Pentecost Sunday 2025: The Holy Spirit’s Power in Our Lives

Readings and Virtual Homily for June 8, 2025, Pentecost Sunday; The Class of 2025 (Is Promising to Stay in Touch); Hayward's Blonde Hills; Taking a Boston Break

 Readings for Mass this Sunday, the Feast of Pentecost

•  Acts of the Apostles 2:1-11

• Psalm 104:1, 24, 29-31, 34

• 1 Corinthians 12:3-7, 12-13

•    or

• Romans 8:8-17

• John 20:19-23

•    or

• John 14:15-16, 23-26

Dear Friends and Family,

The Feast of Pentecost deserves to be ranked among the most significant of the many feasts on the liturgical calendar.  It is about something as immense as Christmas, after all -- it is about the coming in power into the world of one of the Persons of the Trinity.  The Second Person came to us as a baby in Mary's arms; the Third Person comes to us as the Advocate, the Comforter, the Spirit of Truth and the Bearer of many gifts.  The entire book of the Acts of the Apostles is a testament to the gift of the Spirit to us, and of the Spirit's many gifts to us.

The readings today in various ways attest to the coming of the Spirit and the power of the Spirit.  As there are several options among them and as I have preached Pentecost homilies close to the Scriptural references to the Spirit in the past, I want with this one to take a brief look at the references to the Holy Spirit in the Catechism of the Catholic Church.  The following titles and descriptions of the Holy Spirit are from the Index of the Catechism; clearly one can go deep with any of them, by referencing that volume.  But just consider a few of these Index items, regarding the Holy Spirit.  They tend to speak for themselves.

The Holy Spirit, the Catechism tells us, is

•  Consubstantial with the Father and the Son

• The Source of all holiness

• The Source and Master of prayer

• The principal Author of Scripture

• The Paraclete

• The Spirit of Truth

• The Living Memory of the Church

• Cloud and light

• Fire

• The Finger of God

• The Hand of God 

• The Dove

The Holy Spirit, the Catechism tells us, does, among other things, the following

•  Animates all creation

• Awakens faith

• Comes unceasingly into the world

• Enables communication with Christ

• Grants gifts to all

• Helps us grow in spiritual freedom

• Restores the divine likeness

• Reveals God

• Reveals the Trinity

• Brings about unity in the Church

• Directs and supports the Church

• Takes responsibility for the Church's mission

• Empowers the Sacraments

• Shelters sinners

• Shares a joint mission with the Son

• Is responsible for conversion

• Forgives sins

There is more.  You get the idea.  The Third Person, as one of my sisters is fond of saying, "is no bench warmer."  Today's first reading, describing the descent of the Holy Spirit upon Mary and the disciples at Pentecost, initiates the joyful, adventurous and Spirit-led narrative of Acts of the Apostles.  In joy, in faith, with courage and with power, the disciples throw open the shutters, cross out onto the balconies and begin to preach of the wonders of God; casting behind them forever their fear and hesitancy.  The birth of the Church was the result.  

The coming of the Third Person in power upon the disciples at Pentecost was and is a gift "that keeps on giving;" as the Catechism points out, the Spirit comes unceasingly into the world.  And don't kid yourself -- you know the Spirit better than you probably think.  You are united with the Spirit every time you are moved to pray, every time you are inclined toward some good action or other, every time you go to Mass.  Our lives as disciples are lived in, with, through and by the Holy Spirit.  When you tell Jesus you love him, you do so by the power of the Spirit, who knows you, loves you, motivates you and acts in and through you.  The Spirit IS God within us; that is why we call our bodies temples of the Holy Spirit (1 Corinthians 6:19). 

Well, as you know from my last e-mail, we graduated the Class of 2025 at O'Dowd last Saturday morning.  Prior to COVID, O'Dowd graduations happened at the Paramount Theatre in downtown Oakland -- it was a fittingly gilded venue for our seniors and for O'Dowd's sense of self.  Since 2020, graduations have happened at the high school.  The 2020 graduation was done as a drive-through, with graduates and their families following the parking lanes around the campus, which lanes were lined by staff and faculty.  Some grads, in cap and gown, took their chances to alight from the family vehicle and snap a quick photo with an esteemed faculty member; I remember several of my favorites from that class, so honoring me.  

Since May, 2021, our graduations have been on the football field, which accompanies significantly more family members than even a venue the size of the Paramount, and, much as I was a bit spell-bound by the ceremony and pageantry of the Paramount graduations, I really like our on-the-field-at-our-campus graduations of the past several years.

I have "preferred seating," of course, at our graduations -- on the stage where I can look out and see everyone and everything.  I also get close-up views of each senior receiving his/her diploma from our President (Kim Walsh), marveling as I do every May, at how Kim manages to make each "Congratulations" and a few other quick words of affirmation, spoken along with the student's first name, real, genuinely warm and joyful, student after student after student after 334 more students...

It was just a little poignant for me, sitting there with my close-up view, of the seniors crossing the stage in their graduation finery, accepting their diplomas and so marking the end of their O'Dowd careers.  For as I have said before, this class stole my heart, from their very first days on campus.  They are the only class I ever taught as freshmen. They are the only class I taught as seniors.  I taught half of them, of course, as well, during their sophomore year, which is when I really began to get to know them.  I postponed my sabbatical, rather than miss a day of their senior year.  I will miss them.

But they have given me abundant assurances that they have no intention of losing touch.  In evidence, perhaps, that my feeling for 2025 is returned, I have had e-mails from several members of the class, since last Saturday; I have had texts.  (At their graduation, I give my cell to students who tell me they want to stay in touch.)  I have had some astonishing testimonies to the difference I have made in the lives of some of these wonderful teens.  And I have had assurances that they intend to remain in touch.  Several of them, in fact, are planning to help us with future creative projects, involving music and Scripture dramatization, at San Gabriel Media.  More on that bright prospect, I hope, in future e-mails.

In any event, 2025 has flown the nest.  I do feel that my colleagues and I have prepared them well for the next exciting chapter in their young lives.

It is Thursday evening as I am getting this homily written and I am sitting here in my suite in the rectory looking out at the bare slopes which rise above our property line here at St. Clement.  The wintergreen shade of the hills, already in rapid retreat by late April, has disappeared completely, of course, this first week of June.  But as I have said before, I love our hills here in Hayward, regardless of their color, and their color this evening, as the sunlight fades, is really best described neither as brown nor yellow, nor even gold, but -- blonde.  A bright, soft, shimmery blonde.  Striking.  Beautiful.  And with twenty-plus head of cattle, peacefully grazing on them, into the bargain.  I love our hills here in Hayward.  I come from farm country, after all.  From our house in Marysville, when I was a kid, when I was a young man, when I was a fifty-something priest, we could look out to the Sutter Buttes -- slopes, like ours here in Hayward, that were green four or at most five months of the year, golden, really, blonde, late spring until deep into the winter.  It took a very wet start to the rainy season for the Buttes to be green by Christmas.  But they were always green by my birthday -- near the end of January -- and it is the same with our hills here at St. Clement.  It is hard to describe the serenity I gain, simply looking out on our hills here.  Especially given the stark contrast with our view in the opposite direction -- Mission Boulevard and its urban bustle.  Our parish sits on the dividing line, urban and rural, here in south Hayward.

Finally, I am starting the summer and sabbatical with a quick get-away to one of my top quick get-away destinations: Boston.  Flying Friday night and (God willing) will be there as you are reading this.  One of my nephews, speaking of the Class of 2025, is graduating from high school this weekend -- this is my sister Flo's youngest; Flo, of course, having died three years ago this week, as my nephew was completing his freshman year.  A substantial number of family will be in Massachusetts this weekend; I am looking forward to the trip, several days of which will be spent with dear friends in Boston -- which for years now has held pride of place with me, among our East Coast metropolises.  Will be back mid-week.

Hope this finds you well and happy.  My best wishes for a Spirit-filled Pentecost; indeed, a Spirit-filled summer.

Love,

El Padre

Seventh Sunday of Easter: Embracing the Ascension – Homily Insights

Readings and Virtual Homily, June 1, 2025, Seventh Sunday of Easter and Feast of the Ascension; Sayonara, Class of 2025; Officially on Sabbatical; Moving Right Along at San Gabriel Media

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Acts of the Apostles 1:1-11

• Psalm 47:2-3, 6-9

• Ephesians 1:17-23

•    or

• Hebrews 9:24-28; 10:19-23

• Luke 24:46-53

Dear Friends and Family:

The Feast of the Ascension offers a variety of homiletic possibilities.  Among other things, I have used the readings for this feast to preach on the nature of the glorified body, on the goodness of the material creation, and on what we know about life in Heaven.  Rather than re-tread any of those, I think this week I will just go with a brief look, as I sometimes do, at each reading, and leave it to the Spirit to connect the dots.

The first reading from the opening of Acts of the Apostles is, of course, Luke's description of the Ascension itself.  Luke tells us that the disciples ask Jesus if he is, "at this time going to restore the kingdom of Israel" (vs. 6).  Jesus explains that it is not for us to "know the times or seasons that the Father has established by his own authority" (vs. 7).

The disciples clearly were not yet fully on board, in terms of understanding their mission, let alone the general plan of salvation.  Many, if not almost all, citizens of Israel in the first century were looking for the Messiah, and the Messiah, they almost all thought, would "restore the kingdom of Israel."  That is, the Messiah would overthrow Rome and establish Jerusalem as the world's true capital, the world's spiritual capital; mother city to the nations.  In fairness to the Jewish people at the time, the future of Jerusalem is so described repeatedly in the prophets and the psalms.  It is easily understandable that the people were looking for a military conqueror, in the Messiah.

Jesus then advises the disciples to sit tight in Jerusalem until they "receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon you," further assuring them that they will be his "witnesses...to the ends of the earth" (vs. 8).  In this promise, Jesus gives the disciples a deep insight into the matter and manner of their imminent mission, which mission, of course, comprises the rest of the book of the Acts of the Apostles.  Luke then describes the Ascension itself.

"When he had said this, as they were looking on, he was lifted up, and a cloud took him from their sight.  While they were looking intently at the sky as he was going, suddenly two men dressed in white garments stood beside them" (vss. 9-10).  

The two men -- angels, of course -- inform the disciples that Jesus will return from heaven, just as they have seen him ascend toward it (vs. 11).

Psalm 47 is a rousing paean to the Kingship of Christ, though of course, it could be read as simply testifying to the Kingship of God.  The Jewish people to this day doubtless read the psalm in that way.  But that it refers to Jesus (who is, of course, God) may be inferred from its description of God mounting his throne amid great celebration.  The clear implication is that God is "ascending" to his rightful place.  Describing the Lord as "the Most High...the great king over all the earth," (vs. 3) the psalmist continues

"God has gone up with a shout; the Lord, amid trumpet blasts.  Sing praise to God, sing praise to our King, sing praise.  For God is king over all the earth...God rules over the nations; God sits upon his holy throne..." (vss. 6-9).

Viewed through the Christian lens, this is unmistakably ascension imagery.  

There is an option with regard to the second reading.  The first of the two possibilities, that from Ephesians, describes Jesus as raised from the dead and seated at the right hand of the Father 

"...in the heavens, far above every principality, authority, power and dominion and every name that is named not only in this age but also in the one to come.  And he (that is, God) put all things beneath his feet and gave him as head over all things..." (vss. 20-22).  

Again, the imagery is of Jesus "ascending" to his place of glory and honor, a place above the entire created order.

The other option for the second reading is a passage from the Letter to the Hebrews, a book which contains substantial Ascension, or, "Christ in heaven" imagery.  Here the author of Hebrews (who is unknown) reminds us that Christ, our High Priest, in ascending to the Father

"...did not enter into a sanctuary made by hands, a copy of the true one, but heaven itself, that he might now appear before God on our behalf...therefore, brothers, since through the blood of Jesus we have confidence of entry into the sanctuary by the new and living way he opened for us...and since we have a 'great priest over the house of God,' let us approach in absolute trust..." (9:24, 10:19-22).  

Here, the author of Hebrews reminds us that where the head has gone, the body will follow.  And this feast should, of course, remind us of the glory that awaits us over the threshold of eternity.

The Gospel passage is the very end of Luke's Gospel, and unlike the detailed version of the event provided at the start of Acts, here Luke merely mentions the Ascension.  Mark's is the other Gospel to speak of the Ascension, and his description, too, is prosaic; matter of fact, accomplished in one verse (Mark 16:19).  It is the description from Acts that really "visualizes" the event, astounding as it must have been, for the disciples.  

I'll close with a fairly obvious observation, but one worth making all the same.  Jesus arrived at the joy and glory of the Ascension only after enduring Good Friday.  It can be helpful, when we find ourselves experiencing our own Good Fridays, to remember the joy of the Ascension; it can help us hang on in hope through life's darker moments.  

We officially wrap the semester and the academic year this week.  As I am writing this Thursday afternoon, I still have a make-up final to administer for several students who missed the deadline for their in-class final project, tomorrow.  I will be grading, as well, now through the weekend.  But the Baccalaureate Mass is tomorrow (Friday) evening and graduation Saturday morning.  My cherished Class of 2025 will proudly and joyfully walk the commencement stage and -- leave O'Dowd.  

I will miss them, but as I have said before, I myself will not be back at O'Dowd next semester; this weekend officially starts my sabbatical.  Seven months of creative work, underwritten by my breezy and joyful responsibilities here at St. Clement.  I have told friends this will be sort of like a seven-month summer, as I have spent my ten summers here in the parish pursuing just those two happy sets of responsibilities: creative work, parish ministry.  

I do have some travel plans, but they amount to barely fifty days, spread out across seven months (that is, 226 days -- not that I have been counting, or nothin').  Earlier this week, I drew up a start-of-the-sabbatical to-do list, that is, bullet points outlining what I hope to have done before my first overseas trip (ten days in Paris and London) July 1.  The list is seventeen items long and the items involve writing, filming, editing, getting to LA for meetings, Zoom calls with the marketing team (who are far-flung, not just in the state but across the country) and so on.  

I'll have a list maybe twice this length, when I return from that first trip; I plan to spend two straight months, July 10 to past Labor Day, working on San Gabriel projects, before venturing off for another overseas trip.  The idea is to get a lot, a lot done, the first several months of the sabbatical and then -- if I have gotten enough done -- reward myself with a couple of nice trips in the autumn.  

Meanwhile, the timing of it all, as mentioned last week, seems unmistakable, given the You Tube marketing rollout.  Last week at this time we had 23,000 subscribers; this afternoon we are headed toward 43,000.  We are picking up close to three thousand new subscribers a day.  This is awesome.  It is also provoking in me a new sense, a profound sense, of expanded responsibility and I don't doubt I'll be sharing some of that sense with you, over the coming months.  How much of a relationship can I really hope to develop with my subscribers, who already have my deep gratitude?  You know I am gonna be grappling with that question!

Well, remembering the gentle admonishment from a couple weeks ago ("That was one LONG homily, Father!") and acknowledging that I have ignored concerns about length, with this week's homily, I will close here.  

Here's to summer!  Here's to a "seven-month" summer!

Take care and God bless.

Love and Joy in Our Ascended Lord,

Fr. Brawn

The Spirit's Role in Scripture and Tradition | Sixth Sunday of Easter Reflection

Readings and Virtual Homily for May 25, 2025, Sixth Sunday of Easter; Last Day of Classes at O’Dowd; San Gabriel Media on the Taxi-way

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Acts 15:1-2, 22-29

• Psalm 67:2-3, 5-6, 8

• Revelation 21:10-14, 22-23

• John 14:23-29

Dear Friends and Family,

Lots of possibilities for a solid and insightful homily this weekend across several areas of theological reflection; I am going to keep it simple and focus on the Gospel passage.

Chapters 13-17 are John’s description of the Last Supper.  The other three Gospels sum that event up in fifteen or twenty verses.  John takes five chapters.  

Part of the reason is the time John takes to recount Jesus’ descriptions of the Holy Spirit, whom he promises will be sent, once he has returned to the Father.  Jesus says several things about the Spirit in these passages; I want to focus today on his promise that the Spirit will remind the disciples of all that Jesus said and did (vs. 26).

This promise of course dovetails with our general understanding of the Spirit as the principal Author of Scripture.  We know from magisterial teaching that the Spirit underwrites, enables and effects communication with and about God.  The Spirit is responsible for our understanding of God.  No one can say Jesus Christ is Lord, Paul tells us, except by the power of the Spirit.  

Jesus’ promise that the Spirit will prompt the disciples in their teachings of all that Jesus said and did is first fulfilled in the oral tradition — the eyewitness testimony transmitted through the preaching of the disciples in the first two or three decades after the Ascension. The promise is further made real as the first books of the New Testament start to be written — perhaps as early as the 50s, just twenty years after Jesus walked the earth.

The Spirit is responsible not just for Scripture but also sacred Tradition; those teachings, understandings and practices handed down generation to generation and century to century from the Apostolic Age to our own.  In this regard the Catechism refers to the Spirit as “the living memory of the Church.”  I like that phrasing!  I think we could go deep with that, if we had the time!

The living memory of the Church, of course, includes more than the doctrinal formulations of the great councils.  And it is more than rite and ritual surrounding prayer, worship and the sacraments.  The living memory of the Church includes all the Church’s many apostolates — from soup kitchens to hospitals to universities to evangelical associations.  The living  memory of the Church likewise includes the mystical tradition of the saints, from theologians to visionaries, and it includes apparitions of Jesus, of the Blessed Mother, St. Michael and others.  

All of these elements of the faith are empowered and guaranteed by the Holy Spirit.  Our appreciation of these and all aspects of the faith is empowered by the Holy Spirit.  Our very desire to know anything at all about God is empowered by the Holy Spirit.  

We owe our salvation to Jesus.  We owe to the Holy Spirit the fact that we understand that we owe our salvation to Jesus.  And that, again, is a matter we could plunge deep with, if this were a weekend retreat rather than a Sunday homily!

School is just about out at O’Dowd.  Friday was the last day of classes.  Finals are next week; the Class of 2025, whether I like it or not, walks the stage at graduation Saturday, May 31.  Maybe it is my deep affection for this class, maybe it is for other reasons — this May, for maybe the first time in my ten years at the high school, I am not panting and gasping, crossing the finish line.  The weeks since Easter vacation have passed smoothly, gracefully, joyfully.  It has been a light and bright late spring on campus, for me.  I do not feel tired at all.  That’s as welcome as it is rare!

Finally, two weeks ago we plunged in with the first of several marketing strategies at San Gabriel Media, my book-and-media apostolate.  The particular avenue is direct You Tube promotion; something we just were not ready to engage, prior to this month.  Two weeks ago, Friday the 9th, the day we started the promotion, we had 278 loyal and dogged subscribers at San Gabriel.  Last Friday, the 16, we had 5900, in five countries.  As I am writing this Thursday evening, the 22, we are well over 23,000 and are gaining two to three thousand subscribers daily.

These numbers speak for themselves and for the effectiveness of our strategy — which has caught all of us a bit off-guard.  We did not know what to expect.  We figured we would know when we experienced it, whatever “it” was.  Given this initial success, we are committing to a summer-long effort here, involving four phases.  We’ll take stock after Labor Day.  And this is only one of several marketing strategies we intend to launch, this summer.

In the lingo of the You Tube world, the San Gabriel Media channel is “blowing up.”  The timing — that this is happening precisely as I am about to start a seven-month sabbatical, is unmistakable.  I postponed the sabbatical twice, both times out of concerns for what was best for the high school.  In neither instance, however, was San Gabriel in anything close to the position it is in this May — now, clearly, is the right time for me to devote half a year to San Gabriel.  

God’s timing is always perfect.  

Gotta run.

Enjoy the holiday weekend.  

God bless.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

Acts 14:21–27: Paul’s Mission and the Origins of Priesthood

Readings and Virtual Homily for Mass, May 18, 2025, Fifth Sunday of Easter; A Marian Moment in a Marian Month; Deep Dish at the Vatican Part Two; One Week Left to Summer, to Summer and More, to Sabbatical, My Pleasanton Mass This Month is May 25

So then, on to the readings for Mass this Sunday, the Fifth of Easter:

• Acts of the Apostles 14:21-27

• Psalm 145:8-13

• Revelation 21:1-5

• John 13:31-35

Dear Friends and Family,

Before I get to anything else with this homily, let me say this, as many people have asked me about it.  I evidently neglected to list a couple weeks back, among my Masses for the month, my regular assignment in Pleasanton, at St. Elizabeth Seton.  I am usually at Seton the second Sunday of the month, at 11.  This month for some reason, it was more convenient for the Korean Community to schedule me over Memorial Day weekend.  My Pleasanton Mass this month is Sunday of Memorial Day weekend, May 25.  11 AM.  Seton campus.  I look forward to it greatly, as always.  Pleasanton is my "honeymoon parish;" the parish where I started as a baby priest, way back in 2006.  I think a priest's first parish probably always feels like home to him -- I think everyone knows how at home I feel in Pleasanton. 

I want to focus this homily on the first reading.  I want to focus this homily on what that reading tells us about the organizational development of the Church in the first century.  That earliest organization proved resilient; it has stood the test of two thousand years.  We saw it in action just last week, with the selection of Peter's latest successor -- the 267th -- in Rome.  

Today's reading from the Acts of the Apostles details events toward the end of the missionary journey of Paul and Barnabas to Anatolia (or Asia Minor, what is today Turkey).  Specific to the subject of this homily, we are told that Paul and Barnabas returned to cities they had evangelized earlier on their journey, where they appointed presbyters, or leaders, for each new Christian community.  Paul and Barnabas, the passage tells us

...returned to Lystra and to Iconium and to Antioch.  They strengthened the spirits of the disciples and exhorted them to persevere in the faith...They appointed presbyters for them in each church and, with prayer and fasting, commended them to the Lord (vss. 21-23).  

The word presbyter translates as elder and equates to the word priest, in modern English.  Though tradition tells us that Jude went to Western Asia, James to Spain, Mark to Egypt and maybe Italy, Mary Magdalen to the south of France and so forth, the disciples at this time were still largely concentrated in Jerusalem.  To guard and guide the far-flung flocks established by Paul and his missionary teams on their several journeys, Paul appointed leaders in each community.  These leaders would have had the responsibilities of leading the community in prayer and worship, as well as seeing to the overall administration of the "local church."  

This is the beginning of the office of priesthood in the infant Church.  The office of deacon had already been created, as we read in the sixth chapter of Acts (vss. 1-7).  The creation of the office of deacon automatically clarified the office of apostle -- to quote directly from the sixth chapter of Acts

The Twelve called together the community of disciples and said, "It is not right for us to neglect the word of God to serve at table.  Brothers, select from among you seven reputable men, filled with the Spirit and wisdom, whom we shall appoint to this task, whereas we shall devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word" (Acts 6:2-5).

It appears that for some number of years the offices of bishop and priesthood were not clearly separated; we know from late first-century sources, however, that they came to be clarified as distinct offices, in the many ancient references to the "bench of presbyters" who assisted the central leader (that is, the bishop) of any given Christian community.  We know that by the late first century the presbyters were deputed to lead prayer and worship, to preside at liturgy in more remote areas of a local community; as the Church grew, it became impossible for the bishop to preside at every liturgy in his district.

These districts came to be called dioceses, borrowing the Roman term for territorial jurisdictions within provinces of the empire.  Already by the time of Clement, the fourth bishop of Rome (that is, the fourth Pope, and incidentally, our patron here at the parish in Hayward) the diocesan system was in full operation.  We know this from Clement's letters, among other first-century sources.  

(The councils of the Church which decided the canon of Scripture, incidentally, which met in the 390s, seriously considered whether Clement's letters to the Corinthians should be included in the New Testament.  One of these letters to the community at Corinth, the great Greek port city with a huge number of Christians, gives direct evidence of the general understanding that the bishop of Rome had a central and unique authority.  Clement admonishes the Corinthians; he instructs and guides them, clearly understanding that it was his right and duty to do so, quite beside the fact that the church at Corinth had its own bishop.)

I could go on at length about the undeniable evidence from Acts of the Apostles that the early Church modelled itself in the manner in which we find the contemporary Church organized, but I hope that the foregoing makes my point.  It has been gently suggested to me that my written homilies are long enough!  

(And it is true that I never worry about the length of a written homily because after all, it is not like a spoken homily at Mass, where my listeners are a captive audience.  I do my best to limit my homilies at Sunday Mass to seven or eight minutes.  Here, I figure, no one HAS to sit through all these paragraphs!  So...I say as much as I think the subject requires...But I do want to be respectful of your time -- to say nothing of your patience!)

Well we are half-way through the month of May, a month that has for centuries been associated with Mother Mary.  And I will be spending the weekend thinking, speaking, and rejoicing about/in the Mother of God at St. Clare's Retreat Center in Soquel.  This will be my third retreat at St. Clare since October; it is sponsored by Bay Area chapters of the Legion of Mary, though folks are coming from everywhere.  I know personally folks who will be coming from the dioceses of Sacramento, Stockton and Monterey.  

The retreat organizers sent me a list of topics they would like to have addressed, and I was surprised to realize that, in my more than two decades of retreat work, much of it centered on Mary, I had never addressed these particular topics before.  

So I have been educating myself, the past few days, on new aspects and understandings of Marian devotion, and of Our Lady's place, in the history of salvation.  Totally cool.  As is the case with most teachers, I love learning.  

This is only my second e-mailed homily since the election of Leo 14.  I have been, as I imagine most of you have been, on a steep and rapid learning curve about our new pope, and the more I learn, the happier I am.  He sounds very much the man to meet the moment.  When I celebrated the morning Mass for our school children here at St. Clement on Wednesday, I managed to tie Leo's election into my homily -- which was interactive.  At the St. Clement School Masses I come down to the center aisle and ask the kids questions and THEY "give the homily."  Anyway, the excitement of our kids here at St. Clement at the fact of a Pope from Chicago was tangible.  I guess it is so, throughout the country.

Finally, when I get back Sunday afternoon from Soquel, I will find myself with just one week of classes left.  The Class of 2025 graduates next Saturday.  I have invitations to several graduation parties next weekend and beyond; will make as many as I can.  As I have said so many times, this class is truly special; they simply stole my heart.  

As of Sunday, June 1, I will not just be on summer vacation.  I will be on sabbatical.  Until January 5.  Over seven months.  Although they know I am taking the sabbatical, my parishioners here at St. Clement are not going to even realize that anything has changed, since I am spending the sabbatical here and will continue with my usual parish routine.  As I have said to our people here, "I am not taking a sabbatical from being a priest!"  

The sabbatical is to concentrate full-time on the varied projects and goals that we have set for ourselves at San Gabriel Media, my LA-based book-and-media apostolate, which I co-founded with my brother and a few ministry colleagues, back in 2020.  Too much to get into here, but the timing of the sabbatical now appears to have been perfect: San Gabriel is ready to "employ" me (so to speak) full time.  I am looking forward to it.

Will close here.  Take care.  God bless.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

Understanding Evangelization: Beyond Rules to Relationship

Readings and Virtual Homily for May 11, 2025, 4th Sunday of Easter; Deep Dish Pizza and the Vatican

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Acts of the Apostles 13:14, 43-52

• Psalm 100:1-2, 3, 5

• Revelation 7:9, 14-17

• John 10:27-30

Dear Friends and Family,

The conversion of the Gentiles is an easy theme to arrive at, with regard to this weekend's readings.  I have written on this theme several times over the years, in these virtual homilies, so -- staying with that theme as my general focus -- I will try to take it in a slightly different direction, this time.  I will take it in the direction of a consideration of what the Church itself regards as its primary purpose: the work of evangelization.

I mentioned a couple homilies back how impressed I was with Pope Francis' approach to evangelization.  Viewing the Church as a "field hospital," where everyone needs help, Francis' concern was making sure people understood that they are here on earth by the hand of a loving Creator; a Creator who not only wants what is best for them here and now, but wants them safe, joyful and at peace forever, in their heavenly home.  This Creator so loves the world that "he sent his only son" to suffer and die for it (John 3:16).  This passage might also be read as God so loved the world that God himself entered into it as a human being, suffering and dying for it, since after all, Jesus is the Second Person of the Trinity.  

Suffering and dying so that we might have life, Jesus -- that is God -- enters into the fearful mystery of human death.  The Author of life, the One through Whom all things were made, descends to the place of the dead where he liberates those who have been waiting for rescue from the start of human history.  Returning to earth, Jesus resurrects in his glorified and immortal body, appearing to the disciples and making it clear that in his sacrifice, both sin and death have been conquered.  Salvation is available to all.  

The foregoing is the kerygma; it is the base line; the heart of the Good News.  It is where and how evangelization starts.  And it was so astonishing to Gentile ears that the Gentiles flocked to the faith at the preaching of the disciples, as is evidenced in both today's first and second readings.  

In the first reading we are told that Paul and Barnabas made inroads in their initial preaching at the synagogue in Antioch in Pisidia (vss. 42-43).  The next week, "almost the whole city" turns out to hear them, Jews and Gentiles both (vs. 44).  Despite having some success with the Jews of the city, the disciples incur the wrath of the synagogue leadership, who plot actively to undermine their efforts.  Paul and Barnabas declare that from now on they will minister to the Gentiles, who receive the Good News with great joy (vss. 46-49).  This dynamic occurred in city after city, on the missionary journeys of St. Paul and his team.  It was the Gentiles who made up the vast majority of the first Christians.  

The reading from Revelation is one of my favorite passages from Scripture; it depicts a "vast multitude which no one could count from every nation, race, people and tongue" (vs. 9).  This vision gives testimony to the success of evangelization efforts throughout history.   The uncountable crowd from Revelation represents only those Christians who will live at the very end of time: many billions more, of course, have lived since the apostolic era.

Which brings me back to Pope Francis' approach to evangelization.  Evangelization is about the Good News.  It is about the central claims of the Christian faith.  It should not be confused with apologetics or catechesis.  Apologetics seeks to defend articles of the faith against attack.  Catechesis offers a deeper grasp of the mysteries of the faith, once the faith has been accepted.  

Evangelization is an invitation.  It is an invitation to a banquet.  And when properly employed, it is joyful, it is bright with grace, with serenity, with hope.  Very importantly, successful evangelization wins trust.  It is the experience of the Samaritan woman at the well with Jesus.  Over the course of a long conversation, Jesus so wins her confidence that when he lets her know -- without judging her -- that he knows all about her scandalous past, she is not offended.  She does not pull away in anger or shame or fear.  Rather, she draws closer: "Sir, I can see you are a prophet..." (John 4:16-19).

Today's reading from Acts of the Apostles describes how the Gentiles responded in huge numbers to the preaching of the apostles.  It is highly unlikely that that preaching involved condemnation of the Gentiles as sinners.  It is highly unlikely that Paul and Barnabas began their preaching with a list of rules for the Gentiles to follow.  

The Gentiles responded to the news that God loved them.  The Gentiles responded to the astonishing reality of the Resurrection; they responded to the news that death is not the end; that human life is filled with meaning and purpose.  In this new understanding they grasped their worth, their eternal value.  And in this new understanding their experience of life itself was transformed; transformed by light, by hope, by joy.

THAT is evangelization.  To the extent that Christians (I mean ALL of us, Catholic, Protestant and Orthodox) present the Christian faith to the world as a list of rules, evangelization is undermined.  It is likely, in fact, defeated outright.    

This is not rocket science.  When people feel seen, understood and loved, as the Samaritan woman did, they feel safe.  When people feel safe, they are open to taking stock of their lives, admitting their faults and failings.  And -- because they have come to trust its Giver -- they feel empowered to cooperate with grace; to become the disciples they are called to be.

The ultimate aim of evangelization is discipleship; is, in fact, sainthood.  But effective evangelization recognizes that it all starts with an invitation; an invitation to a banquet.  "This man eats with sinners" (Luke 15:2).  

It is Thursday as I am writing this and -- very much to my amazement -- we have a new pope.  I am amazed at how quickly he was chosen and I am amazed as well at who he is.  A native of Chicago.  A missionary priest who lived in South America so long that he has Peruvian citizenship.  Said to be something of a centrist and a bridge builder, with substantial diplomatic experience.  The media this morning were commenting on how "young" he is.  He is 69.  It's all relative, I guess -- Francis was 76 and Benedict 78, at the time of their accession to the Chair of Peter.  He is, in any event, the first pope of my generation. 

Folks have asked me about him and about his selection.  What I have said above is about as much as I know about him.  Like most of the rest of the world, I am on a learning curve, with the former Cardinal Prevost.  As to his selection, I think it is safe to say that, happening as it did on the second day of the conclave, there was very likely a general consensus among a strong majority of the cardinals about the direction they want to see the Church take.  With that consensus in place, it was only a matter of determining which candidate they thought likeliest to be able to chart that course.  In selecting Prevost it does seem to me that the cardinals were concerned about preserving unity -- it is no secret that Francis made some of them nervous.  

I liked Leo 14th's inaugural comments and I was especially pleased that he ended the moment with the Hail Mary.  But I repeat, I am astounded at his selection.  He was only rarely mentioned as a serious contender, and the fact that he is American seemed, really, to guarantee his non-appointment.  His was truly a dark-horse candidacy but the Holy Spirit is, as one of my sisters likes to say, "no bench-warmer."  The Holy Spirit is full of surprises.

Several of us in Campus Ministry at O'Dowd were gathered round a large flatscreen tv for the forty or fifty minutes between the white smoke and the appearance of our new pope on the balcony.  Some of our student leaders in Campus Ministry were also in and out.  When she heard that the new pope had been born in Chicago, Leila, a senior, said, "Oh my gosh!  Deep dish is coming to Vatican City!"  

She meant the comment largely in jest.  But in fact, it is likely to prove prophetic.  Not necessarily that Chicago-style pizza is going to be in vogue now, in Rome, but simply that our new pope is, after all, from Chicago.  From North America.  With huge South American ministerial experience.  Though no doubt at home in Rome, and clearly a very international man, Leo 14 was born, raised, ordained and formed in his priesthood, in the Americas.  Inevitably, there is going to be a certain "American" sensibility to his papacy.  I'm a little intrigued by that, whether deep dish turns up at Vatican receptions or no.

Kinda tough to follow the election of a new pope with any other "news," so I will let this one end here.

Take care and God bless.  

Habemus Papam!

Love in the Lord,

Fr. Brawn

Psalm 30, Revelation, and Resurrection: Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter

Readings and Virtual Homily for May 4, 2025, Third Sunday of Easter; With the Class of 2027 at St. Anthony's Dining Room; The Downhill Run at O'Dowd; Those Green Hills Above Mission Boulevard (Are Less and Less Green); May Schedule

Readings for Mass this Sunday: 

• Acts of the Apostles 5:27-32, 40-41

• Psalm 30:2, 4-6, 11-13

• Revelation 5:11-14

• John 21:1-19

Dear Friends and Family,

I want to look briefly at the first reading and the Gospel passage for today, but where I want to focus my homiletic energies this weekend is on the psalm and on the second reading.  The reason for this will, I trust, become clear, in the next few paragraphs.

The first reading from, of course, The Acts of the Apostles, is remarkable for its assurance to us that the disciples, hauled before Jewish religious authority, interrogated and then flogged, left the encounter "rejoicing that they had been found worthy to suffer for the name" (vs. 41).  The fear that had sent the disciples into hiding the day Jesus died has been completely banished -- by the power of the Spirit, among whose gifts is courage (Isaiah 11:2).

The Gospel passage is significant.  (I mean, as if any Gospel passage were not, right?!)  It is significant in that it gives us the tri-fold confession of Peter on the beach with Jesus, weeks after the Resurrection.  Three times Jesus asks Peter "Do you love me" and three times Peter answers "Yes Lord, I love you," the third time almost in tears (vss. 15-17).  Peter knows he is being asked because he denied the Lord three times.  There is so much that could be unpacked here -- about, for instance, how God calls the weak, how God strengthens us for our mission, how God forgives and renews relationship with us, about the astonishing catch of fish which opens the scene and what it represents in terms of Peter's own future ministry...

Another homily. 

So...to Psalm 30 and the passage from the fifth chapter of the Book of Revelation...

Psalm 30 is a psalm of Easter.  It is a psalm which predicts, in precise detail, the events of Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday.  "I praise you, Lord, for you raised me up," the psalm begins, "and did not let my enemies rejoice over me" (vs. 2).  

This verse not only predicts the Resurrection, it predicts as well the very short-lived satisfaction of the Jewish leaders, at the death of Jesus.  Already, Sunday morning, less than 48 hours after Jesus had died, they have the astounding report from the Roman guards that the body of Jesus is not in the tomb (Matthew 28:11-15).  The clear implication from Matthew is that the Roman soldiers either reported the Resurrection itself or they reported, at the least, strange and mystifying events that morning at the tomb.  The leaders bribe the guards to say the disciples stole Jesus' body, because if the soldiers tell the truth, news of the Resurrection will spread.  And of course, today's first reading, showing the deep trouble the leaders subsequently had with the preaching and the miracles of the disciples, further fulfills the psalm's prophecy.  The leaders were continually vexed and perplexed, following Jesus' death.  They were not permitted to rejoice.

The psalm then references the descent to the dead.  "Lord, you brought my soul up from Sheol; you let me live, from going down into the pit" (vs. 4).  Note the language here -- "you brought my soul up from Sheol."  That is, Jesus descended to the place of the dead and then returned.  

Verse 6 recounts the anguish of Good Friday evening and the joy of Easter Sunday morning: "At dusk, weeping comes for the night, but at dawn there is rejoicing."  Verse 12 expands on this theme: "You changed my mourning into dancing; you took off my sackcloth and clothed me with gladness."  The psalm ends with a very Easter-ish declaration: "So that my glory may praise you and not be silent.  Oh Lord, my God, forever will I give you thanks."

The passage from Revelation takes us beyond the joy of Easter to the reality, the eternal reality, of Jesus' glory in the heavenly court.  It is worth quoting at length.  Countless angels, John tells us 

"Cried out in a loud voice 'Worthy is the Lamb that was slain to receive power and riches, wisdom and strength, honor and glory and blessing.'  Then I heard every creature in heaven and on earth and under the earth and at sea, everything in the universe cry out: 'To the one who sits on the throne and to the Lamb be blessing and honor, glory and might, forever and ever'" (vss. 11-13).

The exalted images of Jesus in the Book of Revelation are deepened in meaning and resonance when they are contrasted with the images of the Messiah, beaten and bloody, increasingly weak, truly helpless (because he will not veer from the plan) on his way to Calvary.  The Jesus of Good Friday and the heavenly Messiah are one and the same, as the verses from revelation attest: "Worthy is the Lamb that was slain..."

This juxtaposition of images, the deepest suffering and the greatest glory, serves to remind us of that basic Christian dynamic referenced in last week's homily: through the crucifixion to the Resurrection; through the desert to the Promised Land.  From heaven's perspective, all of our sufferings here on earth make sense; they fit in with the glory that we receive in sainthood; indeed, they are where that glory was forged; was bought and paid for.

Just a few reflections on the striking Easter imagery of today's psalm and second reading.

We returned to campus this week at Bishop O'Dowd following what was, for me, a restful and refreshing two-week Easter break.  One of the things that happened this week was the last Social Justice Immersion Day for the sophomore class at St. Anthony's Dining Room in San Francisco.  I am not teaching the sophomores this semester, as you know.  I volunteered to be the lead chaperone on this St. Anthony trip because I wanted to facilitate my professional relationship with the folks at St. Anthony and also simply because, although I am waaaay happy to be spending class time this semester with our seniors, I do cherish my relationship with the sophomores, and this was a chance to be with a group of them who have not had me in the classroom.

St. Anthony's is a lot more than the dining room.  They've got a clothing bank, a clinic, a "hygiene hub" (where people can take showers and do their laundry) a year-long residential substance abuse rehab program and a lot more.  Half of our teens worked in the dining room, but the other half were with me in the clothing bank, which is a very big operation.  There are several work stations before the clothes actually make it out onto the racks in the clean, bright and well-organized clothing store itself.  Most of my group divided up among these stations, but a couple of the teens opted to be "personal shoppers" for folks coming into the store; they really enjoyed that.   

I wanted the day at St. Anthony's in part to reconnect with staff there, whom I consider colleagues.  I had not been there since last fall.  Not only were the staff happy to see me, so was one of the guests in the dining room.  A fellow named Kurt whom I had met while working the dining room last semester.  That time, Kurt saw my collar and called me over to his table (I have found that wearing the collar in the dining room serves almost as an invitation for folks to strike up conversations with me).  Kurt was once an altar boy; he has only the fondest memories of his education in San Francisco Catholic schools.  His story is a long one, and though I am three years older, anyone looking at us side by side would likely guess him to be ten years older than I; his life has not been easy.  

Anyway, I had somehow gotten over to SF without a collar, yesterday.  I told my fellow chaperones that I was disappointed in myself precisely because, as I say, the collar invites conversation with folks in the dining room.  Well, as it turned out, I did not need the collar.  Kurt remembered me.  I was walking among the tables, making sure all our teens were getting lunch and trying to encourage them to mingle with the other guests -- many of whom are homeless, all of whom are experiencing some degree of material want.  I was walking among the tables when "Fr. Jim!" I heard -- and not from a voice I recognized.  Not one of our students.  Not a staffer or volunteer at St. Anthony's.

I turned in the direction of the voice and saw Kurt seated by himself at a table -- I recognized him immediately.  We had had quite a discussion, last November.  I was, all the same, really impressed that he remembered me.  He motioned to a chair at his table.  We talked half an hour.  For all the way life has banged him up and knocked him around, Kurt retains a great good-natured outlook; he thanks God for all the blessings he has received.  "I should have been dead four or five times over the years, Father," he said at one point.  "But he," and he pointed skyward, "still has work for me."

Our immersion days at St. Anthony's are inspirational.   

The spring semester has reached its downhill slope.  This week's trip to St. Anthony's was the last of the academic year.  All of our retreats are behind us.  The Drama Department's Spring Musical starts performances this weekend -- always an indicator that we are very near the end of the school year.  I am normally feeling real ready, by the start of May, to finish the school year.  This year, as I have made clear in previous e-mails, it's a poignant business.  The Class of 2025 is graduating...I have something like forty or fifty "favorites" in this class.  And I love all the rest of them, too.  It's a good thing I am taking a sabbatical -- I won't be here to miss them, in the fall.

Finally, after a winter of bright green hills thanks to all the wet weather, already the slopes above St. Clement are fading from emerald green to pale green to, in several places, the yellow-brown of summer.  I love those hills no matter what color they are, but it is something, how quickly the green fades, once the wet season ends.  I read recently that these last three years of normal-to-above-normal precipitation in the state are only the third three-year period since 1978 of normal-to-above-normal precipitation.  We have really been blessed, these last three winters.  Important to give the Lord thanks and praise for taking care of our perpetually thirsty state.

Hope this finds you well and happy.  Best wishes for a blessed Easter season.

Take care.  God bless.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

Mass Schedule for May:

Sunday, May 4
930 AM, 1 PM (both Spanish)

Saturday, May 10
5 PM (English)

Sunday, May 11
115 AM, 630 PM (both English)

Saturday, May 24
5 PM (English)

Sunday, May 25
630 PM (English)

I have no parish Masses the weekend of the 17-18 because I am giving a retreat that weekend at St. Clare Retreat Center in Soquel.

Weekday Masses (all 8 AM, all English)

Monday, May 5
Tuesday, May 6
Friday, May 9
Saturday, May 10
Monday, May 12
Tuesday, May 13
Monday, May 19
Friday, May 23
Saturday, May 24
Monday, May 26
Friday, May 30
Saturday, May 31

April 27, 2025: Celebrating Divine Mercy and Remembering Pope Francis

Readings and Virtual Homily for April 27, 2025, Second Sunday of Easter; Thinking About Pope Francis

Readings for Mass, April 27, Second Sunday of Easter:

• Acts of the Apostles 5:12-16

• Psalm 118:2-4, 13-15. 22-24

• Rev, 1:9-13, 17-19

• John 20:19-31

Dear Friends and Family,

The Second Sunday of Easter has been, since sometime in the reign of JP 2, also known as Divine Mercy Sunday.  Not surprisingly, this week's readings focus on and underscore the mercy of God.  Rather than try to synthesize some grand homiletic ambition with these readings, I am just going to take each in turn, letting it speak to us in its own fashion, about this attribute of the Divine Being -- the attribute of mercy.

The first reading from Acts of the Apostles gives vibrant testimony to the mercy of God in its description of the cures and healings which abounded in the time of the apostles and the founding of the Church.  This outpouring of the Spirit among the disciples resulted in "great numbers of men and women" becoming Christian (vs. 14); that is to say the mercy of the Lord, in working so many miracles of healing, built up the early Church.  

The psalm is going to sound a lot like Easter Sunday's psalm because it is, once again Psalm 118.  Not only the same psalm as was read at Easter, but even some of the same verses.  The passage this week begins with an affirmation of God's merciful love, 

"Give thanks to the Lord for he is good; his mercy endures forever.  Let Israel say: his mercy endures forever.  Let the house of Aaron say: his mercy endures forever.  Let those who fear the Lord say: his mercy endures forever" (vss. 1-4).

Folks sometimes say to me that God as described in the Old Testament (the Hebrew Scriptures) is a God of vengeance and punishment.  They usually add that they cannot relate to such a description of God.  I typically answer that passages in the Old Testament which so depict God should be carefully interpreted.  In fact, the Hebrew Scriptures give abundant evidence of the Jewish faith in a God of love, of forgiveness, of abundant mercy; mercy which, indeed, "endures forever."  Psalm 118 is a good example of this understanding.  

The passage from Revelation, describing in part John's vision of the heavenly Messiah, suggests Jesus' mercy, even though John is so struck by the vision that "I fell down at his feet as though dead" (vs. 17).  John goes on to assure us that Jesus "touched me with his right hand and said. 'Do not be afraid.  I am the first and the last, the one who lives.  Once I was dead, but now I am alive forever and ever'" (vss. 17-18).  

The image of the Messiah John encounters is one of great power; this is significant as to be merciful, one must have some degree of power.  Mercy derives from a loving power -- or powerful love, if you prefer.  Jesus assures John he has the power to show mercy; he assures John as well that "I hold the keys to death and the netherworld" (vs. 18).  As he holds these keys, Jesus has the power to deliver us from death and the netherworld.  He died to bring about that deliverance; we should trust in his mercy.

Finally the Gospel passage from John is the "proof text" of the Scriptural basis of the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  It is Easter Sunday evening and the disciples (except Thomas, evidently) are gathered at the big house in Jerusalem.  We know from last week's passage from Luke that the two disciples who had encountered Jesus on the road to Emmaus had just returned, breathless, to the gathered community, and that as they were telling their story, Jesus appeared in their midst (Luke 24:33-36).  Mark also attests to the Easter Sunday evening appearance of Jesus to the gathered disciples (Mark 16:14).

Only John includes the rather significant detail that Jesus breathes upon the apostles and says "Receive the Holy Spirit, whose sins you forgive are forgiven them; whose sins you retain are retained" (vss. 22-23).  The Catholic and Orthodox churches understand that this power, the power to forgive sin, is a component of ordained priesthood.  As with all other priestly powers it is passed down through the generations by the Apostolic Succession, guaranteed by the unbroken line of bishops going back to the apostles themselves, on whom this power was first conferred,

If that last paragraph seems like a theological mouthful, that would be because it IS a theological, an ecclesiological, a sacramental mouthful.  Books have been written on the Apostolic Succession; academic careers built up on it.  The point I want to make is that Catholic and Orthodox understanding of this passage is that the power to forgive sin is an extension of Jesus' priestly ministry throughout the ages, and Jesus himself conferred this power upon his priests.

The Protestants, of course, have a different interpretation.  What I have most often heard in terms of the Protestant understanding of this passage is that the power was granted to the apostles only and that this aspect of Jesus' ministry died when they did.  That is, the forgiveness of sin by men ceased with the apostolic age.  You have probably heard Protestant Christians say that they have no need of a priest -- they confess directly to God.  Our reply is largely outlined above.  I will add that, in nineteen years as a priest, I have seen the floodgate of graces that accompanies sacramental confession.  I have been witness, countless times, to the mercy of God, in this sacrament.  And I have, of course, in my own confessions, been the recipient of that mercy myself.  

I do not want to take more time with this, because this homily is long enough, but I want to close in pointing this out: The Sacrament of Reconciliation is itself the very embodiment of God's mercy.  It is the reason Jesus hung on the cross: to forgive our sins.  The Sacrament of Reconciliation is God's mercy made manifest.  It is that mercy which we celebrate today.  

I woke up Monday morning around 720, ahead of my alarm, set, as always when I have the parish morning Mass, for 730.  As (almost) always, I reached over for my iPhone, turned off the alarm and took a quick look at my messages, texts first, e-mails second.  Not too many come in over the course of the night, but this all the same is how I tend to start my day.

I was surprised at the number of texts, which I looked at first.  And then I was really surprised, as I began to read the texts.  The Pope had died just a few hours earlier.  A dozen or more of my friends had sent me the news by the time I woke at 720.  By the time I came back up into my rooms after the Mass, at about 840, there were several dozen texts and maybe fifteen e-mails; friends and parishioners wanting to make sure I knew that Francis had died.  The tone of several, more than several, quite a few of these texts and e-mails, was one of condolence.  Shock, yes; everyone I think, felt that.  But many of my friends and acquaintances were trying to console me on the death of our Pope, almost as if I had known Francis personally.

I really appreciated that.  I appreciated, as well, the shock and sadness of my parishioners at the morning Mass Monday.  All of us had seen the bright and joyful photos and video out of Rome only the previous day: Francis in the Popemobile, greeting the Easter Sunday crowd in St. Peter's Square.  Most of us were aware that he had met with J. D. Vance Sunday afternoon, as well.  It had seemed that Francis was beginning to resume some aspects of his regular schedule; it had seemed that he was better.  

I never met Francis, but I saw him several times up close, at World Youth Day in Rio de Janeiro, in July, 2013.  This was just months after his election to the papacy.  I remember being in the long long line of us, I mean a line that stretched three or four miles, Catholic leaders, lay and clerical, and so many, many teens and twentysomethings, standing eight or ten deep on each side of the broad promenade along Copacabana Beach, as the Popemobile, open to the beach breezes and the crowd, came into view.  I remember how Francis would have the little vehicle stop, whenever he saw someone in a wheelchair -- and it happened every evening and several times.  He would have the vehicle stop; he would get out and walk over to the person in the wheelchair; he would embrace that person.  You could see that it drove his security team frantic, God bless them.  I mean, I got and get their concern.  Anyone with assassination on his/her mind might have pulled up to the front of the crowd in a wheelchair and been hiding a revolver under their blanket...

Nonetheless, Francis stopped the motorcade repeatedly, each evening, there in the blue-grey tropical twilight of Copacabana; he insisted on embracing anyone who had made it to the promenade in a wheelchair.  He also kissed a lot of babies, who were put forward to him again and again and again.  And again and again and again.  

That is really my only personal memory of Francis. Though I at various times during his papacy talked of leading an Italian pilgrimage, where we could see him in the general audience on Wednesdays in St. Peter's Square, for one reason and another, I never did lead that hypothesized pilgrimage.  

I admired Francis for his love of Mother Mary (he honored her at every single Mass).  I loved his outreach to leaders of other faiths, especially his outreach to the Muslims, among whose leaders he counted several good friends.  I loved his admonitions to bishops and priests that we be real shepherds to the flock; I love that he had no tolerance for "airport bishops," that is, bishops who were always jetting off somewhere for some important set of meetings with other high-ranking clergy, rather than being with their people in their dioceses.  On the subject of today's homily, I loved his insistence that we priests make manifest to the people in the confessional the mercy of God.  I loved his emphasis on the need to take Matthew 25 seriously: "I was hungry...thirsty...naked... a stranger...ill...imprisoned."

The Good News, really, is pretty basic, pretty simple, pretty direct.  Francis got that, and he put that understanding into practice in a way that changed the way a lot of the world, the non-Catholic world, I mean, views the Church.   He didn't just theorize about evangelization.  He lived it.  And the world took notice.

The Good News, after all, IS GOOD NEWS.  It is joyful, not angry.  It is hopeful, not fearful.  It is generous, not mean-spirited.  It is understanding, not condemnatory.  It is humble, not self-righteous.  It is loving, not hateful.  And it is for everyone, not just the fortunate few.  

Francis got that.  Francis lived that.  And the world, as I say, was engaged.  I am talking here about literally hundreds of friends, acquaintances and family members.  People who never gave the Catholic Church a second  thought; dismissed it out of hand as, at best, irrelevant, at worst, arrogant and hateful.  I am talking about people out there in contemporary culture, un-evangelized, who took a moment to take second look at Francis.  He gave them reason to consider whether there just might be something in this whole "Christian message thing." 

Jesus shocked the Pharisees.  "This man eats with sinners," the self-righteous leaders of first-century Judaism said, in objecting to Jesus (Luke 15:2).  It never seemed to occur to the Pharisees that the same would have been true, when Jesus ate with them.  But though Jesus shocked and enraged the self-satisfied and (to their minds) holy ones of Israel, he attracted those who needed what he had to offer.  

So did Francis.  I am grateful to him for that.  A lot of the non-Catholic world is grateful to Francis, for that.  In my view, Francis' papacy was Evangelization 101.

May he rest in peace.  In peace and more.  In joy, in light and gratitude, amid graces abounding.  May his soul, and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God -- which we celebrate today -- rest in peace, rest in joy.

That'll do it for this one.  Take care.  God bless.  A bright and joyful Easter Season to you.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

Easter Sunday Homily 2025: The Road to Emmaus and the Joy of Resurrection

Readings and Virtual Homily for April 20, 2025, Easter Sunday; The Basic Dynamic

Readings for Easter Sunday Masses:

• Acts of the Apostles 10:34, 37-43

• Psalm 118:1-2, 16-17, 22-23

• Colossians 3:1-4 

• or 1 Corinthians 5:6-8

• John 20:1-9

• or Luke 24:1-12

• or Luke 24:13-35

Dear Friends and Family,

Depending on which Mass you attend this weekend, you will hear some combination of the above readings.  All of them, of course, enunciate the joy and the wonder of the Resurrection.  I'll look briefly at the first reading and the psalm, as they are common to all Masses this Easter.  Then I will go to the last of the Gospel options, in part because I have the evening Mass this Sunday, and that will be the Gospel I preach on.

In the passage from Acts of the Apostles, Peter and other disciples witness the descent of the Holy Spirit upon Cornelius, a Roman official, and his household.  This event, astonishing to the disciples, opens Peter's heart and mind to the great realization that in Jesus, God has acted not just on behalf of the Jews, but for all peoples at all times.  "In truth," Peter says, "I see that God shows no partiality" (vs. 34) adding that those who seek God in "every nation"  are acceptable to him (vs. 35, and not among the verses in today's passage).  

This realization is huge; it opens the way for the proselytization and conversion of the Gentiles, with which much of the rest of the book of Acts concerns itself.  It can be surprising to us, twenty-first century believers living in a land not yet known to exist by the apostles, that Peter and the others at first thought Jesus' message was only for the Jews.  That is, that they thought their mission was the conversion of Israel; after that, they might concern themselves with the conversion of the world.  Rather, it was the Gentiles who flocked to the Good News at the preaching of Paul, Barnabas and others; it was the Gentiles -- our ancestors -- who came to make up the infant Church.

Psalm 118 is almost ebullient in its joy.  It briefly describes the difficult path of the Messiah and then resonates with praise and thanksgiving to God.  Verse 22 is the famous line, "The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone."  This line reflects the future conversion of the Gentiles -- Jesus, rejected by his own people, becomes the cornerstone of the faith of the nations.  "By the Lord has this been done," the psalm continues.  "It is wonderful in our eyes" (vs. 23).  The passage today concludes with the very Easter-ish acclamation, "This is the day the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it" (vs. 24).

The morning-Mass Gospels today, of course, recount the story of Mary Magdalen at the empty tomb.  Luke's Gospel (for an afternoon or evening Mass) is the story of the two disciples on the Road to Emmaus. I have preached and written before on this passage and at some length.  What I want to say here about it is to reiterate my conviction that these two disciples are the uncle and the aunt of Jesus, they are Clopas (whom Luke names; the translation sometimes is Cleopas or Cleofas) and his wife, Mary.

Mary is the "sister" of the Blessed Virgin Mary (that is, she is likely the sister of St. Joseph, hence, the Virgin's sister-in-law, and Jesus' aunt; we read this in John 19:25).  We know from Mark's Gospel that Mary was the mother of an apostle (she is described among the women at the tomb as "Mary, the mother of James," Mark 16:1).  Mary, wife of Clopas, mother of James and aunt of Jesus is a very significant disciple -- and not just because of her family connections.

As mentioned above, Luke names only Clopas (Cleopas, Cleofas) in his account of the two disciples who encounter Jesus on the road to Emmaus.  The second disciple is not named and does not speak.  Given standard attitudes of the time and place, these two facts by themselves argue for the disciple being a woman.  But so does the fact that the two disciples live together.  They reach their home in Emmaus as it is getting toward dusk and they invite Jesus, whom they do not yet recognize, to stay with them (vs. 29).  

Yet another reason to believe that the second disciple is Mary, Jesus' aunt, is that, clearly, these disciples were important: Jesus comes after them, after they have left the community gathered at the house in Jerusalem.  What is more, Luke tells us at the outset of the passage that the two of them were "conversing and debating" the things that had happened the past three days (vs. 15).  If the second disciple is indeed Jesus' Aunt Mary, you may imagine there was a debate taking place.

Mary: "I am telling you, he is risen.  I saw him with my own eyes.  So did the other women.  You heard the testimony of Mary of Magdala, of Joanna, of Salome."

Clopas: "Female hysteria, my dear.  Entirely understandable and no one judges any of you for it.  This has been very hard on all of us."

Mary: "Our nephew is alive.  He IS the Messiah.  God has raised him.  You will see."

Clopas: "I know how distraught you are, dear."

Mary: "We should not have left Jerusalem.  He said his brothers will see him."

Clopas: (Sighing) "Yes, dear.  Yes, yes."

In any event, we all know how THAT debate was resolved.  One of the details that I love in the passage is that, once at table in the house, it is in the breaking of the bread that Clopas and Mary recognize Jesus (vss. 30-31).  Another detail I love is that, though it is getting toward sunset, Mary and Clopas race back to the community, gathered, most likely, at Joanna's home in the city, as Joanna was wealthy and her home would have been large.  

This is just beyond today's passage, but as they reach the other disciples and start to tell their story, there, "in their midst" Jesus suddenly appears.  "While they were still speaking" of their encounter with him, Luke tells us, Jesus appears (vss. 36-37).  This time everyone sees him (except Thomas, evidently); the doubts and the skepticism of the male apostles are laid to rest.

I always want to add -- so, when Jesus broke the bread, and they recognized him, and he disappeared...Do you think Mary looked at Clopas and said, "I told you so"?

It would be remiss of me not to add this, before wrapping this one.  As you know from e-mails sent a year and more ago, I came through two very hard and sad, deeply challenging and difficult years, 2022, 2023.  I in fact "honor" 2023 by placing it in the company of 1984 and 2002.  2023 was one of the three hardest years of my life.  

Even in the midst of it, I knew that "this, too, shall pass."  I had the experience, if nothing else, of 1984 and 2002, to look back on.  1985 was one of the most joyful years of my life; a real Resurrection year.  And several years which followed 2002 were also filled with blessings, the greatest of these, of course, being my ordination in 2006.

Well, 2025 is a Resurrection year for me, following the deep sadness and steep difficulties of 2022 and especially 2023.  As I have mentioned previously, last year was a year of tangible graces, a year of rest, recovery and restoration.  But 2025 is different.  The graces are more than just tangible.  They are shot through with light and joy -- they run a metaphorical parallel for the basic Christian understanding of life, the basic dynamic of darkness followed by dawn.  

Crucifixions are followed by Resurrections.  The desert gives way, sooner or later, to the Promised Land.  I held on in a sometimes gritted-teeth sort of way, throughout 2023, sometimes saying outright to the Lord, "I do not know why you have permitted this, but I do know that nothing bad happens but that you don't bring good out of it.  Can't get to the good fast enough here, Lord."  

This year, the Lord is showering "the good" upon me.  I'll report further, I imagine, on this year's joys in future e-mails.  This one needs to wrap here, as it is 430 Good Friday afternoon, and I have the 5 PM service!

Take good care.  God bless.

A bright and joyful Easter to you.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

Palm Sunday 2025: Exploring the Depths of Jesus' Sacrifice

Readings for Mass and Virtual Homily, April 13, 2025, Palm Sunday; Two Weeks Off; Beginning to Feel it -- the Class of 2025 is Getting Ready to Leave

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Processional Gospel: Luke 19:28-40

• Isaiah 50:4-7

• Psalm 22:8-9, 17-20

• Philippians 2:6-11

• Luke 22:14-23:56

Dear Friends and Family,

This Sunday's readings are, of course, all related to the Passion.  

The Processional Gospel (the Gospel passage read before the start of Mass) is Luke's account of Jesus' triumphal entry into Jerusalem, the event we commemorate this Sunday.  All four Gospels attest to the rock-star-like reception Jesus received, John specifically tying it to the raising of Lazarus, which had likely happened just days, maybe a week or two, earlier (John 12:9-11).  In any event, the readings within the Mass proper all focus on the suffering of Jesus.

Isaiah starts with the observation that "The Lord has given me a well-trained tongue...I have not rebelled, I have not turned back" (vss. 4-5).  Jesus' silence in his Passion was one of his weapons, as was his obedience.  To defeat the powers of Hell, Jesus employed weapons about which they knew little.  

"I gave my back to those who beat me," Isaiah continues, "my cheeks to those who plucked my beard; my face I did not shield from buffets and spitting" (vs. 6).  These are direct predictions, clearly, of the suffering, both physical and emotional, of Jesus on that first Good Friday.  "The Lord God is my help," the passage goes on, "therefore I am not disgraced; I have set my face like flint, knowing I shall not be put to shame" (vs. 7).  Luke quotes this passage (Luke 9:51), describing Jesus, as he makes his way to Jerusalem, resolute in his determination to fulfill his mission.

Jesus quotes Psalm 22 from the cross.  "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?" (vs. 1).  Psalm 22 IS the crucifixion reported from the inside, so to speak, as though the psalmist were experiencing it himself. "All who see me mock me," the psalmist writes.  "They curl their lips and jeer...'He relied on the Lord, let him deliver him" (vss. 8-9).  In striking and graphic terms, the psalmist continues, "They have pierced my hands and my feet; I can count all my bones" (vss. 17-18).  With pin-point prophetic accuracy, the psalmist declares, "They divide my garments among them; for my vesture they cast lots" (vs. 19).  

Psalm 22 does "turn around," of course.  The last third of the psalm is a paean of joy and thanksgiving to God; after having given this astonishingly accurate account of the crucifixion, the psalmist foresees the joy of the Resurrection.  The final verses in today's passage reflect this bright reality.    

The second reading is a testament to high Christology (that is, reminding us that Jesus is God) while at the same time reminding us that Jesus is also fully human.  He "emptied himself, taking the form of a slave...becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross" (vss. 7-8).  

The first reading expresses the Messiah's certainty that he will not be put to shame; the psalm emphasizes the great joy which follows the crucifixion; the second reading likewise informs us that, because of Jesus' sacrifice, "God greatly exalted him and bestowed on him the name that is above every name, that at the name of Jesus every knee should bend...and every tongue proclaim that Jesus Christ is Lord" (vss. 9-11).  All three readings, in other words, underscore the basic Christian understanding, the dynamic that resurrection follows crucifixion, that after the desert comes the promised land.  All three encourage us to hold on in hope, even in the darkest moments.

Luke's Passion Narrative, as is the case with those of the other three Gospels, speaks eloquently for itself.  It starts with the Last Supper and proceeds through to Jesus' death.  Luke alone gives us the details of Jesus' sweat of blood in the garden (22:44), of Herod attempting to interrogate Jesus (23:6-12), of the weeping women of Jerusalem (23:27-31), the Good Thief (23:39-43) and Jesus' prayer for his executioners, "Father, forgive them, they know not what they do" (23:34).

I have, as most of you are aware, never tried to preach on Palm Sunday; never tried to preach on Good Friday.  The Passion narratives are not going to be "deepened" or "made relevant" or "improved" by anything any preacher might try to add.  

But while I feel I can add nothing to the accounts of the Lord's suffering, I can maybe provide something of value in offering a limited analysis of why God chose to save us in this way.  Because theologians argue that God might have saved us with a word of forgiveness in the Garden of Eden: "Hey, the serpent was smarter than you.  You should not have listened to him.  Don't do it again.  Too late to get your innocence back, but I can forgive the offense and move you forward regardless."

God did not so choose to save us.  There may be many reasons for this fact; here are three I think worthy of our reflection. 

One, Jesus shows us in "becoming sin for us" (to quote St. Paul, 2 Corinthians 5:21) how ugly sin is; how deeply it mars the divine image in us.  The wounds and lacerations of Jesus' body, the disfigurement of his face (swollen and bruised and bloodied) -- these mirror for us the effect of sin on our souls.  The wounds of Jesus might be understood as a living metaphor of how sin wounds us.

Two, in entering into the fearful mysteries of human suffering and death, God Himself (that is, the God-Man) is able to relate to our sufferings.  God is not remote or removed from human suffering, whether it is physical, emotional or spiritual.  God knows suffering, you might say, from deep personal experience of it; the experience of it suffered by the God-Man.  When we suffer, we can turn to Jesus, knowing he knows what we are going through.  

Related to the above, God also knows what death is, having entered into it himself.  This is really pretty mind-blowing, when we stop and think about it.  Jesus is the Second Person of the Trinity, God from God, Light from Light, the One through whom all things were made...the Author of life itself dies a human death and so enters the place of the dead and...liberates everyone there, and liberates all of us, as well.  Death, in the Christian understanding, is no longer a place of shadowy forgetfulness, the place the Jews called Sheol and the Greeks called Hades.  Death is transformed, in and through Christ, into the shining portal to eternity that the Church describes (and which has been attested to, anecdotally, by tens of thousands of human beings who have had the near-death experience).

Three, and this is a chief consideration; this one, I think, nails it.  In deciding to save humanity through the crucifixion, we rightly ask ourselves, what more could God have done, to show us how much we are loved?  What more could God have given?  What more could Jesus, a human being, have done, to demonstrate God's love for us?  Jesus literally gave all he had; his body, his blood, his last breath for us.  He spared himself nothing.  On top of that, right at the end he gave us something priceless, in the maternal love of his mother.  There was nothing he had, including his mother's love, that Jesus withheld from us.  In his self-sacrifice, he gave everything.  Everything for us.

Because he wants us to understand that God's love for us is boundless.

Just some insights running alongside the powerful descriptions in today's readings of the suffering of our Savior.

With Palm Sunday weekend and the start of Holy Week, of course, we have reached Easter break, at Bishop O'Dowd.  I am a little at sea with how rapidly the middle third of the semester shot by.  From President's Day to this weekend it has been eight weeks, but I seem almost not to have noticed the time; it has really gone quickly.  All those retreats, of course, no doubt contributed to things moving at lightning speed.   

I am normally way up, emotionally, by this time of the academic year because regardless of the "grade" I may be giving myself for the year, in fact, by Easter break, we are moving to a successful close of the academic year.  I am looking forward to the break and I am looking forward to the last few weeks of the spring semester, but...the Class of 2025 are now short-timers at O'Dowd, and that fact leaves me with mixed emotions..  

I have joked with colleagues and friends and indeed with the seniors themselves that it is a good thing I am going on sabbatical the rest of this year, as returning to campus in August absent the Class of 2025 would be a sad business for me.  In fact, the sabbatical is only happening this summer and fall because I postponed it, in order not to miss any part of the senior year of the Class of 2025...

I'll make the most of my time with the seniors, after the break.  And then...well, of course, I really DO want them to move on; we all do.  We have done, my colleagues and I, our best for them, we have met our deep responsibilities to prepare them for their own future -- for about 98% of them, that means college, of course.  They've mostly found out, now, where they got in and are making decisions about next year; it is exciting to think about how their young lives will open up and out to the wider world, in just a few months.  

All the same, I will miss them, and think of them often and fondly; with real gratitude for having met them.

Gonna close this one.  Hope your Lent is wrapping up well.  Take good care, God bless and here's to a serene, deep and -- well, holy -- Holy Week!

El Padre

Fifth Sunday of Lent Homily: God Makes All Things New

Readings and Virtual Homily for Mass, April 6, 2025, Fifth Sunday of Lent; At San Damiano with the Sophomores; Feeling Grateful

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Isaiah 43:16-21

• Psalm 126:1-6

• Philippians 3:8-14

• John 8:1-11

Dear Friends and Family,

There is a clear connecting thread running through this Sunday's readings, a theme which might be summed up as letting go of what has been in order to grasp, and grasp joyfully, that which is to come.  It is more than just a theme of hope.  It is a theme of certain joy in the revelation of the Lord's plans.  

In the first reading, Isaiah invites the people to consider God's great wonders and mercies of the past, particularly the victory over the Egyptians at the Red Sea (vss. 16-17).  The passage goes on, however, to encourage the Jews to look forward to wonders and mercies that are yet in the future, but near at hand.  "See, I am doing something new!  Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?" (vs. 19).  We have an idea of this new thing that God is doing, continuing with verse 19: "In the wilderness I make a way, in the wasteland, rivers."  This phrasing echoes other prophecies of the ministry of John the Baptist; of the way that would be made straight for the Messiah.  The overall intent of the passage would appear to be to inspire not just hope, but joy, in God's "doing something new."

This joy is wonderfully expressed by the psalm, which is one of my favorites of all the psalms.  Psalm 126 recounts the astonished joy of the Jewish people, as they were returned to Jerusalem after their near fifty-year exile in Babylon (539 BC).  "When the Lord restored the captives of Zion," the psalm begins, "we thought we were dreaming" (vs. 1).  

The release from Babylon must indeed have felt like a dream to the Jews, because (although the prophets had predicted it) the people could never have foreseen the way in which God would bring it about.  Babylon, the most powerful empire in the world at that time, fell to the Medeo-Persian armies under the command of Cyrus, and Cyrus, somehow recognizing that the Jews were in a special way God's people, asked them to return to Jerusalem, rebuild the temple and once again worship God in their land.  This development was so completely unexpected that the people, indeed, felt almost as if they were dreaming.

The psalm, written long after the return, seeks to remind the Jewish people of this astonishing turn of events, and to encourage them to trust in God's ability to bring about rescue and restoration in any set of circumstances.  "Those who sow in tears," the psalm urges its readers/hearers to believe, "will reap with cries of joy.  Those who go forth weeping, carrying sacks of seed, will return with cries of joy, carrying their bundled sheaves" (vss. 5-6).  A better translation, in my view, reads simply, "they shall come rejoicing, carrying their sheaves."  

We should not dwell on the past, the psalm urges us, but realize that God has already prepared a bright future for us, never mind our sins.  God is, indeed, "doing something new" for us, and his deliverance from present difficulties or sorrows may very well be in a way that we could never have seen coming.

In the passage from the Letter to the Philippians, Paul says, "forgetting what lies behind, but straining forward to what lies ahead, I continue my pursuit toward the goal, the prize of God's upward calling in Christ Jesus" (vss. 13-14).  Paul, maybe more than most, had reason to throw himself on God's mercy, to leave the past behind and to trust in God's designs for the future.  

And the Gospel passage perfectly enunciates this theme in the experience of the woman taken in adultery, and brought before Jesus.  A couple observations about this passage, before closing out the homily.  One, the woman was "caught in adultery" (vs. 3) and brought by the scribes and the Pharisees before Jesus?  So, if she was caught in the very act, where was the man?  Why was he not brought before Jesus?  Number two, how exactly did the scribes and Pharisees manage to "catch" the pair in adultery?  Did these guys have nothing better to do with their time, as supposed leaders of the people of Israel, than to skulk about looking for illicit affairs, or listen to gossip and make arrests (sexist arrests -- the man evidently got off scot-free)?  

I could go on, but only at the price of distraction from our primary theme here, which is not the sexism of the religious leaders of Jesus' time, but rather, the way that God can "make all things new."  Jesus clearly does that for the woman brought before him here.  After "Jesus bent down and began to write on the ground with his finger" (vs. 6), he said to the woman's accusers, "Let the one among you who is without sin be the first to throw a stone at her" (vs. 7).  Jesus then returned to the business of writing on the ground (vs. 8) and in response the woman's accusers "went away one by one, beginning with the elders" (vs. 9).  

It is widely, and I think accurately, conjectured here that what Jesus was writing on the ground were the sins of the woman's accusers.  Faced with their own evil, and its public declaration, the "holy ones of Israel" melted away, leaving the woman alone with Jesus.  Jesus asks her where her accusers have gone, asks if in the end, then, no one has condemned her.  She answers, "No one, sir" (vss. 10-11).  Jesus assures her that he does not condemn her, either, and advises her to avoid such sin in the future (vs. 11).

In Franco Zeffirelli’s JESUS OF NAZARETH (late 1970s tv mini-series) the woman taken in adultery was played by Italian actress Claudia Cardinale.  When Jesus assures her that he does not condemn her, and recommends that she move forward with a blameless life, that, in other words, she let God "do something new" in her and for her, Cardinale plays the woman's reaction with perception and precision, turning to look at Jesus, and turning to look at him again, as she leaves him.  It is clear, in the actress' eyes, that a conversion has taken place, that indeed, God has done, and will do, something new in her life.

God is always at work, "doing something new" in our lives.  Especially in times of difficulty and setback, disappointment and sorrow, it can be really hard to remember this.  But we will help ourselves in those dark times, if we can remember it, and trust in it, even trust joyfully in it.  That would seem to be the principal theme in today's readings.  

I am writing this on Thursday evening from San Damiano in Danville, where we are on retreat with the sophomores, the last retreat of this academic year.  The sophomore retreats (there are two each year, though starting next year there will be three) are largely directed by the seniors -- by leadership members of the senior class (Associated Student Body, Campus Ministry Team, etc.).  As you know from previous e-mails, I am deeply enamored of this year's seniors.  The Class of 2025 simply stole my heart, and they did it as freshmen -- and they are the only class I have ever taught, as freshman.  And now, this semester, they are the only class I have ever taught as seniors.  It is a real joy to be here at beautiful San Damiano yet again, with members of the Class of 2025.

But the retreat itself is for the Class of 2027, and as I said in my homily at the Mass this afternoon here, when I feel sad at the thought of 2025 leaving, I stop and remember the Class of 2027.  I have for almost two years now referred to them as "the hard-charging class of 2027."  There are various reasons for this, but one of the most prominent among them is the fact that, as freshmen, the Class of 2027 nearly upended all expectations and long tradition here at O'Dowd, when they came within a hair's breadth of winning the trophy for Spirit Week -- that is, for showing the greatest enthusiasm and class unity, in the Spirit Week activities, back in the fall of 2023.  This class impressed the entire faculty and staff for their energy and optimism, and now, having taught many of them, this year, I feel a personal connection with 2027 and...

That connection consoles me, as I realize that we are just two months away from the graduation of the Class of 2025. 

Speaking of the Class of 2025, and connecting to today's homily -- I owe it to the Lord to give thanks and praise for this year of 2025, which is beginning to look like one of the best of my life.  I know that I have shared, in e-mails back maybe eighteen months, two years ago, that I came through two rather harrowing years, in 2022 and 2023.  I think I have shared that 2024 was a year of deep rest and restoration, after two such very trying and sad years.  In keeping with the theme of today's readings, 2025 seems to be a year of coming "rejoicing, carrying their sheaves."  Too much to detail in this homily, but maybe I will be able to share more later this year.  Suffice it to say at this juncture that I am experiencing existential proof that the Lord does, indeed, bring good out of evil; the Lord does, indeed, "make all things new."  

I am waking most mornings in Hayward, this spring, thanking and praising the Lord for the high school, the parish, ministry beyond the high school and parish, and for San Gabriel Media.  This winter and spring are truly a season of grace for me.  

Gonna leave it at that.

Hope this finds you well and happy.  God bless.

Fr. Brawn