands, but who can resist you? That your Kingdom may come and not mine, That your will may be done and not mine, Help me to say "Yes." — Michael Quoist in Prayers

Twenty-fifth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

By Deacon Paul Cerosaletti • September 20, 2026
One of my most favorite responses I get from people when I greet them and ask “Hey, how are you?” is the response, “Better than I deserve.” There is something in that response that not only strikes a chord of humility but also of God’s generosity and mercy. Most of us have a strong sense of fairness. The response “better than I deserve” is rooted in our sense of fairness and justice, a sense that might lead us to understand, and perhaps even sympathize, with the reaction of the vineyard workers who labored all day, in the heat of the day, and yet are paid the same amount as those that worked only one hour. How is that right? But the parable we hear in the Gospel is not about what is ‘right and just’. The themes of this parable are about the lavish generosity and mercy of God and , as the Gospel always is, a challenge to examine what is going on in our own hearts — what is happening with our own conversion of heart . These two themes might come alive more for us, as God speaking directly to us, if we change one word in one verse in the parable to express what God intends for us. What if the verse, “Am I not free to do as I wish with my own money?” was instead read, “Am I not free to do as I wish with my own mercy ?” See how that changes things? We are often, so often, fixated on fairness, equity, and justice. There is nothing wrong with those concepts and virtues, except when we fail to live beyond them to generosity and mercy . We have a God who lives beyond justice, in generosity and mercy, and who calls us to do the same. You see, if we stop at fairness and justice, we find ourselves in the same place with the early laborers in the vineyard, exercising judgment on what is equitable, and in so doing end up metering generosity and mercy — not even our own generosity and mercy, but God’s! Now our response becomes, “Better than they deserve…” Our true motivations get called out by the owner of the vineyard when he says, “Are you envious because I am generous?” We end up subject to the same temptation the vineyard laborers experience, the capital sin of envy , the resentment at another’s good fortune. What instead should be the disposition of our hearts? Jesus himself tells us in a related parable about conversion of heart when he says, “There will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who have no need of repentance” (Lk 15:7). Joy! We are called to fill our hearts with Joy at God’s generosity and mercy lavished upon our sisters and brothers who hear and heed a call to conversion of heart in Christ, no matter the stage in their lives; joy over one lost sheep who is found and brought home at the end of the day. Joy is the antidote of envy. Joy is our participation in the generosity and mercy of God, the fitting response to God’s generosity and mercy. And it is nothing short of an exercise of Love, which is to will the good of the other. None of us is deserving of God's generous grace and mercy. We do not merit it, nor should we meter it with our judgement, for we are all in need of it.  How are we? I hope and pray, by the grace of God, with Joy in our hearts, “Better than we deserve.”

Twenty-fourth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year A

By Rev. Christopher Welch • September 13, 2026
In the Masterpiece production of The Count of Monte Cristo , the main character is sent to prison; there he meets another prisoner who advises him, “If you seek for revenge, you should first dig two graves.” After the count achieves revenge he tells his friend, “The prisoner was right.” She responds, “Love can heal.” The readings today speak about forgiveness. Forgiveness is about choosing to love. When we forgive the other, we may not receive what we hoped for from the other. Forgiveness or love are not about the other person, but about me. There are many I will choose to love whom I do not like. Love is not simply about feelings, but love is a choice to forgive the other, means not hearing the words “I was wrong” or “I forgive you.” The choice to love may not change the other, but it will change me. One reason Jesus tells Peter to forgive 7 times 70 is that it may take time for the forgiveness to have an effect upon him. Jesus is familiar with the words of Sirach: hate not your neighbor; remember the Most High’s covenant, and overlook faults (Sir 28:7). Sometimes people will ask me why such and such is allowed to act as they do. I find myself reminding them that it is God who judges. King David knew he had done wrong, yet he was able to write the words of Psalm 103 — The Lord is kind and merciful, slow to anger, and rich in compassion — the psalm for today’s Mass. For the many things he did as pope, Pope Francis may be best remembered for a short phrase: "who am I to judge?" When asked who he was, Pope Francis responded, “I am a sinner.” We all have people in our lives who we would like to punish to seek revenge, but the better way is to forgive from our heart. When we forgive, we leave the judging to our God. Remember, it is “love that can heal.”