Third Sunday of Easter Reflection: Emmaus Story and Psalm 16 Insights on Resurrection

‍Readings and Virtual Homily for April 19, 2026, Third Sunday of Easter; Day of Reflection April 25; Revived by Duty; A Quick Clarification; The Second Half of the April Schedule

‍Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Acts 2:14, 22-33

• Psalm 16:1-2, 5, 7-11‍ ‍

• 1 Peter 1:17-21 

• Luke 24:13-35

‍‍Dear Friends and Family,

This weekend's Gospel passage details the encounter with the risen Lord by two disciples on the road to Emmaus.  I only the week before last gave the bullet-point summary of my usual Emmaus homily.  It seems clear to me that the best understanding of this passage is that the two disciples are actually Jesus' aunt and uncle, Mary and Clopas.  (Only Clopas is named.)  

Wanting to reassure Mary and Clopas and return them to the disciples gathered in Jerusalem, Jesus (his identity hidden from them) explains to them that the Messiah had to suffer, that the Crucifixion had in fact fulfilled the Old Testament prophecies, which prophecies told of a suffering Messiah.  Reaching their home in Emmaus, and inviting the "stranger" to stay the night, as it was getting toward dusk, Mary and Clopas came to recognize their nephew in the breaking of the bread.  Jesus then vanishes and his aunt and uncle rush back to Jerusalem to share the Good News.  

As I said, I have said all that just two weeks ago.  In terms of a real homily for this week, the other readings offer some exceptional insights and real clarity, regarding the Resurrection.  I am gonna keep it brief here, because this e-mail is already so long.  

‍In the first reading from Acts, Peter actually quotes today's psalm, which assures us that the body of the Lord's "holy one" will not see corruption (vss. 25-28).  Peter goes on to say that though David likely wrote the psalm this cannot be a reference to David because "he died and was buried and his tomb is in our midst to this day" (vs. 29).  It is impressive to think, just by the bye, that the tomb of David was known to the residents of Jerusalem in Peter's time -- one thousand years after David had died.

In any event, quite clearly, as Peter points out, the psalm reference cannot be to David.  It is not David's body that will not see corruption; David has been in his tomb for a thousand years.  The "holy one" spoken of in today's psalm is the Messiah.  The psalm predicts the Resurrection -- "my body dwells secure...you will not abandon my soul to Sheol, nor let your holy one see corruption.  You will show me the path to life, abounding joy in your presence, the delights at your right hand forever" (vss. 10-11). 

Jesus' body did, indeed, "dwell secure" in the tomb.  There are deep theological arguments for what was happening with Jesus' body, those forty or so hours in the tomb.  In a few words, what was happening was the reversal of the second law of thermodynamics.  Rather than decaying, rather than seeing corruption, Jesus' body "dwells secure" in the tomb, which is better likened to a womb -- the womb opening on eternal life.  

Jesus' soul, indeed, was not abandoned to Sheol.  He went there, of course, and liberated the souls who had been waiting there from the beginning of human history.  But Jesus' human soul was not abandoned to Sheol.  Rather it -- he -- was shown "the path to life, abounding joy in your presence, the delights at your right hand forever" (vs. 11).  

Psalm 16 gives us deep insights into the dynamics of the Resurrection.  That is why Peter quotes it at length, in today's passage from Acts of the Apostles. 

On the subject of Old Testament references to the Resurrection, there is still time to RSVP for next Saturday's Easter Season Day of Reflection at St. Clement.  The topic is The Resurrection Prophecies -- that is, we will look at the foreshadowings and outright predictions of the Resurrection in the prophets and the psalms.  In addition to today's psalm, there are many references to the Resurrection and some of them offer deep insights into the nature and reality of the events themselves, not just the Resurrection, but the separation of Jesus' soul from his body, the descent to the dead, the opening of the gates of heaven to humanity and so on.  

We start with a big continental breakfast, there are two morning talks with a "breakfast break" in between.  The lunch is huge and usually draws a lot of compliments.  And then there is a third talk, early afternoon.  It's a fun day.  If you cannot come for the whole thing it is fine to drop in and leave when you need to.  You may RSVP with Lisa Fisher at lmf7544@gmail.com or by e-mailing or calling the parish office.

I will close with the observation that, despite what I said last week about "needing a vacation" after spending Easter Week with such unexpected demands and responsibilities, in fact, starting with driving into campus Monday morning and now having completed the first week back since Easter break...I feel charged up.  Light, happy, grateful, engaged.  

I have seen this dynamic in play before -- sometimes, just showing up for duty is all it takes to get you back in shape, in form, engaged and glad to be engaged.  My teens inevitably lift my spirit.  They never miss.  I am honored and proud to be counted among the academic professionals at the high school -- it was not a setting I had ever imagined for myself, while a seminarian; indeed, during my first nine years as a priest, working ("working") in the parishes.  

Sometimes all it takes to snap back from a sense of vexation and exhaustion is to "get back with the program," return to routine.  There is something to be said for duty and being available to fulfill it.  I am -- once more -- delighted to be back among my teens and my colleagues at the high school, and I look forward to our last five weeks together, this academic year, the smooth, easy glide to the bottom of the slope, the downhill run.

I WILL get that new book done this summer.  And a second one, as well, if I have anything to say about it.

That's it for this one.  

Take care.  God bless.

Love, 

Fr. Brawn

The second half of the April schedule appears below.  Before I get to that, though, I want to clarify something regarding last week's homily.  That is, not the homily itself but the personal update part of the e-mail.  

I mentioned that Easter Week did not at all go according to my plans; that I was pulled away from those plans (plans to finish a new book) so many times that at some point mid-week I just threw up my hands and said, "Forget it; just take care of what is coming at you."  It occurred to me after I had sent the e-mail that it might have been understood by some of my correspondents that I was talking about interruptions that were coming from the parish.

I want to underscore that this was not at all the case.  I need to say that, in fact, if I had laid my writing plans aside last week due to parish need, I would not have been vexed.  As I have said from the start of my time at the high school eleven years ago, I remain a parish priest at heart.  I LOVE parish work.  In fact, I usually place the word work in quote marks, because to me, the "work" of the parish is not work.  It is my life as a priest.  And I love my life as a priest.  

Given the fact of my assignment at the high school, I can only be a parish priest on the margins; around and about my high school responsibilities.  My parish opportunities are precious to me; I wish I could have more of them.  As it is, parish commitments, even in vacation time, which last week was, typically require no more than fifteen or twenty hours a week from me.  I am telling you the truth when I say that I would gladly give twice that time to St. Clement, anytime St. Clement needed it.  

Last week's unforeseen interruptions came from beyond-the-parish venues, primarily the diocese.  I went to chancery twice last week, which may not sound like much, but to put that fact in perspective, I typically get to chancery twice in a year.  If it had been the parish keeping me so busy last week, I'd have smiled right on through and said, "Me and my peeps here at St. Clement are rockin' it this week; I'll get the book finished this summer."   

It was not St. Clement that kept me so busy last week.  It WAS priestly work, involving an annulment and paperwork for an overseas wedding and more, and as one of my colleagues at chancery put it, "Thank God you are on vacation this week, Father.  Otherwise, I am not certain we would be able to meet these deadlines."  

For reasons I am deliberately omitting, it was a scramble, a series of headaches, for me, for my colleagues at the Tribunal, for the young couple involved, for the staff at the diocesan offices in Cebu, but by the grace of God, we met all the deadlines, got all the necessary forms filled out (for the SECOND TIME, again, never mind), got them signed, stamped and sent off via FedEx to the Philippines and...

And I will finish my new book in the summer.

So.  The rest of the April schedule:

Saturday, April 18:

5 PM (English)

Sunday, April 19:

930 AM (Spanish)

630 PM (English)

Sunday, April 26:

8 AM, 1115 AM (both English)

Weekday Masses (all English)”

Sat. the 18

Mon. the 20

Sat. the 25

Mon. the 27

Divine Mercy Sunday Homily 2026: Resurrection Joy, Mercy, and Hope

‍ ‍

Readings for Mass, April 12, 2026, Second Sunday of Easter; Easter Greetings From Morocco; April 25 Day of Reflection; Maybe I Should Have Gone to New Orleans; San Gabriel Media Marks a Major Milestone; One Weekend of April Schedule

‍ ‍Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Acts of the Apostles 2:42-47

• Psalm 118:2-4, 13-15, 22-24

• 1 Peter 1:3-9

• John 20:19-31

Dear Friends and Family,

‍‍Sometime in the course of his long reign, Pope St. John Paul II officially declared the Second Sunday of Easter to be Divine Mercy Sunday.  This designation has to do with the apparitions of Our Lord to St. Faustina, the young Polish sister at a convent in Cracow who gave the world the Chaplet of the Divine Mercy almost a century ago.  Millions of people around the world are celebrating this devotion this week, in praying the Divine Mercy Novena (which starts Good Friday and runs through this Sunday.)

I am always cognizant of what I have already written about, in these homilies, even when the business involves a once-a-year event, like Divine Mercy Sunday.  I know that I have given substantial background, in previous written homilies on this devotion, and so, absolutely important as I believe the devotion to be, I want today to just explore the readings, all of which may be connected to the theme of God's inexhaustible mercy.  

‍‍Acts of the Apostles is my favorite book in the Bible.  Never mind why -- it would take a book, not a written homily, to fully unpack that statement.  But one of the reasons I so love the book is the passage we have from it today.  Luke (who wrote Acts) gives us our first insights into the worship of the original Christians.  And the structure of that worship looks a lot like the structure of the Mass.  

The members of the first Christian community there in Jerusalem met daily, Luke tells us, first "in the temple area" where they would listen "to the teaching of the apostles," after which they would communally celebrate the breaking of the bread in their homes (vss. 42, 46).  This sounds like the Liturgy of the Word followed by the Liturgy of the Eucharist.  And of course, before the end of the first century, we have a number of non-Scriptural (but reliable) descriptions of Christian worship which clearly evidence the development of the Mass.

‍‍Psalm 118 is once again among the readings this Sunday; in its joy it is quintessentially an Easter Psalm.  It initially describes a situation for the psalmist bordering on death, so dire are the circumstances, and then goes on to extol God's redeeming mercy and love; God's saving power.  And the word 'power' matters here as mercy is inevitably linked to power.  Mercy is granted only by one who has the power to show it.  The psalm exults in the merciful and saving love of God; the psalmist describes a personal restoration, a renewal of strength and joy, as a result of that saving love.

The reading from the First Letter of Peter likewise exults in joy, this time very specifically in the joy of the Resurrection.  It connects that joy with the mercy of God, as it effects our salvation.  "...You rejoice with an indescribable and glorious joy, as you attain the goal of faith, the salvation of your souls" (vss. 8-9).

The passage from John's Gospel is unmistakable in its connection to Divine Mercy Sunday.  This is the Catholic (and Orthodox) proof text that Jesus gave his disciples (and their heirs) the power to forgive sins.  "Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them, and whose sins you retain are retained" (vs. 23).  

‍‍I mean, if you think about it, really, why not?  What did Jesus hang on the Cross to accomplish, but the forgiveness of sin?  The Sacraments, understood to be the extension of Jesus' ministry through time and space, would of course have to include the forgiveness of sin.  The power is from and through the Holy Spirit (vs. 22).  That Jesus grants this power to the disciples in this Gospel passage is not, to my knowledge, denied by any of the Christian denominations.  The difference, of course, is that most Protestant churches argue that the power to forgive sins died with the apostles.  It was a one-time gift to the infant Church; not something to be handed on to the successors of the apostles down through the centuries.  

I am not going to analyze the premise for this argument, nor even look at its repercussions -- such analysis is beyond the scope of this homily.  I merely point out that many "Bible Christians" -- who must acknowledge the clear meaning of this passage, that is, that Jesus handed on to his successors the power to forgive sins, deny that that power exists today.  

‍‍The sacramental nature of the Catholic/Orthodox branch of the faith, of course, interprets this passage differently, and always has.  For fifteen hundred years before the Protestant Reformation, the accepted understanding of this passage from John's Gospel was that the successors to the apostles (that is bishops, and through the bishops, priests) had the power (through the Holy Spirit) to forgive sins.  This understanding made enough of an impression upon the British essayist and convert G. K. Chesterton that he said it was the reason he became Catholic.  He became Catholic, Chesterton said, "to get my sins forgiven."

The Sacrament of Reconciliation may in fact be thought of as the ongoing embodiment of God's mercy, of God's saving love.  Jesus died to forgive our sins; this sacrament achieves precisely that.  The forgiveness of sins IS the mercy of God in action.  It is that mercy which we celebrate today.

‍Among the many Easter greetings I received the past two weeks were two from what might seem an unlikely venue: Morocco.  Two of my young guys in Casablanca sent me "Happy Easter" (well, one was "Felices Pascuas") messages via WhatsApp, over the course of the Triduum.  Both are Muslim.  It impresses me how much many Moroccan Muslims know about Christian religious celebrations.  I mean, of course, the whole world celebrates Christmas.  But my young guys in Morocco also know such religiously significant dates here in America as Thanksgiving and Easter.  And they want to make sure I know that they are thinking of me, on those dates.  

I think that is really cool.  And it makes me want to pay more attention to the dates each year for Ramadan, for Eid, for other great Muslim observances and feasts.  My experience of the faith of my young Moroccans is that they are eager to show the bridges between Islam and Christianity.  They have often reassured me how blessed they feel themselves, to have a Catholic priest as a friend.

‍I also think that is really cool.  And it says something, I suppose, about my own provincial outlook, that I was, at first, really surprised by it.  

I will be giving a Day of Reflection here at St. Clement on Saturday, April 25.  The topic is the Resurrection prophecies -- Old Testament predictions of the events we are celebrating this week.  Some of the psalms offer stunning insights into such subjects as the descent to the dead and the joy of Easter Sunday morning; several of the prophets do, as well.  It will be the usual relaxed and breezy format, starting with a continental breakfast at 830, two morning talks with a "late breakfast break" in between, a substantial lunch followed by a final talk early afternoon.  We will be done by 230.  You may rsvp with Lisa Fisher at Lmf7544@gmail.com

I mentioned a couple weeks back that I had thought about going to New Orleans, this week.  And that I decided to stay here and finish a new book, instead.  This goal had but one requirement -- that I keep my schedule clear for a large part of the Easter break.  Holy Week was fine; this week might have been designed by the devil himself.  Never mind the details; it would only aggravate me to recount them.  My concentration was repeatedly broken by completely unforeseen demands on my time and energy that could not be put off.  There was a point where I just threw up my hands in surrender -- not very graciously, either.    

By Wednesday I was thinking that I should have gone to New Orleans.  I would not have gotten the book finished in the French Quarter, but it was clear by Wednesday that I was not going to get it finished in Hayward, either.  Spending a few days in NOLA this week, at least I'd be finishing the Easter break refreshed and ready to return to campus on Monday.  Instead of which, I feel the need for...well, for a vacation.

I am not going to get one.  There was nothing to do all week but handle the "incoming" as it came and there is nothing to do now but take a deep breath Sunday afternoon and plunge back into the high school routine Monday.  It's the "downhill run" of the academic year; just six weeks 'til June.  I'll make it.

Wanting to end on a bright note, I'll conclude with the fact that I woke up this morning (Friday) to the news from YouTube that San Gabriel Media had overnight hit the one million mark, in terms of subscribers.  The news put a smile on my face, maybe for only the second or third time all this past witheringly frustrating week.  

One million subscribers around the globe is an achievement.  I am pleased with the achievement.  But as far as I am concerned, as far as anyone else at San Gabriel is concerned, one million subscribers is no more than a promise of things to come.  To pick back up with the airplane metaphor, we are no longer taxi-ing.  We have reached the runway -- that is, we have reached the queue lined up for the runway.  We are nowhere near in the air yet; nowhere near maximizing our potential. 

But we are in the queue for take-off.  I'll raise a glass to that!

Take care and God bless.

Fr. Brawn

Sunday Mass Schedule this weekend:

8, 1115 AM (both English)

Though Fr. Jesus has completed the schedule into June, I do not yet have a final copy.  I will post the rest of this month's Masses next week.

Easter Sunday 2026 Homily: New Life, Eternal Hope, and the Empty Tomb

Readings and Virtual Homily for April 5, Easter Sunday; My Favorite Week of the Year

Readings for Easter Sunday:

• Acts 10:34, 37-40

• Psalm 118:1-2, 16-17, 22-23

• Colossians 3:1-4

•      OR

• 1 Corinthians 5:6-8

• John 20:1-9

•      OR

• Matthew 28:1-10

•      OR

• Luke 24:13-35

Dear Friends and Family,

Lot of options for the readings each Easter, and those listed above do not include the readings for the Holy Saturday Vigil.  The options there can get downright dizzying -- we are only doing three Old Testament readings, for instance, at the Vigil, here at St. Clement, but other parishes will be doing all seven...

The central theme of the readings for Mass during the day (the readings listed above) is, of course, the Resurrection; is new life, eternal life, in Christ.  The passage from Acts recounts briefly the fact of the Resurrection (vs, 40), in connection with Peter's realization that Christ died for all humanity, not just for the Jews (vss. 34-35, only partly included in today's reading).  This realization, of course, is what leads to the scenes of vibrant joy, of truly Easter joy, through the rest of Acts of the Apostles as, in pagan city after pagan city, the Gentiles come to salvation.

Psalm 118 is a joyful celebration of God's saving power and love, a saving love experienced after the psalmist has described a period of great personal peril.  Brought safely through that period of difficulty and darkness, the psalmist exults, in words that clearly resonate with the event we celebrate today, "I shall not die but live and declare the deeds of the Lord" (vs. 17).  

That the psalm specifically references the Resurrection joy of the Savior is attested to by a famous verse, included in today's passage: "The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone" (vs. 22).  The psalmist goes on to declare, "By the Lord has this been done; it is wonderful in our eyes" (vs. 18).

The psalmist, in other words, foresees the rejection of Jesus by the "builders," that is, the religious leaders of first-century Israel.  The psalmist also foresees Peter's new understanding, in today's passage from Acts, that Jesus died for all humanity.  Rejected by his own people, Jesus has become the cornerstone of the faith of the Gentiles, who flock to become disciples -- "By the Lord has this been done; it is wonderful in our eyes."

Of the options for the second reading, I prefer Colossians.  The passage from 1 Corinthians reminds us that "the paschal lamb, Christ, has been sacrificed," and then exhorts us to be renewed (vss. 7-8).  The passage from Colossians says something very similar, but it says it with an emphasis on the glory of the risen Christ, and the deep hope that glory should give us.  "For you have died," the passage reminds us, "and your life is hidden with Christ in God.  When Christ your life appears, then you too will appear with him in glory" (vss. 3-4).

Of the Gospel options, two are for Mass in the morning and the third (Luke) is for Mass later in the day.  I will be preaching on both, on Sunday, as I have the 11 in Pleasanton and then the 630 at St. Clement.  It is interesting to note details in the accounts of the Resurrection.  Placing John and Matthew side by side this weekend, we may note both similarities and differences.

John says Mary Magdalene went to the tomb where she "saw the stone removed" (vs. 1).  Mary then went to the house, to tell Peter and John that "they have taken the Lord from the tomb and we don't know where they have put him" (vs. 2).  The fact that John uses the plural here ("we don't know") suggests that other women were with Mary, though John never names them.  

John then tells us that he and Peter ran to the tomb, found things as Mary had described and though John tells us that he "believed," he also tells us that none of the disciples (himself presumably included) understood "the scripture that he had to rise from the dead" (vss. 3-9).  

John includes interesting detail about the placement of the burial clothes and especially with regard to the face cloth, which was not with the other linens, but was "rolled up in a separate place" (vs. 7).  This detail hardly suggests a hurried or hostile removal of Jesus' body from the tomb.  Rather, it suggests that however Jesus' body left the tomb, it was accomplished with calm and with care.  It is a detail which, from our perspective, suggests the Resurrection.  But at that moment, John indicates, they did not know what to make of it.  

John then tells us that he and Peter went back to the house (vs. 9).  Maybe the Cheerios were getting soggy?  Mary Magdalene, in verses not included in today's passage, did NOT go back to the house.  She wanted to find Jesus' body.  The result of her loyalty and courage, of course, was her becoming the first witness to the Resurrection (attested to by all four Gospels).

Matthew tells us that "Mary Magdalene and the other Mary came to see the tomb" at daybreak (vs. 1).  The "other" Mary here is Mary, the wife of Clopas, the mother of the apostle James and his brother, Joseph, also a disciple, and the "sister" of the Blessed Virgin Mary -- that is, most likely, the Virgin's sister-in-law, that is, the sister of St. Joseph and therefore, Jesus' aunt.   

In contrast to John, Matthew tells us that the stone was in place when the women arrived.  He says that there was an earthquake, and that "an angel of the Lord descended from heaven, approached, rolled back the stone and sat upon it" (vs. 2).  Just as an aside, I love the detail of the angel taking seat on the stone.  He sounds like a cool dude, relaxed and informal, despite his huge mission and message.  The angel's appearance, Matthew tells us, was dazzling (vs. 3).  The Roman guards, Matthew writes, "were shaken with fear of him and became like dead men" (vs. 4).  

The angel announces the Resurrection to the two Marys.  He invites them to "come and see the place where he lay" and then instructs the women to "go quickly and tell his disciples 'He has been raised from the dead'" (vss. 5-7).  The women "went away quickly from the tomb, fearful but overjoyed, and ran to announce this to his disciples" (vs. 8).  Before they reach the house, Jesus appears to the women, greets them, and repeats the instructions of the angel; to tell the disciples that he is risen, and that they will see him (vss. 9-10).

Of the four Gospel accounts of the Resurrection, only John mentions that he and Peter went to the tomb on Easter Sunday morning.  Only John mentions the disposition of the burial cloths.  I only recently came to understand (on one of the women's Lenten retreats I gave at Soquel last month) that this detail is significant in Catholic mystical tradition.  The face cloth that was set aside from the rest of the burial linens is said to have survived all these centuries and is a venerated relic at a remote shrine in the mountains of Italy.  

There are only two other artifacts from the tradition that assert that they offer us a reliable image of the face of Jesus: the Shroud of Turin (at the cathedral in Turin) and Veronica's veil, which is kept at a chapel in the Vatican.  I know a lot, a lot, about the Shroud of Turin.  Until encountering a couple of retreatants, last month, at St. Clare, more versed in these matters than I, I had no idea that the Church maintained that either artifact -- the burial face cloth or the veil of Veronica (who does not appear in any of the Gospel accounts) might actually exist.  I am planning to research some of this over the summer, when I have time.  Meanwhile...back to today's homily.

Only Matthew says an earthquake occurred (likely an aftershock of the powerful earthquake that Matthew reports occurred Friday afternoon, the moment that Jesus died -- Matt. 27:51-54).  

Only Matthew says anything at all about the Roman guards.  His account goes on (beyond today's passage) to tell how the guards reported the angel and the empty tomb to the Jewish leaders.  The leaders gave the guards a "large sum of money" to put out the lie that Jesus' body had been stolen during the night by his disciples, as the guards slept (vss. 12-15).  

Matthew likely included this anecdote because he was writing his Gospel for a Jewish audience; he hoped to persuade his audience that Jesus fulfilled the Messianic prophecies of the Hebrew Scriptures.  Knowing that many of his Jewish readers would have heard the tale of how the disciples stole Jesus' body while the guards slept, Matthew includes it in his narrative, adding "this story has circulated among the Jews to the present day" (vs. 15).  

Matthew is, in effect saying, to his intended audience, "Look, I know the story you've heard and believe, about Jesus' body.  I am telling you how it originated and I am begging you to set it aside and consider the alternative.  Consider that the Roman guards witnessed something so overwhelming that they 'became like dead men' and then, when they came to their senses and ran to report the astonishing events to the religious leaders...they were bribed.  Bribed with an offer so generous that they really could not refuse it, to put out the story you have heard."

Finally, there is the passage from Luke, to be read at Sunday evening Masses.  This is the account of the two disciples who encounter Jesus without recognizing him, on the road to Emmaus, Easter Sunday afternoon.  I have written on this passage in these homilies in previous years and feel that everyone knows what I have to say about it.  The disciples are Clopas and his wife, Mary, the "sister" of the Blessed Virgin, the mother of an apostle, the (very likely) blood sibling of St. Joseph, and so Jesus' aunt, and finally and most significantly, a major disciple who stood at the foot of the cross and who was one of the first witnesses the Resurrection.  Mary and Clopas have left the gathered community in Jerusalem at Clopas' insistence.  Luke tells us the two were "debating" as they walked the road (Luke 24:15).  We know from the other accounts of the Resurrection that the men (all of whom had been in hiding at the Crucifixion) did not believe the women's report of the risen Jesus.  So, Mary and her husband, Clopas, walked toward Emmaus, debating.

Along comes Jesus (but they were prevented from recognizing him) and he explains the whole suffering servant thing to them, quoting passages from the prophets and the psalms that predicted a victim Messiah.  "Were not our hearts burning," Mary and Clopas ask one another, after they have recognized Jesus, as he explained the Scriptures to them (Luke 24:32).  

I always end any discussion of this passage with the question, "As they started out again, in haste, for it was getting dark, to Jerusalem, do you think, maybe, just maybe, Mary said to her husband, 'I told you so'?"

Holy Week is my favorite week of the year and the day that I am writing this homily -- Good Friday -- is my favorite day of the year.  I saw an item on the news feed on my iPhone this morning, showing photos of Good Friday celebrations around the world.  It was inspirational.  I was especially taken with photos of contemporary Passion Plays enacted in locales as diverse as Nigeria, Indonesia, Australia, Mexico and the Czech Republic.  I was a little overwhelmed at the photo of a young Filipino, actually crucified for just a few minutes, being brought down from the cross by the hundreds (maybe thousands) of disciples who had gathered for the re-enactment.  This business of young men actually offering themselves for crucifixion -- largely, it seems, a Filipino thing -- deeply moves me.  I have to admit, though, that I doubt I could bear to be a witness to it, myself.

In any event, it is the week when we celebrate the events which brought about our rescue.  Good Friday is the day when both the history and the destiny of the human race changed forever, the day when God from God and Light from Light, the Second Person of the Trinity, a man as human as any of us, took those nails for us and for our salvation.  It is impossible to fathom the love.

As today's psalm recommends, let's just rejoice in it.  

He is Risen!

Love,

Fr. Brawn

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