From Palms to Silence: A Palm Sunday Homily on Christ’s Love and Sacrifice

Readings and Virtual Homily for Mass, March 29, 2026, Palm Sunday

Readings for Mass this Sunday: 

• Processional Gospel: Matthew 21:1-11

• Isaiah 50:4-7

• Psalm 22:8-9, 17-20, 23-24

• Philippians 2:6-11

• Matthew 26:14 - 27:66

Dear Friends and Family,

Palm Sunday is the only Sunday when the Mass readings are focused on the Passion.  This makes sense, of course, considering that the Passion of the Lord, that is Holy Thursday and Good Friday, is bookended by two Sundays, the second of which is Easter.  It remains true, however, that Palm Sunday itself, as it is depicted in the Gospels, is not about the Lord's Passion but about his triumphal entry into Jerusalem.  Palm Sunday is about praise and joy, not suffering.  

All four Gospels devote numerous verses to the description of Jesus' entry into Jerusalem at the start of the last week of his life.  Today's passage from Matthew describes the donkey and its colt (vs. 7) -- Jesus rides a donkey into the city as a symbol of peace.  A military conqueror (the sort of messiah many of the people were looking for) would have ridden a stallion, perhaps; in any event a powerful horse, into the city.  

Matthew describes the huge crowd and remarks that they were laying their cloaks on the road before Jesus, and cutting branches from the trees, and laying them on the road as well; all the while proclaiming glad hosannas and calling Jesus the Son of David (vss. 8-9).  John gives us the detail that the branches were palm branches -- palms, of course, being a very common tree in Israel -- hence our appellation of the day.  John suggests that the crowd waved the branches -- this being a sign of reverence and welcome for a conquering hero (John 12:13).  

Matthew ends his description with the observation that, as Jesus actually reaches the city gates and enters Jerusalem "the whole city was shaken," with people pouring out into the streets to join the crowd, everyone calling Jesus a prophet (vss. 10-11).   In Luke's account the crowd proclaims Jesus a king (Luke 19:38).

That's the processional Gospel.  The other four readings this Sunday focus on the Passion.  Isaiah 50 predicts that the Messiah will be gifted with "a well-trained tongue" (vs. 4) which we see Jesus employing in his curt answers to authority, in his silence, as he goes through the events of the Passion. Isaiah 50 also says of the Messiah that 

"I gave my back to those who beat me; my cheeks to those who tore out my beard; my face I did not hide from insults and spitting.  The Lord God is my help; therefore I am not disgraced; therefore I have set my face like flint, knowing that I shall not be put to shame" (vss. 6-7).

Psalm 22 IS the crucifixion, as if experienced by the psalmist, hundreds of years before the fact.  The images are graphic and visceral.  

"Like water my life drains away...My heart has become like wax, it melts away within me...They have pierced my hands and my feet; I can count all my bones.  They stare at me and gloat; they divide my garments among them; for my garments they cast lots" (vss. 15, 17-19).  

Jesus quotes Psalm 22 from the cross.  The psalm begins, "My God, my God, why have you abandoned me?"  There are a number of ways to understand Jesus' quoting the first verse of Psalm 22 as he hung on the cross, but one of them it seems to me is that for Jesus, this was a catechetical moment.  He wanted the crowd to realize that what they were witnessing was the precise fulfillment of Psalm 22.  

That said, I do not want to discount the possibility that Jesus cried out as he did because he really did feel abandoned.  Sin separates us from God and Jesus had at that moment taken on the weight of all the sins of humanity.  There is power in the understanding that, if we should find ourselves feeling abandoned by God, Jesus knows the feeling.  Jesus can accompany us through such a moment, having experienced it himself. 

The passage from Philippians is high Christology in that it tells us flat-out that Jesus is God incarnate (vss. 2, 10-11).  At the same time the passage reminds us of the true humanity of Jesus, who suffered death, "even death on a cross" (vs. 8).

Finally, of course, we have Matthew's account of the Passion, spanning most of two chapters in his Gospel.  Abiding by what is now with me a twenty-year custom, I refuse to try to preach on the Gospel descriptions of the Passion.  They speak for themselves. There is, in my view, nothing anyone can add by way of interpretation, commentary or analysis that would do anything except distract.  The Passion Narratives need no "help" in bringing us to an appreciation of just how much we are loved by God.  From my first Palm Sunday as a brand new priest in Pleasanton I have announced at the end of the Passion account that we would simply have two or three minutes in silence, contemplating the love of God for us, as made manifest in the Passion of the Lord.

As I am writing here, though, not physically preaching, I will say this about Matthew's narrative.  He alone gives us the fascinating detail that on the day when all Jerusalem, it seemed, had turned on Jesus (just five days after his triumphal entry) one person, one woman, one pagan woman, acted in Jesus' defense.  This woman tried to save him.  This woman was the most powerful woman in Israel at the time -- she was the wife of the Roman Governor.  

She has come down to us in tradition as Claudia, and in terms of Scripture, we know almost nothing about her, beyond Matthew 27:19.  The Second Letter to Timothy mentions a female disciple named Claudia, and some scholars have equated her with Pilate's wife, years later in her life.  In this understanding, Claudia became an evangelist; a Gentile herself, she worked with Paul and others to bring the Gentiles to Christ.  There is no way to corroborate this speculation.

But while Scripture reveals little about the wife of Pilate, we have abundant testimony to her moral rectitude, her courage, indeed, her outright faith, from the many, many ancient but non-Scriptural sources available to us.  There is reason to believe that Claudia, at the least, was acquainted with the teachings of Jesus, that she may have known certain of his disciples.  In particular that she may have known Joanna, the wife of King Herod's chief steward, who would have had a place in the royal court.  Joanna, of course, is a major disciple (see Luke 3 and 24).

I could go on for pages, but I do not want to lose the focus here.  I only want to point out that Matthew's account includes something extraordinary -- that the wife of Pontius Pilate attempted to intervene on Jesus' behalf.  This high-born Roman woman, the most powerful woman in Israel, sought to defend and save Jesus, while the Jewish religious leaders sought his condemnation and execution.  

The Eastern Orthodox canonized her many centuries ago.  I will only say here that I am a fan of Claudia, the wife of Pontius Pilate.  

It is Friday morning at O'Dowd as I am getting this wrapped -- I had my one class for the day at 845, my grading is caught up, and we start Easter Break in just a few hours...I can spend an hour or so, getting my e-mailed homily done, here on campus this morning.  

I had given serious consideration to spending several days after Easter in New Orleans, as I got into the habit of doing before COVID.  I have not been to the Crescent City since 2019, and decided against going this spring only because...I have work to do for San Gabriel Media.  Specifically, I have a new book to finish.  As I have mentioned in previous e-mails, I am at work on five -- FIVE -- new books at once.  One of them is ripe for completion and if I am focused and determined this spring break, I can get this book done.  Ever the joyful workaholic, getting a new book done far outpaces, for me, in terms of joy and satisfaction, any possible vacation plan.  

I might add that, given the current chaos at so many airports, owing to the DHS shutdown (and New Orleans is said to be one of the airports most hard hit in this regard) I am relieved not to be traveling next week.  I trust the matter will be resolved by June, when I do plan to fly.  That plan is to fly to London, so my concerns with that trip will be limited to whatever the situation on the ground is, at SFO.  I think we will be past the current stalemate by June.  

Meanwhile, my colleagues at the high school are counting the minutes 'til three this afternoon.  In a meeting with the Religious Studies department chair earlier this week I had to admit that though I welcome the coming two-week break, I am not at all feeling worn out, at this stage in the academic year.  And the reason, of course, is that I was off-campus all last fall.  I am still floating on air this semester.  Just so glad to be back with "my kids."  When we return from Easter Break, we will have just six weeks left in the semester, so I am thinking that, this year, at least, I will not be panting to cross the finish line, as my colleagues and I usually are, by May. 

That said, I look forward to the summer vacation.  I will have four more books to finish.

Gonna wrap it.  My best wishes for a truly holy Holy Week.

Love,

Fr. Brawn 

Fifth Sunday of Lent 2026: The Raising of Lazarus and the Power of Faith

Readings and Virtual Homily for March 22, 2026, Fifth Sunday of Lent; Six Years Ago Today; We're Having a Heat Wave

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Ezekiel 37:12-14

• Psalm 130:1-8

• Romans 8:8-11

• John 11:1-45

Dear Friends and Family,

The raising of Lazarus is today's Gospel passage.  The first reading from Ezekiel presages it with its description of God opening the graves of his people and bringing them back to life (vs. 12).  The psalm confidently attests to God's redemptive power, to God's desire to save us from sin and death.  And the second reading details the dynamic of resurrection itself, the triumph of faith and life in the Spirit over the weaknesses of the flesh.

Today's passage from John details Jesus' greatest miracle.  Indeed, John himself tells us that, with the raising of Lazarus, Jesus effectively signed his own death warrant.  The miracle was so great, so widely witnessed and so thoroughly believed, that the leaders were beside themselves; determined to find a way to bring about Jesus' execution (vss. 46-53, just beyond today's passage).  John places the miracle shortly before his description of the events of the Passion; it is likely that Jesus raised Lazarus just weeks before he was crucified.

And it is worth noting that the raising of Lazarus occurs only in John's Gospel.  Scripture scholars assert with some confidence that John's was likely the last Gospel written.  It seems reasonable to conclude that John knew the contents of the other three Gospels and deliberately wrote his account so as to include things Matthew, Mark and Luke left out.  Beyond the raising of Lazarus, the encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well, the healing of the young man born blind and the wedding feast at Cana are also reported only in John.

In any event, we have the greatest of Jesus' miracles as today's Gospel passage.  The raising of Lazarus is the greatest of Jesus' miracles because, although he had raised others from the dead --Jairus' daughter, the son of the widow of Nain -- they had been dead just a few minutes and just one day, respectively.  Lazarus, according to Martha, had been dead four days (vs. 39).

The Jews did not embalm and so Lazarus' body would have begun to decay.  I won't go into detail, but among other things we may be certain that Martha was right when, after Jesus ordered that the stone be rolled away, she warned that "there will be a stench" (vs. 39).  To ask Jesus to bring her brother back, at this stage, was, well, it was an amazing testament to Martha's faith.  

Martha is -- in my view -- given short shrift by many Biblical commentators, in terms of her faith.  Mary, whom these same commentators credit as being the sister with the greater, the deeper faith, evidently did not have the faith to ask Jesus for this miracle.  And I can hardly blame her.  I would not have had it, either.  But Martha did.  "Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died," Martha says to Jesus, when she meets him on the road, having heard that he was coming.  "But even now," she says, "I know that whatever you ask of God, God will give you" (vss. 21-22).

If Jesus needed any reassurance regarding his plan to raise Lazarus despite his having been dead four days, he got it in no uncertain terms, from Martha.  

The raising of Lazarus, in any event, reminds us at once of several realities worth our consideration.  One, the physical creation is good, and Jesus has rescued it, just as he rescued Lazarus.  Two, the general resurrection at the end of time tells us that heaven is a physical place.  Three, faith like Martha's proves that, as Gabriel assured Mary, at the Annunciation, "with God, all things are possible" (Luke 1:37).

Just a few considerations as we contemplate in today's Gospel passage, the raising of Lazarus; Jesus' greatest miracle.

I have been acutely aware this week that we have re-traced the exact dates of the initial pandemic shutdowns.  I mean by this that in 2020, the dates and the days were the same as they are in 2026.  Friday, March 13, the day we shut down the O'Dowd campus, in 2020, was mirrored this past Friday, which was also March 13.  Monday, March 16, 2020, the day we faculty and staff met on campus to take a crash course in remote learning, was echoed this past Monday, which was also the 16...

One of the things that stays with me six years later was what I can only call national naivete -- we were going to shut down for five or six weeks to "flatten the curve" of the contagion and be back in business a week or two after Easter.  We were still working on that -- getting back to business as usual -- a week or two and more after Easter, 2021.  

In any event, it was Sunday, March 22, 2020, that I started these e-mailed homilies, realizing that if I could not actually be physically with my people in church on Sundays, I could at least get them the readings and a homily.  Based on all that we were being told, in media accounts, I imagined that I was going to be sending an e-mailed homily for maybe six weeks.  

Six years later, this unplanned aspect of my priestly ministry has come to feel normal, joyous and absolutely necessary.  I feel, six years into it, that these virtual homilies are part of my ongoing priestly assignment -- the Spirit expects this of me.  And there is a real irony in it in that for all the years before March 22, 2020, I never once in my life wrote out a homily.  Never as a priest; never even as a seminarian in my homiletics classes at St. Patrick's.  I read the readings, took notes, maybe prepared a few bullet points on a sheet of paper Saturday afternoon before the Vigil Mass and...

Blessed myself as I rose to go to the ambo to read the Gospel and said silently to the Spirit, "I am going to open my mouth.  You decide what comes out of it."  In fact, I still approach my spoken homilies in this manner.  But they have a lot more heft behind them, the last six years, owing to the fact that they have been given written form ahead of time.  

So how about the weather, the past week?  I remember a few occasional March heat waves.  It is not, in fact, absolutely unprecedented that we experienced highs in the high eighties to low nineties, here in the East Bay, this past week.  I remember a couple of March heat waves to rival this one, but just to put it in perspective, one of them was in 2004.

Normally a fan of dry, sunny, warm weather, I am concerned for the snowpack.  It was massively re-built with last month's storms, and now, with Tahoe showing highs in the low seventies, it is melting at a pace too rapid for optimal water storage.  There is going to be less run-off in May and June because there is so much snowmelt happening right now.  And because we have actually had a normal year, in terms of precipitation, thanks to the deluges last fall and last month, most of the reservoirs are at capacity, which means that a whole lot of the snowmelt the next several weeks is just going to...wind up in the Pacific.

And with continued dry weather forecast beyond Holy Week, I think it unlikely that we are going to receive anymore significant precipitation.  This winter -- that is, this wet season -- appears to be over.  Despite the deluges, this has not been an optimal year for water in California.  The long-range forecasts are calling for a "super El Nino" starting next fall.  El Nino years are typically wet.  Given the heavy precipitation last fall and last month, I think we will get through this summer well enough.  I only hope El Nino starts showing its stuff by November.

I thank God all the time for the fact that I live in California.  But our blessings, especially those related to weather, are dependent on forces way beyond our control.

And on that note, I'll close.

Take good care.  God bless.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

From Darkness to Faith: The Man Born Blind (John 9 Homily)

Readings and Virtual Homily for March 15, 2026, Fourth Sunday of Lent; Laetare Sunday; Five Retreats Down, One To Go

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• 1 Samuel 16:1, 6-7, 10-13

• Psalm 23:1-6

• Ephesians 5:8-14

• John 9:1, 3-9, 13-17, 34-38

Dear Friends and Family,

There are multiple possibilities for a main theme with today's readings.  The passage from Samuel alone, describing the selection of David as Israel's future king, might be used to reflect on a variety of topics.  And the psalm is one of the most beloved from the Psalter, frequently read at funeral Masses -- "The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want."

I am so enamored of the young man born blind, however, in today's passage from the Gospel of John, that (as I did last week with the Samaritan woman) I am going to focus this homily on him.

I might note that the designation "young" here is my own; John does not give us any direct information about the blind man's age.  We may infer that he is younger rather than older in that his parents, called to answer questions from the synagogue leaders about him, recommend that the leaders ask the man himself, observing that he "is of age" (vs. 21).  Another reason for concluding that the man is young, and a persuasive reason, in my view, is his courage, his energy, his outright defiance in the face of the denial and resistance on the part of the religious leaders.

To really enter into the story's dynamic, we should stop for a moment and give thought to what it means to have been blind from birth.  The young man has never seen his parents (with whom he evidently lives).  He has never seen the impressive city gate at which he daily sits, with his beggar's cup (or Koffer), hoping that people passing by will have pity on him; will help him relieve the burden on his parents imposed by his dependence.  He has never seen the sun, the moon, the stars; never seen a tree, a butterfly, a shower of rain, a meadow of wildflowers in bloom.  His is a world of sound and (felt) shapes; it is a world which has always been sightless, always been dark.  He knows the world in this manner and no other.

To have received from Jesus the gift of sight, a gift for which he did not ask, literally changed everything for the young man.  Imagine seeing the world for the first time.  Imagine seeing people for the first time; buildings for the first time; the sky, clouds, hills, streets, donkeys, geese, grass -- and go on and on and on with all the sights we who have sight simply take for granted.  That in itself was life changing for the young man.  

But there was much more, of course, not least the fact that now he would no longer have to sit and beg for his living.  He would be getting a late start, of course, at any trade or profession, but the world of work, as opposed to the world of sightless begging, was now available to him.  And with that availability other blessings previously denied him might now come his way, the blessing, for instance of romantic love, of marriage and family.  

Jesus gave the young man all of this, when he gave him his sight.  When we consider how vast this gift was, it is perhaps no wonder that the young man demonstrates such courage in the face of the hostile questioning and in the end, the outright ridicule of the religious leaders.  When, after questioning his frightened parents, they call the young man back for a second round of interrogation, he turns the tables on them.  In response to their mockery, he mocks them.

"I already told you," he says, to their questioning, "but you would not listen.  Why do you want to hear it again?  Do you want to be his disciples, too?" (vs. 27).

Never in the history of the world, the young man tells the leaders, has anyone opened the eyes of one born blind (vs. 32).  The miracle is stupendous and everyone ought to be rejoicing at it, instead of which the leaders, threatened, frightened, arrogant, are doing everything they can to discredit both Jesus and the young man.  

And in facing this unexpected reality, the young man receives an even deeper gift, from Jesus.  He not only sees the physical world for the first time; he sees spiritual reality as well.  He sees the darkness, indeed, as Jesus himself puts it, the blindness of the synagogue officials (vss. 39-41).  The young man is gifted with two sets of vision, in the opening of his formerly sightless eyes.  And he is repelled by what he encounters, on the spiritual side.  Repelled and compelled -- compelled to speak defiant truth to corrupt power, regardless of the consequences.

The consequences are that he is thrown out of the synagogue; these officials had a rule that anyone who followed Jesus could not be a member of the congregation (vs. 22).  We may infer that, however astonished, even hurt by this rough and unjust treatment the young man may have been, he in the end did not care.  An instant disciple, he chose Jesus over the synagogue and made his choice unequivocally clear.  He'd spent his entire life in darkness.  Now that he'd seen the light -- the Light, we might say -- he would never abandon it.

"When Jesus heard that they had thrown him out, he found him and said, 'Do you believe in the Son of Man?'" (vs. 35).  And John tells us that the young man answers in the affirmative and "worshipped" Jesus (vs. 38).  

The joy of the young man in having seen the Light may be associated with this Sunday's status as Laetare Sunday; the fourth Sunday of Lent is so-called because we are now just over half way through the season -- the joys of Easter are drawing near.  The word laetare may be translated "rejoice."  This is one of two Sundays in the year when rose-colored vestments are the official priestly color.  I do what I can to avoid wearing them, but if a priest so desires, he may be vested in pink this Sunday.  (The other such Sunday being, of course, the third of Advent, Gaudete Sunday.)

I am myself rejoicing in an exceptionally strong ministerial start to Lent.  As previously noted, I have had five retreats in the three weeks since the Saturday after Ash Wednesday.  I have not had such a full Lenten schedule since before COVID; it is great to be feeling so -- fully used, I might say, completely engaged -- this Lent.  I have one last retreat to take part in this evening (it is Saturday afternoon that I am writing this).  The parish Confirmation retreat is happening this weekend at Redwood Glen.  But I am only going over this evening to help Fr. Jesus with our teens' confessions.  

When I get back tonight (probably around midnight; Redwood Glen is 75 minutes away) I will enter the second half of Lent with a much less demanding schedule -- and I am good with that.  Lent is my favorite liturgical season but since becoming a priest I have found it -- challenging -- to try to do what I am always urging everyone else to do.  Get quiet.  Get reflective.  Go into the desert and be alone with the Lord.  Hoping I can arrange a little downtime "in the desert" with Jesus, these next three weeks.

And hoping that your Lenten season is proving grace-filled as well.

Take good care and God bless.

Love, 

El Padre

From Outcast to Disciple: The Samaritan Woman at the Well

Readings and Virtual Homily for March 8, 2026, Third Sunday of Lent; Virtual Homily; Lent at O'Dowd; March Schedule (Second Half)

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Exodus 17:3-7

• Psalm 95:1-2, 6-9

• Romans 5:1-2, 5-8

• John 4:5-42

Dear Friends and Family,

The Gospel passage is that of Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well.  This encounter is the longest conversation in the New Testament yet you know we are getting only the bullet points.  John tells us that Jesus was with several of the disciples, who went into town to get lunch (and bring it back).  Meanwhile the woman comes to the well and Jesus astonishes her by asking for a drink of water.  This starts a conversation that likely lasted the better part of an hour, maybe more.  For all that John gives us only the highlights, it is, as I say, the longest conversation in the New Testament.

When I teach this passage to my sophomores at O'Dowd, I underscore the fact of the woman's astonishment that Jesus would have asked her for water, that he would have spoken to her at all.  She is a woman.  In first century Israel men and women who did not know each other did not speak to each other.  She is a Samaritan.  In first century Israel Jews did not speak to Samaritans if they could possibly avoid doing so; and they absolutely did not share utensils with them.  The woman would have had a cup attached by a chain to her water jar; it is from this cup that she gave Jesus a drink.

The woman expresses astonishment that Jesus would ask her for a drink (vs. 9).  But his breaking this taboo is the invitation that leads to their long conversation.  All her life the woman has lived with the prejudice Jews held against her ethnicity; she likely intuited that there was something different, something special, about this Jewish man from that very first question.  

It is clear from the passage that Jesus is thirsty for more than just water.  He is thirsty for the woman's faith, which he draws out of her the way she draws the water from the well.  He takes her into deep water, so to speak (no accident that this conversation happens at a well) early on in the conversation, when he introduces the concept of living water, the kind of water he would like to offer her in return (vss. 10-15).  

Well into the conversation, Jesus suggests that the woman go and get her husband.  The premise for this suggestion was likely that, if their conversation were to continue, it should probably be in the presence of her husband, since after all, men and women who did not know each other did not speak to each other in ancient Israel (well, in this case, in ancient Samaria).  

But of course, the real reason Jesus suggests she bring her husband to the well is what happens next.  "Sir, I have no husband," the woman replies.  And Jesus approves of her reply, telling her that what she has said is true.  And then he tells her that she has had five husbands and the man she lives with now is not her husband.  Again, he commends her for speaking the truth (vss. 17-18).  There is no indication of judgment, let alone condemnation, in the way John portrays Jesus' reply.  Just the opposite.  Jesus goes out of his way to reassure the woman of his ongoing approval: "You have spoken the truth."

Astonished, and at the same time, encouraged, for after all, Jesus has revealed her past and at the same time refused to condemn her for it, the woman draws closer to Jesus, not away.  "Sir," she says, "I can see you are a prophet," and then she asks him where she should go to worship God, Jerusalem or Mount Gerizim, which was sacred to the Samaritans (vss. 19-20).  

That she draws closer to Jesus rather than away is in itself one of the really amazing moments in the conversation.  When I ask my sophomores how they would feel if some near-stranger, someone they had just met, had just entered into a conversation with, suddenly revealed to them that s/he knew their entire past, all their sins, the usual response is that they would be shocked, embarrassed and angered.  They would pull away, not pull closer.

The reason, of course, that the Samaritan woman does not pull away is precisely that she does not feel judged -- for indeed Jesus has gone out of his way not to judge her.  We may confidently assume that at this point in the conversation the woman has developed a level of trust in Jesus that tells her, "He sees everything about me and it does not matter.  Because in and through all of that, he sees ME.  And he values me.  I am more than my circumstances.  He sees that."  

Married five times and now living with a man not her husband, the Samaritan woman at the well is clearly a rebel, an independent thinker and actor; for whatever reason, she has not thought it necessary to conform to societal expectations.  We need not impute any ill will in this assessment; the woman in her conversation with Jesus appears to be genuine, open, determined and -- thirsty.  Thirsty for the living water that Jesus wants to give her.  Thirsty for the freedom from judgment and condemnation that she has likely been exposed to all her adult life, owing to her being a Samaritan, and at that, owing to her being a Samaritan woman who has led a scandalous life.  Even among the Samaritans this gal is an outcast.  That is why she is drawing her water at noon, in the heat of the day, rather than at dawn, when the majority of the women from town would go to get water, exchanging greetings and the news of the day along the way.

The passage ends with the woman returning to the town where, despite the fact that she has likely endured years of judgment from them, she invites her fellow townsfolk to come to the well and meet "a man who told me everything I have ever done," suggesting that he may be the Messiah (vss. 28-30).  The woman, now herself an evangelist, an apostle to her own people, has been given a new understanding of herself, in the conversation with Jesus.  She has experienced, perhaps for the first time, the depth of her own worth and dignity; her many failures and scandalous past do not matter to Jesus -- SHE matters to Jesus.  And in that realization she experiences a transformation.  She becomes a disciple.

The Eastern Orthodox have canonized the woman at the well; she is known in the East as St. Photina (the name is associated with light).  Tradition says that she evangelized Carthage (the second greatest city of the empire, in what is now Tunisia) and eventually went to Rome where, among others, she converted Nero's daughter, and was ordered martyred by the outraged emperor.  In any event, the passage of the woman at the well in today's Gospel is instructive for us and our own discipleship for numerous reasons, but one of the most important is that it helps us remember that Jesus sees past all our failings, all our faults, mistakes and outright sins.  He sees the saint he is calling us to become, and he wants only to encourage us, in that becoming.

Well, as mentioned, last e-mail, I am plunging into Lent with no fewer than five retreats in three weeks.  The number increases to six if I include the parish Confirmation retreat at Redwood Glen next weekend.  I am only on duty to help with our teens' confessions Saturday evening.  Our Confirmation program here at SC is large and Fr. Jesus and I will be hearing confessions for about 70 of our teens next Saturday evening. I am planning on a three-hour gig, not counting drive time (about 75 minutes each way -- it is always a long night).

I heard confessions meanwhile at Bishop O'Dowd, this week.  During Lent we make two full days available to the students (and to the faculty and staff) for the Sacrament of Reconciliation.  Two days where I do not teach; just hear confessions.  Early on in my years at the high school these days could be somewhat hit and miss, in terms of students, or staff, taking advantage of the opportunity to experience the sacrament.  

Not this week.  I lost track of how many confessions I heard.  It was a full day of providing the sacrament to the O'Dowd community, and it charged me up, as our priest and chaplain.  

Then, just this evening (Thursday), we had our Lenten Stations of the Cross, led by students and attended by families of students in our Confirmation program.  (Other folks can attend as well, but this prayer service is something we offer specifically as a part of Confirmation prep.)  I have loved the Stations since I was a little guy in Marysville, standing with my mother and grandmother in the pews at St. Joseph in Marysville on Lenten Friday evenings.  I was taken back to my boyhood love for this devotion this evening, listening to my O'Dowd teens as they led us in naming and defining the station, showing its relevance to our lives today, offering prayer and then singing verses from "Were You There" tailored to elucidate the meaning of each station.  O'Dowd has come a long way, in my eleven years there, in terms of a joyful and confident expression of our Catholic identity.  I am...proud...of O'Dowd.

Gonna leave it at that!

Take care.  God bless.  My best wishes for a serene third week of Lent.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

The Rest of the March Schedule:

Sunday, March 22

8 AM, 1115 AM (both English)

Saturday, March 28 (Palm Sunday Vigil)

5 PM (English)

Sunday, March 29 (Palm Sunday)

630 PM (English)

Second Sunday of Lent Homily: Remembering the Mountaintop in Difficult Times

Readings and Virtual Homily for March 1, 2026, Second Sunday of Lent; Five Retreats in Three Weeks; San Gabriel Barrels On Ahead; March Schedule (First Two Weeks)

Readings for this Sunday:

• Genesis 12:1-4

• Psalm 33:4-5, 18-20, 22

• 2 Timothy 1:8-10

• Matthew 17:1-9

Dear Friends and Family,

The Transfiguration is this Sunday's Gospel passage.  Matthew's account of the Transfiguration runs a close parallel to Luke's.  Jesus ascends a lofty hill (if it is the mountain we think it is, it is about the same height as Mount Diablo) with his three closest disciples, who experience a stunning vision.  Matthew describes it

(Jesus') face shone like the sun, and his clothes became as white as light.  Just then there appeared before them Moses and Elijah, talking with Jesus (vss. 2-3).  

Luke adds that they were talking with Jesus about his upcoming "exodus" which he "was going to accomplish in Jerusalem" (Luke 9:31).

Tradition holds that the Transfiguration occurred about forty days before the Crucifixion.  This is one reason why this Gospel passage occurs near the start of Lent.  We may with some degree of confidence assume that the vision was granted the three apostles to help them hold on in faith in the face of the events of Good Friday.  Jesus appears with Moses and Elijah, representing the law and the prophets; Jesus being the fulfillment of both.  

Whether the apostles managed, under the shock, the weight and the horror of the Crucifixion, to recall the Transfiguration and hope for something yet to be revealed, even as Jesus lay in the tomb, is a matter of much speculation.  The vision dazzled and inspired them, but the brutal reality of Jesus' death was what they were dealing with, from Good Friday afternoon until sometime mid-day or later that first Easter Sunday.  

We can take our lead for this reflection, however, in the fact of the vision, an experience which happened on a mountaintop, and draw a parallel to our own faith journeys.  God will give us moments of transcendence -- however they might come -- to help us hold on in faith, when the crucifixions hit.  Mountaintop experiences can and do reinforce our faith, our hope, our confidence that God has our backs, when we find ourselves making our way in the wasteland.

An easy example of this dynamic from my own life occurred while I was a seminarian, wrapping up my residential year at St. Charles Borromeo Parish in Sacramento.  (The parish had been founded by my uncle, who had died three years before I was assigned to it.)  I had an amazing year there, as the resident seminarian.  For the first time I lived in a rectory, a rectory that felt like a second home to me seeing that my uncle had lived there for 34 years.  I kept something like a priest's schedule; had the full experience of the wide range of ministry opportunities in a large and active parish.  I met up with many old family friends, parishioners who had been close to my uncle; but I also made many new acquaintances at St. Charles and a few of them were to become lifelong friends.  The year at St. Charles was a long-term "mountaintop" experience for me that told me I was going to love being a priest.

This experience was invaluable in the two years which followed.  I took a year out of the seminary program after completing the year at St. Charles to, among other things, get my thesis written for my master's degree in philosophy at the Dominican School at Berkeley's Graduate Theological Union.  It was only meant to be one year out, and I did get the thesis written.  But so much went wrong for me otherwise that year that I was forced to take a second year out, and work a job in the Marysville parish (my boyhood parish, where I had been youth minister for years before leaving for the seminary).

During these two years, there were times when I might have wondered if I was going to get back to the seminary.  It was a set of difficulties amounting to a near-crisis, and it caused the Vocations Office in Sacramento to so lose faith in me that they dropped me as a candidate for ordination -- though I was just two years short of the goal, at that point.  Demoralizing as much of my situation was, those two years, I held onto the vibrant memories of the joy, the wonder, the sense of engagement and accomplishment that had accompanied me in my residency year at St. Charles.  I "returned to the mountaintop," in other words, in my thoughts, many times while making my way through an uncharted and wholly unexpected set of difficulties; difficulties lasting, as I say, two full years.

A chief result of that "time in the desert" was that I transferred my candidacy to Oakland.  It was, evidently, all along God's will that I should become a priest for the East Bay rather than for the Sacramento Valley.  Meanwhile, I held onto hope, remembering the wonderful year, the ten-month mountaintop experience that had been my residency year at my uncle's parish in Sacramento.  If we can "recall the mountaintop" when we find ourselves in the wasteland, our journey through the wasteland will be smoother, lighter and graced with a peace that we might otherwise lose sight of.

It's only ten days into the Lenten season and already I have (well, I will have had) three retreats since Ash Wednesday.  The first was last Saturday at CCOP -- the Women of Faith ministry, still fairly new and clearly thriving, had me give a daylong retreat on the Psalms in Lent.  This is a theme I have covered in several formats -- for other retreats, for Shalom World Television as an eight-part Lenten series, at San Gabriel Media as a YouTube series (completed but yet to be aired).  It was great to be in Pleasanton last Saturday, from the retreat's nine AM start right through to the Vigil Mass, which I celebrated as a sort of wrap-up of the retreat.  Though I say Mass monthly at Elizabeth Seton, I had not said a regular Sunday Mass at St. Augustine in more than a decade.  It felt like coming home; I had said my first Pleasanton Mass as a brand new priest at St. Augustine, almost twenty years ago.  The day was made perfect by a dinner date with several good friends at Haps.  Talk about mountaintop experiences!

Then, as mentioned, as I am writing this, I am at San Damiano, on a three-day Kairos Retreat with 57 members of O'Dowd's Class of 2027.  The Kairos protocol is that seniors, who made the retreat last year, give the retreat for the juniors; the seniors give the talks, lead the small groups, and so on.  So we have a dozen members of the Class of 2026 here as well.

By the time you are reading this, I will be at St. Clare Retreat Center in Soquel, giving a women's Lenten retreat, the theme being the Female Saints of the Passion.  This again, is a retreat I have given several times over the years, and we are planning a Lenten YT series as well, at San Gabriel.  Meanwhile, the priest slated to give a women's Lenten retreat at St. Clare next weekend had to back out and the sisters asked if there were any chance I could take the weekend.  They assured me I could simply duplicate this weekend's retreat as, after all, it would be a different group of retreatants.  After checking with Fr. Jesus (pastor at St. Clement) I was able to accept the request, and that retreat, followed by another Kairos the next week, makes five retreats in three weeks; my Lent is off to a reLENTless start (lol).  

My schedule the past eighteen months has been steadily picking up, in terms of extra-curricular ministry -- that is, ministry beyond the high school and beyond the parish.  This winter, going back to the holidays, it is feeling like the sort of schedule I kept prior to COVID.  Talks, retreats, special events, extra Masses (beyond the high school or St. Clement) and so on.  All good.  It leaves me less time for writing, or for new video work at San Gabriel, but there will be plenty of time for both of these over spring break and during the summer.  Meanwhile, I am enjoying the picked-up pace.  I only work as much as I do because I love my work, after all.

On the subject of San Gabriel Media, we a week or two back shot past 800,000 subscribers worldwide; we are gaining 3-4000 a day.  Some people, at least, evidently find our offerings engaging and worthwhile.  At the same time, and at the risk of sounding like a broken record, 800,000 subscribers has us still on the taxi-way.  I'll say we have reached the runway when we hit one million.  We will only be in the air at some number well above that.  Our ambitions at San Gabriel are not small.  This is the Gospel.  Jesus told us to preach it to all nations (Matthew 28 and Luke 24).  At San Gabriel Media, we aim to do precisely that.

Gonna sign off here.  Take good care.  God bless.

My best wishes for serenity and grace as we really move into Lent -- my favorite season of the year.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

Schedule for the First Half of March:

Sunday, March 1

630 PM (English)

Sunday, March 8

630 PM (English)

Saturday, March 14

5 PM (English)

Sunday, March 15

8 AM (English)

CATHOLIC COMMUNITY OF PLEASANTON, Seton Campus

11 AM (English)

Daily Masses (All 8 AM, All English)

Mon., Mar. 2

Mon., Mar. 9

Sat., Mar. 14

Mon., Mar. 16

Sat., Mar. 21

Mon., Mar. 23

Sat., Mar. 28

Mon., Mar. 30

First Sunday of Lent 2026: Temptation, Sin, and Christ’s Triumph

Readings and Virtual Homily for February 22, 2026, First Sunday of Lent; Fasting for Venezuela; Diablo in Snow

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Genesis 2:7-9, 3:1-7

• Psalm 51:3-6, 12-13, 17

• Romans 5:12-19

• Matthew 4:1-11

Dear Friends and Family,

I imagine the principal theme in most homilies from Catholic pulpits this Sunday will be one which examines the temptation of the Lord in the desert.  It's a classic Lenten subject.  I have expanded on this theme more than once in these written homilies, and intend here to take a more general approach, looking at the broad theme present in today's readings, that of temptation and sin.

The passage from Genesis starts with a description of the original goodness of creation; how God planted the garden for our first parents with trees, including the tree of knowledge.  Placed at the center of the garden, the fruit of this tree was not to be eaten (Genesis 2:8- 9; also vss. 16-17, not included in today's reading).  The passage goes on to describe how our first parents were tempted to "become like gods," knowing the difference between good and evil Genesis 3:5-6).  Adam and Eve found this promise so -- well, tempting -- that they sinned and brought judgment upon themselves and all creation.  This, of course, is the beginning of sin in the world, hence its title Original Sin.  Every sin since can be traced ultimately back to this primeval act of rebellion.

Psalm 51 is famous.  Sometimes called the miserere -- having to do with mercy, not misery! -- it is one of the six Penitential Psalms; psalms in which the psalmist admits guilt, even, as in this case, deep guilt.  The psalmist then throws himself on the mercy of God.  Psalm 51 is thought to have been written by David.  By that I mean that even skeptical Scripture scholars acknowledge the likelihood that David himself is the author of this psalm.

The Penitential Psalms are noteworthy both for their ready admission of wrongdoing on the part of the psalmist and for the deep confidence the psalmist displays in God's mercy.  The writers of the Penitential Psalms at times seem almost to demand God's mercy, and they are not shy about letting the Lord know that though their punishment may be just, it is too much; it must be relieved.  In Psalm 51, David even bargains with God; forgive him, restore him and he (David) will "teach sinners your ways" (vss. 14-17; outside today's passage).  In its themes of self-reflection, the acknowledgment of guilt, the need for reconciliation, and the boundless love and mercy of God Psalm 51 provides an excellent start to the season of Lent.

The passage from Romans reminds us of the passage from Genesis, explaining that through one man, Adam, all humanity fell (vs. 12).  God in his mercy has so arranged things that, as through one man all are fallen, so, too, through one man -- Jesus -- all are granted the possibility to be lifted up, to be redeemed and made new (vss. 16-17).

Then there is Matthew's version of the Temptation.  The Gospel accounts of the Temptation remind us that Jesus is fully human.  If he had been immune to temptation he would not have been truly one of us.  Jesus deflects the temptations relying on Scripture (vss. 4, 7, 10).  A First Sunday of Lent homily of some real depth and power might be written, examining and interpreting that fact alone.

In any event, and to wrap this one, tempted, Adam fell.  Tempted, David fell.  Tempted, we may also at times fall.  Tempted, Jesus triumphed.  Therein lies our example and our hope, as we begin our Lenten journey.

So we have entered my favorite liturgical season this week and I am actually making an effort, this spring, to give something up for Lent.  I am embarking on what I call the Venezuelan Fast.  Since I typically eat one meal a day, fasting is not all that easily arranged for me.  The Church's definition of it, one main meal each day and two smaller meals which together do not add up to a full meal -- would actually have me eating MORE than I usually eat, on a given day.  

For years I allowed this fact to keep me from even trying to fast.  Then one Lent, around about the time I stopped traveling regularly to Venezuela, I hit on the idea that I COULD fast.  I could simply eat LESS than one full meal a day.  Many people in Venezuela at the time were already doing so and not because they were not hungry.  Their fast was involuntary.  I figured there was something more that I could do for Venezuela besides praying and sending money; I could join the people on what they ironically referred to as "The Maduro Diet."  I call this less-than-a-meal-a-day regimen The Venezuela Fast.

A fast such as this cannot be seriously maintained if I am keeping a normal social life -- that is to say, a social life that has me out and about with family and friends two, three or four times a week.  In deciding to fast for Venezuela, I have ipso facto decided to fast from social dates for the season of Lent.  Of course I already have a few engagements on the calendar, and will keep those, but I won't be making any new social dates now 'til April.

Finally, in the Prayers Answered Department, a friend in Brentwood sent me a photo of Mount Diablo taken Ash Wednesday morning.  I might have thought I was looking at the Himalayas.  Not just the main peak, not just the secondary peak, but half-way down the foothills toward the valley floor, Diablo was blanketed in white, sparkling in the morning sun.  It is quite a photo -- a candidate for the cover of my Christmas card this year.  

The reports from Kirkwood and Palisades and Boreal and so on have been beyond encouraging all week long.  Six feet of new snow the first three days of the week, maybe seven.  Two more feet, three maybe, again overnight Wednesday and well into Thursday.  There was a time on Tuesday afternoon when I happened to check my phone for the weather at South Lake Tahoe and I saw a graphic -- wildly blowing and very heavy snow -- and a term -- blizzard -- that I have never seen before.  In a single week the snowpack has been restored and the ground water table has been deeply refreshed.

Praise God.  

My best wishes as Lent gets underway.  

God bless.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

Sunday Homily: How God’s Law Protects, Empowers, and Lifts Us

Readings and Virtual for February 15, 2026, Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time. Update on Caracas; Recovery Road; Let's Hear it for the Rain!

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Sirach 15:15-20

• Psalm 119:1-2, 4-5, 17-18, 33-34

• 1 Corinthians 2:6-10

• Matthew 5:17-37

Dear Friends and Family,

Wisdom is a prominent theme in today's readings, and in particular, wisdom as expressed in the word and the law of God.  This is an engaging topic for me, as someone who has occasionally struggled to make sense of some of the Church's rules and regulations.  Understanding that God's law proceeds from a place of ultimate knowledge, of the most ancient wisdom, can assist us when, at times, we might find ourselves wondering about a particular teaching, a particular regulation or an aspect of canon law.

The first thing I want to point out on this subject is that the law, the rules and the restrictions, exist not for the purpose of restricting us but for the purpose of first protecting and then empowering us.  God, after all, knows how the universe is made.  God knows the consequences of our actions, consequences which we might argue are built into the system.  It's a good and moral created order; abuse it and we encounter consequences; we encounter a warping of the goodness and the morality; we refer to this warping effect as punishment or the penalty due to sin, which is fine, but it is really as simple as cause and effect.

Because its Creator knows how the universe is made, that Creator may be trusted to tell us how to live in accordance with its design.  We might think of God's word, God's law, as a user's manual.  A practical guide to living in the material world; a practical guide to reality itself.  We ignore this practical guide at our peril. 

British writer Dorothy Sayers once described our freedom to rebel against God's law, using the laws of physics as an example.  We are, for instance, free to step off the observation platform of the Eiffel Tower, but that freedom will not prevent the law of gravity from guaranteeing a certain unpleasant result.  This is where the protective part of the law of God comes into play.  There is, however, beyond protection, empowerment, in a deep reading, a deep grasp and understanding of the wisdom which informs God's law.  Again, we might look to the laws of physics for a metaphor; several of them come into play in lifting a jumbo jet from the runway, despite the law of gravity.  God's law (from the Ten Commandments to Catholic Canon Law) seeks to "lift" us the way certain laws of physics lift a 747.

The first reading assures us that "immense is the wisdom of the Lord; mighty in power, he sees all things.  The eyes of God behold his work and he understands every human deed" (vss. 18-19).  Given this reality, the Commandments, spoken of in this passage (vs. 15) may be accepted and obeyed or rejected, but the author declares that "set before you are fire and water...before everyone are life and death, whichever they choose will be given them" (vss. 16-17).

The psalm beautifully enunciates this understanding -- the depth of the wisdom informing God's laws and precepts (vs. 18).  Psalm 119, the longest of the psalms at 176 verses, frequently harkens back to this observation, to this trust in the ancient wisdom which underwrites and informs the precepts of the Lord.

The second reading expands on this understanding of God's wisdom:

"Yet we do speak of a wisdom of those who are mature, but not a wisdom of this age, nor of the rulers of this age, who are passing away.  Rather, we speak of God's wisdom, mysterious, hidden, which God predetermined before the ages for our glory and which none of the rulers of the age knew..." (vss. 6-8)

After all this reassurance of the law of God being founded in the wisdom of God, the passage from Matthew gives us Jesus enumerating many laws, often as not expanding on them.  Jesus takes the Mosaic Law to the next level; it is not enough to love our neighbor and hate our enemies.  Rather, we must love our enemies as well.  Matthew 5:12 to 7:12 constitutes almost a legal litany; Jesus propounds upon subjects having to do with the moral life from tithing to divorce to anger management.  To the extent that we might be inclined to think of Jesus as a law-giver, this section of the Gospel of Matthew gives us our greatest set of insights.  

This section of Matthew culminates in Matthew 7:12, the Golden Rule:  "Do to others whatever you would have them do to you.  This is the law and the prophets."  

This was a fairly radical understanding of the law at the time.  I would argue that it remains so, today.

Well, on the subject of laws...the people of Venezuela have been living under a harshly unjust set of laws (loose use of the term; dictates is probably closer to the reality) for fifteen years now, and just in the last six weeks...  

There are some hopeful signs beginning to glimmer here and there.  Hundreds of political prisoners have recently been freed and the government is discussing a general amnesty for leaders of the opposition.  Many political prisoners remain incarcerated, but my feeling about this is that we will gladly take whatever gestures toward a restoration of the once vibrant Venezuelan democracy that we can get.    

Astonishing to me, there is as well just a smattering here and there of critical analysis and commentary on the part of the intelligentsia, not just folks in the media but also some in academia.  There is guarded criticism of the current regime; there is carefully phrased hope for a more open and free and fair public discussion regarding the nation's future.  This is huge.  

The colectivos (just think of a twenty-first century Latino version of the brownshirts) continue to control the city streets and the country roads; locally ruling Venezuela almost as if it were a collection of Medieval vassal states, each with its own set of enforcers.  Until the colectivos are disarmed and disbanded (and in my view, brought to justice) there will be no experience of new freedoms among the vast majority of Venezuelans.  

But as I have observed before, the current regime, which controls the colectivos (well, in theory, at least) is likely best equipped to ultimately deal with them.  It is hard to see how a new government, consisting of opposition leaders, could disband the colectivos.  Certainly, there are ways it might be managed, but all of them are theoretical and the practical reality is thousands of armed private citizens who have incurred the deep and lasting wrath of their oppressed fellow citizens.  The colectivos will not go down without a fight -- or -- without some kind of amnesty for them.  The current regime is likely best prepared to deal with them effectively.

In any event, as I have said before, and leaving aside all the (legitimate) arguments about how this change in Venezuela has been brought about...for the first time since 2019 I have hope that things there are actually going to improve.  The above-mentioned recent developments underscore that hope.

I did not mention this at the time, but I finished last week's homily feverish and battling serious sinus pain.  I got this thing that has been making the rounds this winter; fever-driven headaches, an on-and-off again sore throat, heavy congestion and as noted, real pain in my sinuses.  The worst I have felt in decades.  

Fortunately the worst symptoms hit fast and departed; I came down with the thing overnight Tuesday before last, and by last Saturday was dealing with just congestion and fatigue.  It was heavy enough so that I actually took a couple days out sick; extremely rare for me.  In eleven years at O'Dowd, I think I have used five sick days total.  I am gone so much from my classes already because of retreats, social justice immersion days, special Masses and so on, that I can't indulge taking sick leave too!

Feeling virtually recovered early this week, I remarked to parishioners at Mass what a difference it is, to simply feel normal again, after having spent several days more in bed than out of it.  It feels GREAT, to feel normal again.

Finally, how about the change in the weather?  Prayers being answered, as far as I am concerned, and I always want to give thanks and praise when prayers are answered.  Not just rain.  But COLD rain.  The coldest storms of the winter, according to the delightful forecasts, showing as they do five days of rain in the next ten, and highs never getting out of the fifties, even on the sunny days.  Cold rain here means snow -- lots of it -- in the Sierras, in the Cascades.  Tons of snow in the forecast, between now and what used to be called George Washington's Birthday (the 22nd).  

God be praised.  God be thanked.

Gonna wrap it.  Sorry this is late -- it was a hectic week, catching up so much after being knocked out the way I was, last week.

Take care and God bless.

Fr. Brawn  

Fifth Sunday of Ordinary Time 2026: Charity, Justice, and the Light of Christ

Readings and Virtual Homily for February 8, 2026, Fifth Sunday of Ordinary Time; Late Winter Light and Color

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Isaiah 58:7-10

• Psalm 112:4-9

• 1 Corinthians 2:1-5

• Matthew 3:13-16

Dear Friends and Family,

The Gospel of Social Justice might be a good theme for today's homily.  So would a reflection on the Christian presence in the world being understood as a presence of light; light where formerly there had been darkness.  Yet another possibility would be just a straightforward reflection on the virtue of charity.  As I am intrigued by each of these possible themes, I am going to plunge in without a narrowed focus.  I want to illuminate each theme as the readings themselves suggest.

The first reading resonates deeply with social justice.  All of the prophets issue calls to the Jewish people (and, of course, to us) to engage in the work of social justice.  Though we might interpret Isaiah 58 as recommending individual acts of charity, there is undeniably a more general call at work here.  Isaiah 58 mentions entire classes of people -- and this is probably as good a place as any to mention that social justice and charity, while allies, are in fact, different.  Generally speaking, social justice is global (or societal); charity is personal; even one-on-one.

Psalm 112 does indeed recommend and extol acts of personal charity.  Psalm 112 describes a man who is just, upright and reliable in his dealings with others; a man who gives to the poor.  Lavishly (vs. 9).  The word lavish is employed as well in Isaiah 58, with regard to seeing to the needs of the hungry (vs. 10).  Lavish giving is strongly encouraged, in today's readings.

What does lavish giving look like?  It will vary from person to person, depending on circumstances and capacity.  But the clear implication in both Isaiah 58 and Psalm 112 is that lavish giving is joyful giving; the dynamic seems to be one of the more we give, the more we realize that we have to give.  And needless to say this sort of giving is not limited to money.  It can be a matter simply of attending to our own vocational call (parents, giving to their children, as an example; a priest giving to his parish).  It might also be a matter of finding a cause, a charity, a social justice movement or program in need of what we have to give, and which, in the giving, so rewards us that we are happy to discover that we can give still more.  it is a matter of love being multiplied, not divided.  

Isaiah 58 and Psalm 112 both employ the metaphor of light.  This metaphor is actually describing something real -- we associate light with the nature of God.  Light from Light.  In your Light, we see Light itself (Psalm 36).  Made in the image and likeness of God, we Radiate (to use a term related to the concept of light) God's love when we give lavishly, joyfully and from the heart.  When we say, of our giving, not "I have to do this," but 'I GET to do this!" 

Which brings us to the Gospel.  Jesus employs the metaphor of light in describing how disciples are to be recognized in the world (vss. 14-16).  And here, we might employ the word light with a different meaning; specifically, discipleship is not heavy.  The Lord Himself, after all, describes his yoke as easy, his burden as light.  Discipleship is not heavy, nor is it dark.  It is, well, light, or maybe I should say lit up.  Lit up and buoyant; buoyant with joy, with faith, with confidence (as in the example of the just man, from today's psalm, who "fears no evil report," vs. 7).  

Discipleship is bound up with light, with joy and with charity and social justice, both of which encourage us to generous, even lavish, giving of ourselves, however that may play out in our circumstances.

On the subject of light -- in this case, natural light, the light of the sun -- we have been blessed with an abundance of same, here on the West Coast, these past several weeks.  As I've expressed my trepidation about "too much of a good thing" with regard to all this brilliant winter sunshine in an earlier e-mail, I will let go of the fear, this time around, and simply revel in the pleasure of it.  

Late winter is my favorite time of year.  And it is my favorite time of year, I realize, because of where I live.  I mean, look at the entire country -- including Florida! -- east of the Rockies, these past several weeks.

The Superbowl will be played in bright sunshine and temps near seventy.  The acacias, the tulip trees, the almonds and more are all blooming, as are the quince, the camellias, the birds of paradise and I don't know a lot of the other flowers that are providing such garden- and curbside color right now.  I'm just expressing gratitude for how beautiful California is in late winter; and at the same time am breathing a sigh of relief that there is, for the first time since New Year's, rain in the forecast.

Finally, and not unrelated to the above since, after all, my birthday occurs in late winter...I am STILL answering the over 300 texts I received, wishing me a happy birthday, two weekends ago.  I think I got to all the e-mails.  I appreciate the cards sent via the USPS and those simply dropped off in my boxes, either here in the parish or at O'Dowd.  Having a birthday exactly one month after Christmas makes for a highly effective antidote to any possibility of post-holiday blues.

In any event, the text messages were greatly appreciated, and I intend to get every single one of them answered; it may take me til President's Day, But I will get there.

Gonna sign off here, as I am late with this one.

Take care and God bless.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

When Need Becomes Blessing: Fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time Homily

Readings and Virtual Homily for February 1, 2026, Fourth Sunday of Ordinary Time; Two Lenten Retreats at St. Clare's in Soquel; Tis the Season (of Father Jim's Birthday); February Schedule

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Zephaniah 2:3, 3:12-13

• Psalm 146:6-7, 8-10

• 1 Corinthians 1:26-31

• Matthew 5:1-12

Dear Friends and Family,

The Beatitudes appear in two of the Gospels, Matthew and Luke.  This Sunday's Gospel passage is Matthew's version of this list of blessings.  It is a set of blessings which might at first glance strike us as counter-intuitive.  It can be difficult to see the blessing, for instance, in being poor in spirit or being in mourning.  

When I have taught the Beatitudes to my sophomores at Bishop O'Dowd, I have emphasized the fact that it is precisely in the reality that something is missing that the blessing lies.  The poor in spirit are not full of themselves.  They are thereby available to be blessed, even to be filled, by grace.  

Those who mourn are in touch with deep and essential realities of human existence -- they are not distracted by ephemeral ambitions, pleasures and preoccupations.  In their grief they are available to receive heavenly consolation.  It is precisely this dynamic, in fact, that explains the counter-intuitive fact that many, if not most, priests would rather do a funeral than a wedding.  At a funeral, people are open to grace, they are in need and they know they are in need.  God can reach them.

In a dynamic that has strong repercussions for our national reality this winter of 2026, those who hunger and thirst for justice are also in need; their longing for things to be put right counters complacency.  We can become complacent if enough of our own needs are met, if we are comfortable and satisfied.  It does not necessarily follow that comfort breeds complacency, but it is a real possibility.  When Mary says that God "fills the hungry with good things" while he "sends the rich away empty" (Luke 1:53) she is enunciating precisely this dynamic.  It is not that God does not love the rich.  It is that in their comfort they may fail to recognize their need for his love, their need for grace to be actively operating in their lives.

Making ourselves available to grace requires the practice of certain virtues, chief among them perhaps, humility.  The other readings for this Sunday assure us of the importance of this foundational virtue.  (Humility is understood to be the ground from which all the other virtues spring.)

The first reading extolls the humble, those who observe God's law, and who "seek justice, seek humility" (vs. 3).  They will be favored by God precisely because in their humility they have put themselves in a place where they are able to receive the good things God wants to give them; they are not full of themselves.

The psalm, similarly, assures us that God showers graces upon those in need.  It specifically singles out "the oppressed...the hungry...the prisoners...the blind...those who are bowed down...the resident alien...the orphan and the widow" as being particularly beloved and cared for by God (vss. 7-9).

In the second reading, Paul reminds the Christians in Corinth of their favor with God despite the fact that they are not viewed as favored by society.  Here we have an explicit example of the dynamic at work in the beatitudes.  Corinth was the port city for Athens.  It was the city of dock workers and sailors and the merchants who served what we would today refer to as a blue-collar or working class population.  And it was in Corinth, not Athens, that Paul met with huge success in his efforts at evangelization.  

The description of the reaction of the Athenians to Paul's preaching is almost comical (Acts of the Apostles 17:16-34).  Wealthy, educated, with high-status positions and rewarding careers, the Athenians were...comfortable; satisfied; complacent.  They were so filled with the riches of the world that they did not recognize their need for the riches of God.

Different story with the dockworkers of Corinth.  "I have many people in this city," the Lord assures Paul (Acts 18:10).  We may intuit that that happy reality was directly connected to the fact that the Corinthians, who had so much less than the Athenians to insulate them from life's dangers, sorrows and difficulties, were naturally open to receiving the Good News; their lives predisposed them to the reception of grace.

That we are available to God when we are in need is the central dynamic in the message of the beatitudes.  It is, as I say, a counter-intuitive set of blessings which Jesus lists in today's Gospel.  But to the extent that any need of ours opens us to the operation of grace in our lives, that need has, in fact, blessed us.

I will be giving two women's weekend retreats at St. Clare Retreat Center in Soquel this Lent, and the sisters have asked me to get the word out via these e-mails.  The retreats are Friday evening through Sunday morning, on back-to-back weekends -- February 27 - March 1 and March 6-8.  The theme -- which the sisters chose when I offered them several possibilities -- is Women Saints of the Passion, offering some real biographical background on the women who stood at the foot of the Cross and who were the first witnesses to the Resurrection.  

St. Clare is a beautiful site, about three miles in from Highway 17 along a redwood-canopied road.  The retreats start with dinner Friday evening and end with Mass late Sunday morning.  In addition to four talks, there will be three Masses, reconciliation, adoration and substantial free time for reflection and private prayer.  For more information call the retreat center at 831/423-8093 or e-mail: info@stclaresretreat.org

I had yet another anniversary of my 59th birthday last Sunday.  It seems that I spent the whole weekend partying -- with friends from the parish at Massimo's in Fremont, Friday night; a dinner party in Brentwood Saturday and a five-hour lunch with friends from Pleasanton on Sunday.  That set of celebrations was, however, only the kick-off.  I have dinners and brunches scheduled into the middle of February -- the Season of Fr. Jim's Birthday is underway.  

I want to say thank you here to everyone who texted or e-mailed or WhatsApp'd a birthday message to me.  I am still answering them.  It is great to have heard from so many friends from around the bay and around the state, last weekend.  Talk about feeling blessed!

Think that will do it for this one.  Take good care and God bless.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

February Schedule (all English):

Sunday, February 1

8, 1115 AM; 630 PM

Sunday, February 8

8, 1115 AM

Saturday, February 14

5 PM

Sunday, February 15

CATHOLIC COMMUNITY OF PLEASANTON/Seton Campus:  11 AM

630 PM

Sunday, February 22

8, 1115 AM

Sunday, March 1

630 PM

Weekday Masses (all English)

Mon., Feb. 2

Sat., Feb. 7

Mon., Feb. 9

Sat., Feb. 14

Mon., Feb. 16

Sat., Feb. 21

Mon., Feb. 23

Word of God Sunday Reflection: Scripture, Division, and the Call to Unity

 Readings and Virtual Homily for January 25, 2026, Third Sunday in Ordinary Time; Another Sunny January

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Isaiah 8:23 -- 9:3

• Psalm 27:1, 4, 13-14

• 1 Corinthians 1:10-13, 17

• Matthew 4:12-23 

Dear Friends and Family,

A quick reminder that if you are interested in attending the Day of Reflection ("Women Saints of the Passion") next Saturday at St. Clement, you may RSVP with Lisa Fisher at lmf7544@gmail.com  

Lisa would appreciate having the RSVP by Tuesday, January 27.

Midway through his pontificate, Pope Francis designated this Sunday, the Third Sunday in Ordinary Time, a Sunday for reflection on and promotion of the Word of God.  World Bible Sunday, we might call it (Francis did not so label it).  It was stressed at the time, and has been stressed since, that the emphasis here is not one Sunday a year, but every Sunday of the year; Scripture, of course, being our very daily bread, one of our heaven-sent lifelines (the others being the sacraments and magisterial teaching).

The readings offer a variety of possibilities for a strong and deep homily, but one which I am going to avoid at the outset (because I have preached on it so often and most recently just three weeks ago at the Epiphany) is the theme of the conversion of the Gentiles.  The first reading includes one of my favorite passages from the entire Bible, Isaiah 9:1, "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light."  I could write a book on this theme, probably titling it The Joy of the Gentiles.

This is a homily, not a book, and I have written numerous homilies over the last several years, on precisely this theme.  Another homiletic theme this week might be reflecting on the nature of vocational call, since the Gospel passage describes the call of several of the apostles.  It is really important to talk and think about our vocations (we all have one) and it is important as well, to preach, now and then, on the need to send laborers into the vineyard; that is, now and again, I should preach on vocational call to the priesthood and religious life.

Another time.

What I want to focus on in this week's homily is the second reading; is Paul's admonition to the community at Corinth not to be dividing themselves up into factions.  I want to focus, in other words, on Christian division and on prospects for overcoming those divisions.  This focus is, in fact, one of the reasons Francis designated this Sunday the Sunday of the Scriptural Word (again, not precisely Francis' terms).  Our separated brethren in most of the Protestant churches lay special emphasis on Scripture.  And why not?  Remember what I said above, Scripture is one of the lifelines we have to the divine realm.  The other two, the sacraments and magisterial teaching, the Protestant Reformation largely did away with.  A renewed Catholic emphasis on the importance of Scripture may be seen as ecumenical in nature and aim.

Paul admonishes the church at Corinth for dividing itself according to personality -- some of the believers claimed to be with Paul, some with Apollos, others with Peter and so on.  Paul asks, rhetorically, "Has Christ been divided?" (vss. 12-13).  At that time, of course, this WAS a rhetorical question.  At various times since in the long history of Christianity, and of course, in our time today, this is NOT a rhetorical question.  Christ has, indeed, been divided.  Or at any rate, his self-proclaimed followers have been divided and...

This situation is problematic for several reasons, but one of them is the effectiveness of Christian witness in the world.  One of the reasons the ecumenical movement developed, a century or so ago, is that missionaries in the Third World found themselves at cross-purposes with each other, in terms of the work of evangelization.  A Catholic team would evangelize a region of let's say, central Africa, and be followed by a Baptist group who told the people not to believe in the Catholic teaching on the Eucharist.  

This kind of thing could quickly lead to people in central Africa deciding not to believe anything the Christians were saying, since the Christians themselves were divided over what is true and what is not.  Jesus recognized the importance of unity among his followers and prayed earnestly for it the night before he died (see John 17, the entire chapter.)  Christian divisions can be, and no doubt have been, cited by non-believers as a reason to continue not to believe.

Despite the difficulties, of course, missionary outreach in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries achieved spectacular results; much of Africa, Asia and Oceania are Christian -- of one stripe or another -- today.  Ecumenical dialogue seeks to underscore commonality of belief, while respecting areas of divergence.  I remember giving a talk to an evangelical Protestant young adult group in Fremont, one spring evening, while I was assigned at Our Lady of Guadalupe.  I no longer remember how the leaders of the group had heard of me, but they had, and what they had heard persuaded them that I would be a good bet to come and speak to the group about what Catholics and evangelical Christians have in common.

I remember that I took an historical approach, assuring the young people that what divides Christians today is nothing like what divided followers of Christ in the fourth and fifth centuries, when the Arian Heresy flourished to the extent that St. Augustine found himself bishop of a diocese (Hippo, in North Africa) that had more Arians than Catholics.  The Arian teaching was that Jesus was not divine; merely the greatest of created beings.  This sharp denial of both the doctrine of the Incarnation and the doctrine of the Trinity, I pointed out to the young evangelicals, was a far more serious and substantive disagreement than anything that divides Christians today.

All the same, of course, we are divided today.  And in several instances -- most significantly, I would argue, on the question of the Eucharist -- the disagreement is substantial.  It is instructive to look at how Protestant understandings of the Eucharist developed in the first two or three generations of the Reformation.  Martin Luther, who got the whole thing rolling, believed in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist.  He modified the Catholic doctrine to argue that Christ became really present IN the elements of bread and wine.  

This led to the formal definition of the Catholic understanding of the Eucharist at the Council of Trent (which met in several sessions from 1545 to 1563, precisely to counter Protestant arguments).  The Church always believed that the elements were transformed; that though they maintained the appearance of bread and wine, there was a substantive change -- hence the word used to express the Catholic understanding: Transubstantiation.  Martin Luther's modification may seem relatively innocuous, but it led to further and deeper denials of the Catholic belief.

John Calvin, from whom the Presbyterians trace their lineage, argued for a spiritual presence of Christ only, in the Eucharist.  The bread and wine were not transformed, nor were they mixed, accommodating a physical presence of Christ while retaining their reality as bread and wine (the Lutheran doctrine, which came to be called Consubstantiation).  Christ became spiritually present in the Eucharist in some vague but definite way, Calvin argued; it was a presence more substantial than simply encountering the Lord in prayer.

From this understanding the so-called radical reformers, such as Zwingli and Knox, argued that there was neither a physical nor a special spiritual presence of Christ in the Eucharist.  When Jesus said "Do this in memory of me," that was all he meant.  Get together and share the Eucharistic meal as a memorial of the Last Supper.  It is no more than that.  This is the belief of most Protestant Christians today; the Lutherans and the Anglicans (some of them anyway!) are exceptions.

How Christians divided over so central and substantive a doctrine as the Real Presence can find common ground -- on that doctrine, I mean -- is one of the conundrums of the ecumenical movement.  There are several other areas of substantive disagreement, as well -- Purgatory, for instance; the communion of saints; veneration of Mary; the sacraments themselves (beyond baptism); the apostolic succession and Church governance and more.  

In the end, several Catholic mystics have assured us, God has a plan to reunite Christians.  It will be the result of a miracle of the Holy Spirit, not the result of human effort.  That said, the ecumenical movement is to be credited with breaking down barriers between Christians and bringing us together in that wide variety of ways that we can, in fact, come together, to work, minister and pray for the salvation of the world.

So...don't get me wrong.  I love living in a part of the country where no one thinks twice about having the windows open in January.  I am a cold-weather wimp; as cold as it gets here in the Bay Area (it is "freezing" when the afternoon highs only reach the mid-fifties) that is as cold as I like it ever to get.  And while I am actually a big fan of our winter rains -- that is the case only when I am inside and can watch the rain in comfort.

I was in London and Paris at the end of the year, when it was raining cats and dogs here.  I read just this past week that for the first time in twenty-five years ALL of California is out of drought status...God be praised.  Many prayers answered.  

All the same, I think we need to be praying for rain this winter.  We've gone over two weeks without it and there's a whole lot of sun in the current forecast.  As I have mentioned before, I have something like PTSD from the 2019-22 drought.  Last January was one of the driest on record, but the winter overall was wet.  Hoping and praying that pattern will repeat itself this year.

Take good care.  God bless.

Love,

Fr. Brawn