God's Plan Is Greater Than Anything We Imagine
Readings and Virtual Homily for August 29, 2026, Twenty-Second Sunday in Ordinary Time; Venezuela Front and Center; Casablanca Calling
Readings for Mass this Sunday:
Jeremiah 20:7-9
Psalm 63:2-6, 8-9
Romans 12:1-2
Matthew 16:21-27
Dear Friends and Family,
This Sunday's Gospel passage is the one where Jesus tells us that discipleship involves "losing" one's life in this world. Not in the sense of martyrdom, but in the sense of letting go of our own plans and expectations in order to embrace God's plans and expectations.
And before I go any further with this reflection, I want to point out that there are no doubt times in our lives when our plans and expectations, our hopes and ambitions, line up with God's. Just because we DO want something does not mean that God does NOT want it for us. As St. Ignatius of Loyola argued, God leads by attraction. Our talents, interests and passions are God-given, and in general, they can be trusted to lead us. But there is also an overwhelming likelihood that, at points in our lives, we will be focused on one thing when God's plan for us involves another thing. That set of circumstances is what today's Gospel passage is addressing.
We get a deep look at just how difficult this dynamic can be in the first reading, where Jeremiah tells God that he wants to be through with being a prophet. All it brings him is "reproach and derision all day long" (vs. 8). Jeremiah goes on to relate that whenever he tries to walk away from his calling, whenever he tries to ditch, or "lose" the life God intends for him, the word of God "burns" in his very bones and he is forced to go about proclaiming it (vs. 9).
God's will for Jeremiah was that he become one of the greatest of the prophets -- it fell to Jeremiah to warn of the coming calamity of the Babylonian invasion and deportation, a prophetic mission for which he received scant gratitude from the Jewish leaders at the time. Though he more than once threatened to abandon his calling, in fact, of course, Jeremiah held true to it and ultimately was completely vindicated -- the invasion happened, followed by the deportation. People woke up too late to the accuracy of Jeremiah's warnings.
Jeremiah, fortunately, is an extreme case. Most of us, I think, find "losing" our own hopes and expectations in order to embrace those of God a bit less violent a business, than did Jeremiah. It is, all the same, a tricky and at times, a difficult business, discerning God's will amid our own hopes and desires.
I have some deep personal experience with this dynamic and I want to report it here because it illustrates the upside, so to speak, of Jesus' words. That is, my own experience speaks deeply to the fact that letting go of personal expectations in order to embrace those of God will, in the end, enlarge and enhance our experience of life itself. Rather than being thwarted, we will find ourselves exceptionally rewarded. This is so because in accomplishing God's plan for us we activate our own deepest selves. Skills and capacities we might never have thought to put into play, skills and abilities which, in fact, we might never have guessed ourselves to possess, will be unveiled and brought forth, in "getting with God's program" for our lives.
Though there have been at least four or five major points in my life which illustrate this dynamic, the most recent is my assignment to Bishop O'Dowd. Most of you, of course, know this story, but it so well illustrates the dynamic that I am briefly re-telling it here.
Back in the winter of 2014-15, immediately after the bishop pitched me on the high school chaplaincy and I began carefully, almost gingerly, to address it in conversation with close friends and advisors, everyone had the same response: Brilliant. Wonderful. A master-stroke on the bishop's part. Everyone could see me as a smashing success as chaplain at Bishop O'Dowd.
Many of you know that that was not at all how I had received the news myself. For a variety of reasons the chaplaincy did NOT appeal to me, but perhaps foremost among them was the fact that MY plan for my diocesan career path --pastor of a parish -- had become one I deeply cherished.
I had not wanted to be a pastor for a long time, and the reason was all the extra ministry I was doing, and had been doing, since my first months as a priest in Pleasanton. I was an in-demand speaker and retreat leader; I gave Lenten missions in parishes around the country; and of course, I was writing. Developing this set of ministries took time and strategy and I did not feel I would be anywhere near as free to pursue these ministries as a pastor, as I was as an associate. So for nine years I made clear to successive Vicars for Clergy (the priest at chancery responsible for placing us around the diocese) that I did not want to be a pastor.
After nine years as an associate, however, I felt that the writing/speaking ministries were so well developed that they would continue apace, even as I expanded my parish responsibilities to those of being a pastor. And as I came to look at what the position of pastor offered, and at how I might take advantage of a pastor's powers to really build a flourishing parish community, I began to feel a real attraction to the position. I remembered how Father Dan Danielson had managed at Pleasanton (my first assignment), at how Dan had empowered his people and formed intentional and educated disciples through the parish's many and diverse ministries and...I began to think how I might go about being a pastor in Dan's simply amazing mold. I began to really like the idea of taking a parish.
Then came this curve ball from the bishop. The first thing I have to say about it is that as soon as I heard the words Bishop O'Dowd and teen ager, I knew it was a done deal. It was as if Cupid was hovering just above the bishop and had sent his arrow flying -- my heart the target. There was NO WAY I was going to say no to a request from my bishop, that I go to the teens.
Despite this immediate obedience (let's just call it that) I felt steep resistance to the assignment. I felt it. I did not act on it. I felt resistance. I expressed some of my concerns to the bishop simply because I wanted him clear on where I was, on how I was feeling, going into it. I recommended we give the high school a three-year trial run (the typical timeline for an associate in a parish). The bishop looked a bit disappointed (chaplaincies normally run five or six years, like the appointment to pastor). But he said, "Jim, I am just really grateful to you for being willing to give the high school a shot."
There WAS a real death to self involved. I had loved, revered, exulted in parish ministry for nine years. Here I was finally ready to take over in a parish and I found myself redirected to the high school. I can remember leaving St. Clement some mornings, my first months at the high school, with tears in my eyes, so much did I miss the simple, the deep, the good responsibilities of parish life; the basic parish routine. In the parish, a priest need only get out of bed in the morning and he is doing God's will. His "work" is whatever comes at him and all of it is engaging, all of it is something which helps others, all of it is clearly connected to the building up of the Kingdom. Except for my writing, nothing in my life had given me so deep a satisfaction as had parish ministry.
But from day one at the high school -- I mean the day in February, 2015 that I first visited the high school, having accepted the position for the following academic year -- I could sense, I could glimpse the possibility of something not just new and different, but something potentially very great, being laid before me. I sensed as well that after all, it would not be so hard or so complex -- really, all I needed to do was step into the chaplaincy and let it develop in and through me.
I'd told the bishop I would give it three years and see where we were in 2018. This fall semester, of course, marks the start of my twelfth year at Bishop O'Dowd. And anyone who reads the personal parts of these e-mailed homilies must sense my joyful gratitude at having been cast among a sea of teens at the very moment when my plans were to take up the reins in a parish.
Here's the real point: God's plans for us exceed anything we could imagine for ourselves. They may well take us for a time beyond our comfort zone; they are likely to stretch and deepen us; they are likely to call forth new talents, skills and understandings. In all of that, God's plans for us develop the disciple in us in ways which, left to our own devices, would not have happened. It can take trust; it can take a deep breath and a sort of "All right, Lord, I'm in your hands with this" sort of attitude. But in the end, God's plans for us fulfill us in ways we would never have thought to consider. I cannot say when I will leave the high school, but I can say that when I do, I know I will look back on the assignment with the deepest gratitude to Bishop Barber, for having accurately discerned God's plan for my life, and for having gently encouraged me to trust that plan. It has taken my priesthood in a direction I never imagined, and for which I cannot give the Spirit thanks enough.
So...Venezuela. Believe it or not, I have had yet another crisis -- a personal crisis -- involving one of my young guys, one of the Caraquenos-in-exile. That is, one of the seven who managed to get out of the country and establish himself elsewhere. Never mind the details, I am just grateful for all the huge generosity set flowing my way, this summer, given my twentieth anniversary celebrations: I had the money to help my young Caraqueno rise up against his very deep difficulties he was facing and quite quickly. He did a lot of it on his own, as well: He took two extra jobs this month -- the crisis was entirely financial, and he is now entirely past it.
What I have to say is that it is remarkable how Venezuela has landed squarely in the middle of my life, this summer, this summer of the year in which political changes in the country have reawakened in me a hope of one day returning. I can't say what all of this adds up to, as we move toward the last third of this remarkable year for the nation of Venezuela. But I am attentive to the changing dynamics, both inside and outside the country, and I have, as I have mentioned before, a hope, for the first time since 2019, of real and deep changes for the better in Venezuela.
The young Caraqueno I have just helped said something in a WhatsApp message to me this morning about me having friends all over the world...and even as he and I were messaging each other in came WhatsApp messages from two of my young guys in Casablanca. With one striking exception, my Moroccans and I are not in touch anywhere near as much as the Venezuelans and I. But we ARE in touch. More than enough to keep the relationship vibrant and real. I have bright hopes of returning to Casablanca soon. By soon I mean, in the coming year. As for Venezuela, well...
It's in God's hands. Inshallah, as my young guys in Casablanca say. As God wills it.
Think I'll wrap it here. Sorry this one is late. Been one crowded week.
Love and God bless,
Fr. Brawn