Feast of the Ascension 2026 Reflection: Heaven, Eucharist, and Mission

Readings and Virtual Homily for May 17, 2026, Feast of the Ascension; One Week to Go at O'Dowd; Twentieth Anniversary

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Acts 1:1-11

• Psalm 47:2-3, 6-9

• Ephesians 1:17-23

• Matthew 28:16-20

Dear Friends and Family,

Apologies for the late arrival with this one; it has been one crowded week!

We celebrate the Ascension this Sunday.  And I need to say this before I say anything else.  For most of the dioceses in the United States and throughout the world, this Sunday is not the Feast of the Ascension; it is the Seventh Sunday of Easter (with its own set of readings).  The Feast of the Ascension is observed, in those many, many dioceses, on that day we here in the western US used to call Ascension Thursday.  Sometime thirty or so years ago the bishops of the western dioceses in the United States made the decision to switch the observance of the Ascension from Thursday to the Seventh Sunday of Easter.  

I have heard various explanations for this decision.  With the exception of the explanation that this change put us in alignment with the Church in Latin America, I am not going to repeat any of them here since I so thoroughly disagree with the decision.  I am strongly persuaded that it was based on a lack of faith in the Catholic people themselves: "Ask our people to go to Mass on BOTH a Thursday AND the following Sunday?  Can't do that." 

Ascension Thursday was, in my childhood experience (and later, as a young man who had returned to the practice of the faith after most of a decade away) one of only a very few really special Thursdays throughout the year (Holy Thursday and Thanksgiving being two others).  There was, for me, in those days, something special about a Thursday where there was a major liturgical celebration.  I remember slipping into the crowded back of the church at St. Joseph in Marysville, in my late twenties, in my early thirties, for the 530 PM Mass of the Ascension, the parish providing that Thursday, the full Sunday schedule of Masses, the Feast of the Ascension being a Holy Day of Obligation.  

As I say, do not get me started.  What?  We can't ask Catholics once or twice a year to attend Mass on Thursday?!?  

Whatever.

In any event, we Catholics in the western US and in Latin America are celebrating the Feast of the Ascension this Sunday, and the readings reflect that fact.  So, my pre-Vatican Two tirade above having been expressed (and no, really, I LOVE the Council!!!) let us proceed to a consideration of the readings for what may as well be called Ascension Sunday.

The first reading gives us Luke's second description of the Ascension (the first, of course, is provided in his Gospel, chapter 24).  The account in Acts of the Apostles is a bit more detailed.  Here, we get the description of Jesus receding from the disciples into the sky, and of the appearance of the angels, who reassure the disciples that Jesus will return just as they have seen him leave (vss. 9-11).  

The psalm is one of the Enthronement Psalms.  It describes the Lord's triumphal entrance into the heavenly courts, where he sits, "king over all the earth" (vs. 8).  He has "gone up with a shout," the psalm says, "amid trumpet blasts" (vs. 6).  The imagery is bright, joyful, triumphant, regal.  It bespeaks the reality of the Ascension, and of Jesus taking his place "upon his holy throne" (vs. 9).  

God, the reading from Ephesians tells us, raised Christ from the dead and seated him "at his right hand in the heavens, far above every principality, authority, power and dominion... and he put all things beneath his feet and gave him as head over all things to the church," (vss. 20-22).  The reference to principalities and so on is a reference to the angelic hierarchies and it is echoed, maybe I should say, it is underscored, in the opening verses of the Letter to the Hebrews, where the author assures us that Christ is far above any rank of angels (Hebrews 1:4-14).  

The Gospel does not describe the Ascension.  There are two brief descriptions of the Ascension in the Gospels, they are to be found in Mark 16 and Luke 24.  Matthew's Gospel ends with the Great Commission.  Jesus instructs the disciples to "Go...and make disciples of all nations," (vs. 19).  And with regard to the Ascension, this might be the take-away we want to focus on.  Between the Resurrection and the Ascension, Jesus appeared, body, blood, soul and divinity, to the disciples numerous times.  He ate with them; made breakfast for them; counseled them; instructed them.

Then, he ascended.  He is with us today, as he promised he would be, in the Eucharist, until the end of time (vs. 20).  But as of the Ascension, Jesus is no longer appearing to us, as he did to the disciples after the Resurrection and up to the Ascension.  Rather, he is with us in the Eucharist, and he has sent us his Spirit, to empower us to carry out the Great Commission of Matthew 28 (see John 14-16). 

I could go into some detail, with regard to our responsibilities, as disciples, given the Great Commission.  But this homily is about the Ascension, not the demands of discipleship.  

The last thing I want to say here is something I know I have emphasized before, but it is worth emphasizing again.  The Ascension underscores for us the value and the importance of the material creation.  Heaven is a physical place.  Jesus and Mary both are there, right now, not just spiritually but physically.  One day, all of us will be there, bodily, as well.  The material creation, having come forth from the hand of God, is good.  It is so good that God decided to rescue it; to rescue it by entering into it as a material being -- Jesus Christ, God incarnate, the Second Person of the Trinity.  One of us.  

The material creation, we recite every Sunday in the Nicene Creed, came into being through the Second Person: Through him all things were made.  So it is fitting that through him all things are saved.  That salvation, the rescue of the material creation, is a huge part of what we celebrate today, in the Feast of the Ascension. 

I am this coming week wrapping up the semester at O'Dowd.  Friday the 22 is the last day of classes, and my students are not taking a final; they are doing a final project due the 22.  I will have grading to do after that, but for most intents and purposes, my summer vacation starts next Friday.  As I have said before, I am NOT panting to cross the finish line, this May.  I am still relaxed and rested from the sabbatical.  Very cool.

Finally, next Wednesday, May 20, marks the twentieth anniversary of my ordination.  I will be with dear friends in Brentwood that evening, celebrating.  But I have already celebrated this milestone anniversary with friends in Brentwood and Pleasanton, this week, and will do so in Pleasanton again, this coming week, and there are plans for a party or two or three beyond that.  The main celebration will be here at St. Clement in July, and as I have said, more on that as we get nearer to it.  This anniversary really does matter to me.  I am delighted that it is being marked in so many ways.   

Especially after the sabbatical, which was a good deal more quiet and reflective than may have appeared in these reports, it is encouraging to be celebrating this anniversary.  Twenty years.  I stop, occasionally, as I did, especially while on the sabbatical, and I think about my years at the Dominican School at the GTU in Berkeley, about my years as youth minister in Marysville, about my years at the seminary, my summers leading pilgrimages in Europe, the encounter with my young people in Caracas, and then years later a very similar encounter with the young in Casablanca, I think about eleven years at Bishop O'Dowd, and maybe far more than folks might think, I reflect on my eleven years here at St. Clement, my beloved home, which has sustained me, in my work at the high school, in my work at San Gabriel Media, in everything that has happened in my life since I arrived here eleven years ago next month.  Especially, as I consider twenty years as a priest this spring, especially am I thinking of St. Clement.

I think of all that and more, much more (Pleasanton, anyone?  Fremont?  Brentwood?) and...I am a bit overwhelmed.  I am reminded of something I often said my first astonishing summer as a priest, 2006, in Pleasanton: "God could take me now," I said many times, that bright and joy-filled summer, "and I could only go home rejoicing; praising the Lord for having made me his priest."  

There is something of that early priestly joy at work in me this May, as we approach another summer, and I think back on twenty years of priestly ministry in the East Bay.  

I am this coming week wrapping up the semester at O'Dowd.  Friday the 22 is the last day of classes, and my students are not taking a final; they are doing a final project due the 22.  I will have grading to do after that, but for most intents and purposes, my summer vacation starts next Friday.  As I have said before, I am NOT panting to cross the finish line, this May.  I am still relaxed and rested from the sabbatical.  Very cool.

Finally, next Wednesday, May 20, marks the twentieth anniversary of my ordination.  I will be with dear friends in Brentwood that evening, celebrating.  But I have already celebrated this milestone anniversary with friends in Brentwood and Pleasanton, this week, and will do so in Pleasanton again, this coming week, and there are plans for a party or two or three beyond that.  The main celebration will be here at St. Clement in July, and as I have said, more on that as we get nearer to it.  This anniversary really does matter to me.  I am delighted that it is being marked in so many ways.   

Especially after the sabbatical, which was a good deal more quiet and reflective than may have appeared in these reports, it is encouraging to be celebrating this anniversary.  Twenty years.  I stop, occasionally, as I did, especially while on the sabbatical, and I think about my years at the Dominican School at the GTU in Berkeley, about my years as youth minister in Marysville, about my years at the seminary, my summers leading pilgrimages in Europe, the encounter with my young people in Caracas, and then years later a very similar encounter with the young in Casablanca, I think about eleven years at Bishop O'Dowd, and maybe far more than folks might think, I reflect on my eleven years here at St. Clement, my beloved home, which has sustained me, in my work at the high school, in my work at San Gabriel Media, in everything that has happened in my life since I arrived here eleven years ago next month.  Especially, as I consider twenty years as a priest this spring, especially am I thinking of St. Clement.

I think of all that and more, much more (Pleasanton, anyone?  Fremont?  Brentwood?) and...I am a bit overwhelmed.  I am reminded of something I often said my first astonishing summer as a priest, 2006, in Pleasanton: "God could take me now," I said many times, that bright and joy-filled summer, "and I could only go home rejoicing; praising the Lord for having made me his priest."  

There is something of that early priestly joy at work in me this May, as we approach another summer, and I think back on twenty years of priestly ministry in the East Bay.  

God be thanked.  God be praised.  

Ascension joy to you.  

Love,

Father Brawn

Sixth Sunday of Easter 2026 Homily: Knowing the Holy Spirit Within Us

Readings and Virtual Homily for Mass May 10, 2026, Sixth Sunday of Easter; Teens With (Robotic) Babies; Big Anniversary Coming Up

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Acts of the Apostles 8:5-8, 14-17

• Psalm 66:1-7, 16, 20

• 1 Peter 3:15-18

• John 14:15-21

Dear Friends and Family,

Today's readings point us toward the Holy Spirit, though another preacher might well find other themes among them, as well.  The Third Person of the Trinity is, in any event, the subject I have chosen for today's reflection; I only a few times a year really preach on the Spirit.  

The first reading from Acts of the Apostles describes the conversion of Samaria.  Samaria was the capital city of the Samaritans, who inhabited a central portion of the ancient land of Israel, and who on that account among others, had been despised by the Jews for centuries.  Jesus had told the disciples at his ascension that they would spread the Good News to the ends of the earth, starting with Judea and Samaria (Acts 1:8).  The Samaritans had a lot of religious beliefs in common with the Jews, including the belief in a Messiah.  

Today's passage tells us that Philip was the apostle who took the Good News to Samaria (vs. 5).  His preaching and the miracles worked through him resulted in a tremendous response from the people of the city, who received the Gospel with "great joy" (vs. 8).  Hearing of Philip's success, Peter and John traveled to Samaria, to pray with the Samaritans, asking God to send the Holy Spirit, for "it had not yet fallen upon any of them; they had only been baptized" (vs. 15).  The apostles subsequently "laid hands on them" and the Samaritans "received the Holy Spirit" (vs. 17).  

This passage is one of several in Acts where we have what might be called a proof text for the Sacrament of Confirmation.  The Samaritans had accepted the Good News; they had been baptized.  But receiving the Holy Spirit involved a second step, so to speak -- the prayers of the apostles and the laying on of hands, which of course prefigures the Confirmation Rite.  

Psalm 66 extols God's works with bright and joyful praise.  It is by the power of the Spirit that we recognize God's work in creation, in the spiritual realm, in salvation history, in our lives.  While the psalm makes no specific reference to the Spirit, the psalm's praises are powered by the Spirit (as, of course, is all of Scripture).

The second reading reminds us that Christ was "brought to life in the Spirit" following the crucifixion (vs. 18) and exhorts us to bear patiently with our own sufferings, in imitation of Jesus.

The Gospel passage continues the deep Trinitarian discourse of the fourteenth chapter of John, with Jesus promising that the Father will send the "Advocate to be with you always, the Spirit of truth" (vss. 16-17).  Jesus tells the disciples that they will know the Spirit, "because it remains with you and will be in you" (vs. 17).  

People often tell me that they feel that they do not know the Spirit.  They know the Father, they might say, they know Jesus, they almost always say, but the Spirit...Jesus gives us a hint in today's Gospel passage as to why it might be that we feel we do not know the Spirit.  The Spirit is IN us.  Not outside, but in.  

Of course, that is taking a short-cut to try to make a vital point.  The Spirit is knowable from outside sources as well -- as today's psalm testifies.  We can recognize the Spirit in creation, in nature, in the good works of others, and in a variety of other ways, but...

The Spirit dwells within us.  Our discipleship itself is lived in, through, with and by the Spirit and the association is so intimate that we might not even be aware of it, most of the time.  The analogy I like -- and which I know I have used before in these written homilies -- is that of the eyes.  It is BY our eyes, THROUGH our eyes, WITH our eyes, that we see everything.  But we cannot see our eyes.  

One way to get a more than passing acquaintance with the Holy Spirit is to go to the Catechism and study the long list of entries which follows The Holy Spirit in the index.  "Source and Master of Prayer," for instance.  "The Lord, the Giver of life," for instance.  "The Living Memory of the Church," for instance.  The list literally goes on and on.  And simply reading these entries, many of them titles, gives us deep insights into Who the Holy Spirit is and how the Spirit is at work in creation, in the work of salvation, in the prayer, the ministries, the Sacraments of the Church and in our lives.

In any event, we know the Holy Spirit better than we might be inclined to think.  

As I think I have explained (though it would have been over a year ago) the high school shifted my classroom responsibilities last academic year to include an upper division course -- of all things, Marriage and Family.  (For my first ten years at O'Dowd I taught the sophomores in "the Jesus class:" Christian Scriptures, as would seem appropriate for the priest on the faculty.)  Last spring was my first outing with an upper division class.

I am teaching three sections of Marriage and Family this spring and right after Easter Break we got rolling with "the babies."  That is, one-thousand dollar apiece robots that simulate infant behavior -- "crying" when they want to be fed, burped, rocked or have their diaper changed.  Students sign up to take custody of a "baby" for 24 hours.  

This exercise in masochism is entirely optional.  The babies satisfy the "beyond the classroom" requirement for the course, but the teens might opt instead for reading love letters of historically significant people (i.e., Abigail Adams, Benjamin Disraeli, Winston Churchill).  They might watch any three movies about family life from a list of over thirty, comparing and contrasting the films in terms of their presentation of family challenges, struggles and values.  You get the idea.  We have some dandy "beyond the classroom" assignments that fulfill this requirement and yet...

Over eighty per cent of the 100+ students taking Marriage and Family this semester have opted for the experience of having an infant for 24 hours.  It is, frankly, a lot of fun, watching my teens navigate the demands made by these little monsters -- oh!, I mean, of course, by these precious (and pricey) little machines.  One of my favorite students, Marianna, is a case in point.  I taught Marianna as a sophomore and have her now again as a senior; her mom is a counselor here and a friend of mine.  Marianna is responsible, good-natured and easy going.  She came into class with her robotic infant one day two weeks ago, having had the baby overnight, and saying, "I HATE this thing!  It woke me up four times last night!"

"I warned you, Marianna," I said, grinning.  

Listening to Marianna's adventures in parenting, how the baby made demands and how carefully and deliberately she attempted to respond, I guessed that, in fact, Marianna had done very well, with the assignment.  And indeed, when later that day she with a perhaps exaggerated sigh of relief handed the robot back to us, and we printed out the automatically generated report, she had scored a 92.  

"You're gonna be a great Mom," I assured Marianna.

Marianna rolled her eyes skyward and assured me, "Not for another fifteen years, I'm not!"

Finally, I mark an anniversary that is dear to me, every May 20, but this year the date recommends general celebration: I was ordained in 2006.  This May 20 is my twentieth anniversary as a priest.

For the first seven years after my ordination I celebrated annually on or near the date at my original parish in Pleasanton -- usually a late morning brunch following Mass.  The parties were held at the homes of close friends in Pleasanton, and generally lasted the time that a leisurely brunch requires.

After the move to Brentwood, it was harder to coordinate these affairs, and it was not until my tenth anniversary in 2016 that I celebrated again, with parties not just in Pleasanton, but in Fremont, Brentwood, Sacramento and Marysville.  I remember that weekends in May and June of 2016 felt like an almost continuous set of parties.

I have several celebrations lined up later this month and into June, but they are all private parties; I am not "making the circuit of the parishes" for my twentieth.  St. Clement, though, is planning a Mass and reception to mark the milestone, on Sunday, July 26.  I'll send more details later, in the event that any of you would like to attend.

I think that'll do it.  Hope your Easter season is proving bright and joyous.  Take good care and God Bless.

Love, 

Fr. Brawn

Fifth Sunday of Easter Homily (May 3): “I Go to Prepare a Place for You”

Readings and Virtual Homily for May 3, Fifth Sunday of Easter; The Hills Are Still Green; Sister Act at O'Dowd; Countdown to Summer

Readings for Mass this weekend: 

• Acts of the Apostles 6:1-7

• Psalm 33:1-2, 4-5, 18-19

• 1 Peter 2:4-9

• John 14:1-12

Dear Friends and Family,

Unable to identify any clearly identifying unitive factor among this Sunday's readings, I am going to do what I sometimes do, in these written homilies.  Take each reading by itself.  And then, with the Gospel passage, expand a bit, as it is one of my favorites from the Gospel of John.

The reading from Acts of the Apostles tells us of the creation of the office of deacon in the infant Church.  This was a milestone moment in terms of the organization of the early Church.  The apostles made clear that their ministry was about prayer and preaching (vs. 2); they needed help, basically, with aspects of administration, and the office of deacon was created precisely for that purpose.  

The ministry of the apostles, freed from certain oversight tasks, thus acquired a more priestly character; priests (and priestesses) in any religion being primarily occupied with making intercession for the people.  The word "presbyter" (which can be translated as elder, but from which we also derive the title priest) now came into use -- leaders of the community who were neither apostles nor deacons, came to be referred to as such.  In time, by which I mean, no more than a few decades, a formal distinction was made between apostle and presbyter; the word episcopus came to denote the office of the leader, or apostle, of a local congregation, the bishop.  A great deal more might be said here about these distinctions and divisions of ministry in the formational decades of the early Church.  But that is not the focus of this homily.

The psalm, that is the verses from Psalm 33 that are included in today's readings, largely extols the mercy of God and encourages trust in that mercy.

The second reading recaps Psalm 118 in that it speaks of a stone, "a living stone rejected by human beings but chosen and precious in the sight of God" (vs. 4).  Psalm 118, which was read at Mass on both Easter Sunday and the Second Sunday of Easter, predicts that "the stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone" (Ps. 118, vs. 22) 

The reading from First Peter goes on to assure the early Church's largely Gentile converts that their election was foreseen from of old, and that they constitute "a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people of his own...called...out of darkness into his wonderful light" (vs. 9).  These verses apply to all the Gentile converts for all time -- that is, they describe us. 

Then there is John 14.  When I am doing a funeral, if the family leaves the selection of the Gospel passage to me, this is the passage I typically choose.  I select it because of what it tells us about the reality to be experienced by our loved ones who have passed.  I stress the future tense here -- to be experienced -- because it is just realistic to assume a stop-off in Purgatory for most of us, on the way to the banquet.  I've reserved a suite there, myself...

Chapter 14 in John is part of John's five-chapter description of the Last Supper, far and away the most detailed description we have of the event.  Being Jesus' last night on earth, he naturally is talking with his closest disciples about the Big Things.  The Holy Spirit.  The Trinity.  The absolute necessity of service to others.  And so on.  One of the things Jesus addresses is the afterlife.

"In my Father's house there are many dwelling places," Jesus says, adding that "I am going to prepare a place for you" (vs. 2).

Jesus is not speaking metaphorically here.  When he says I go to prepare a place for you, he means exactly that.  Heaven is a physical place.  It has physical attributes that will remind us of earth.  A carpenter by training, Jesus knows how to "prepare a place."  He also knows the deepest longings of every human heart.  And he has the power to fulfill those desires -- and go beyond them.  As St. Paul says it has not entered the mind of man what God has in store for those who love him (1 Corinthians 2:9).

Other translations of John 14 specify that in the house of the Father there are "many mansions".  Whether our place in eternity would qualify in earthly terms as a mansion is unknowable from our present vantage point, but it is also irrelevant, because that place, designed by Jesus himself, will precisely fit our deepest desires -- and expand upon them.  

What I say at funerals is that the deceased had special places on earth; favorite places on earth.  We all do.  We all have places where, when we arrive, we say to ourselves, "I don't know why I don't come here more often," or maybe, "When I am here I feel as if I could stay forever."  These places are signposts along our earthly journey; they are echoes (pre-echoes is a better term, if it does not flat-out contradict itself) here in time and space of the place that Jesus is preparing for us in eternity.  

When I think of my favorite places here on earth, I am left to conclude that the place Jesus is preparing for me will look a lot like California, like the Portuguese islands of the Atlantic, like the coast of Morocco from Tangier to Casablanca.  That is, seaside, sunny, subtropical, but with arid influences, nothing humid, nothing wet and sticky.  As to the "dwelling place" or "mansion" itself -- it can be a tiny home, as far as I am concerned, as long as I one day inherit it!

On the subject of beautiful places, the Hayward hills are qualifying as such as we head into May.  All those April showers prolonged by more than a month the green in the hills, though of course already by the end of our bone-dry March the vibrance of the green had begun to fade.  And there are stretches of summer-gold in the midst of the lingering green.  But I was really happy to see the green endure the way it has, this past wet month.  On a purely practical level it delays the fire season, but aesthetically, too, it is gratifying to look out my windows on spring green slopes.  

Of course I love Hayward's hills anytime of year, and the same goes for those along 580 into the Tri-Valley.  I was with a member of the old Marysville Youth Group one evening last week, and we drove from the rectory over to Pleasanton for dinner.  Miguel (the former youth grouper, now in his early forties!) commented on how pretty the green hills were.  He lives in San Diego now, where the window for green hills each winter is substantially shorter than it is here.  But as I say, the East Bay hills are beautiful when they are that summer yellow-gold as well.  I will not be surprised if, when I get there, the place Jesus has prepared for me has a view out over such hills.

It being the start of May, the Drama Department at O'Dowd is presenting its spring musical.  This year the production is SISTER ACT.  I did not realize it had been adapted for the stage.  I remember both films (from the early-mid '90s) well -- I went to see them with my Oakland nieces.  I am seeing the show opening night (Friday) but am writing this earlier in the week, so cannot give a "review."  I bet I'll give it a rave, next e-mail!  Our teen thespians never fail to amaze me with their talent and their dedication.

And of course, when the spring musical is in production, it means we have really hit the lower slope of the downhill run of the academic year.  There are fifteen school days 'til the last day of classes.  (Who's counting?  ALL of my colleagues and myself.)  I can say, though, that this May I am not dragging myself panting toward the finish line.  The reason is that I only worked half the academic year.  I am still feeling the effect of the rest of the sabbatical; and I am still just really glad to be back on campus, after seven months away.  

That said, I'll take ten weeks off for the summer.  Take them happily.

Gonna wrap it there.  

Take good care.  God bless.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

Fourth Sunday of Easter Reflection: The Good Shepherd and Our Call to Serve

May Schedule; Readings for Mass April 26, Fourth Sunday of Easter; Virtual Homily; An O'Dowd Tragedy

Readings for Mass this Sunday:

• Acts 2:14, 36-41

• Psalm 23:1-6

• 1 Peter 2:20-25

• John 10:1-10

Dear and Friends and Family,

The Fourth Sunday of Easter has been officially designated by the Church as "World Day of Prayer for Vocations," which makes eminent sense given the "Good Shepherd" theme of today's readings.  A brief overview of each of the readings follows, and then a more general reflection on this business of vocations to priesthood and religious life.

The reading from chapter two of Acts includes a recommendation from Peter in his speech to the crowd which had gathered that first Pentecost morning.  This recommendation is that the crowd

"Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of sins; and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.  For the promise is made to you and to your children and to all those far off, whomever the Lord will call" (vss. 38-39).

Peter himself, of course, has only just received the gift of the Holy Spirit, or at any event, received the gift in power.  The power of that gift -- evident in the preaching not just of Peter but of many of the disciples -- is underscored in the fact of three thousand converts made that day; the birth of the Church (vs. 41).

Psalm 23, of course, is considered THE psalm about the good shepherd.  "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," may be one of the most famous lines from all 150 psalms (vs. 1).  The psalm, of course, goes on to detail the psalmist's abiding trust in the Lord, using pastoral imagery appropriate to the description of a shepherd (vss. 2-3).  The psalm is often read (or sung) at funerals, for its assurances that with this shepherd, the soul is safe (vss. 3-4, in particular).  

The passage from the First Letter of Peter also uses shepherd imagery, in describing Christ: "...you had gone astray like sheep, but you have now returned to the shepherd and guardian of your souls" (vs. 25).  Peter actually paraphrases Isaiah 53 in this passage -- "By his wounds you have been healed" (vs. 24) appears to be a direct and deliberate lift from that famous chapter in Isaiah.  Chapter 53 describes the Passion of the Lord in striking detail.  

Peter admonishes his readers to see in Christ's patient suffering our own model; assuring us that "if you are patient when you suffer for doing good, this is a grace before God" (vs. 20).  The invitation is to follow the example of Christ and so win grace for the salvation of souls; the invitation is to use suffering for a meritorious purpose.  This invitation gets at the business of redemptive suffering; too much to delve into in this homily, but Peter here reminds us that nothing need be wasted -- including our setbacks, hurts, disappointments, injuries, illnesses; anything we might suffer we can turn to a very lofty purpose.  Jesus is our model.

The Gospel passage is the Good Shepherd discourse from John.  Jesus calls himself the Good Shepherd here and distinguishes a good shepherd, a true shepherd, from a mere hired laborer.  The sheep follow because they recognize the shepherd's voice; they trust the good, the true shepherd.  The Good Shepherd seeks the safety and the salvation of the flock; he desires that the flock might "have life and have it more abundantly" (vs. 10).  In verse eleven, just beyond today's passage, Jesus assures us that, "I am the good shepherd.  A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep."

From which point it is a fairly straightforward segue to a consideration of vocations to priesthood and religious life; to the formation of shepherds for the flock in our day.  It goes without saying that the Church in the West has seen a real drop in the number of vocations for over half a century; since shortly after the close of the Second Vatican Council.  (It may be more accurate to say a drop of vocations in Europe and North America, since Latin America has not had the same experience.)  

As someone who has worked with the young for over thirty years, and who has seen real possibilities for priestly or religious commitment, now and again, among the young people I have ministered to, I think I can identify at least a few of the reasons for this fall-off in vocations.  The reasons I am thinking of are deeply rooted in contemporary Western culture; they are going to persist for some time to come.  Despite these realities I honestly feel that the vocation shortage is temporary.  Long-term, true, but temporary.  

I think the pendulum can only swing so far in one direction before it begins to swing back in the other.  I have said for years that I think God intends to raise up a great number of faithful Christians and even saints among the younger generation (I am now, actually, talking about two younger generations).  And perhaps we are starting to see something of this in the recent news reports about a revival of religious interest (or maybe I should say, interest in religion; not just spirituality, but organized religion) among Millennials and Gen Z-ers.  

And, of course, there is no shortage of vocations in the developing world.  The former missionary territories are now sending priests and religious to Europe and especially to North America.  There are cultural and other issues involved with this new reality, but on the whole I think we can trust the movement of the Spirit here -- the Church is universal.  Differences in approach and practice should, in an ideal context, lead to a broadening of perspectives on both sides.

Finally, I do not want to leave this set of considerations without observing that, necessity being the mother of invention, perhaps the current priest shortage in the West is connected to future developments in the way the Church ministers overall; developments including but not limited to a greater empowerment of the laity.  

In any event, Jesus tells us that our "job," with regard to vocations, is to pray.  "The harvest is great, the laborers few" (Matthew 9:37-38).  Among other things, we need laborers in that part of the vineyard inhabited by youth.  It is there that vocations are inspired.  

On the subject of youthful inspiration and commitment, I've been reminded of just how radical, how life-transformative a dynamic this can be, the past few weeks, learning of the death -- in what I can only call heroic circumstances -- of one of my former students at O'Dowd.

The student's name is Joe Bank.  Joe was a student I would call a favorite, except of course, that faculty are not supposed to have favorites.  In any event, Joe himself several times assured me, and his dad reiterated it in the e-mail he sent, alerting me to Joe's death, that I was Joe's favorite teacher.  Joe had a bright, at times mischievous, smile; sharp intelligence and a laser-like wit.  But above all Joe had a generous and compassionate heart.  He was loved by fellow students and faculty alike.  Joe was a member of the Class of 2022, a class with which I had a particularly deep bond, because they were ripped away from me two thirds of the way through their sophomore year, owing to COVID.  I did not see most of them again until the start of their senior year.

Joe was a senior in February, 2022, when Russia invaded Ukraine.  His parents to this day cannot find adequate words to describe how the invasion affected Joe; it became his primary focus that spring.  He found it impossible to ignore or even compartmentalize the evil of the invasion.  He volunteered that spring for a non-profit that was helping Ukrainian refugees.  Joe's family is not Ukrainian and until he went to work for the non-profit, Joe knew no one from the country.  

The summer after his graduation, Joe went to work for an NGO -- in Kyiv.  The NGO, again, was focused on assisting Ukrainian refugees.  Joe did not speak Ukrainian at the start of his time in Kyiv.  But he learned the language rapidly and well; he was more or less fluent by Christmas of that year.  After a trip home at the holidays that year Joe enlisted in the Ukrainian military as a drone pilot. Fighting for Ukrainian freedom would be the sole focus and purpose of his life for the next three-plus years.  

Joe came home once or twice a year.  His folks tell me they often recommended that he get in touch with me, on his visits home, and I can only say that I wish he had.  His dad speculated that Joe did not reach out to me because he was afraid I would not approve of his decision, given, after all, that the very nature of his position involved violence and death.  

This past March 6, Joe and a member of his unit were near the front lines when a Russian drone struck their vehicle.  They both survived the attack, almost unscathed.  But when Joe went back to the burning vehicle to grab his weapon a second explosion demolished the vehicle, killing Joe instantly.  He was a month short of his twenty-second birthday.  His buddy got safely back behind Ukrainian lines.  

Although I did a funeral on campus for an O'Dowd grad, in the winter of 2017, I had not known that student.  He had been a junior when I arrived at the high school, and at the time I only taught sophomores.  So I have experienced once before the death of a student who was at O'Dowd during my time here.  But Joe is the first of the students I taught, the first of the students I knew, to die, and I am still in shock almost to the point of disbelief about it.  

The celebration of life held in Oakland last Saturday was overflowing with mourners -- in his short life Joe touched a lot of hearts.  His parents told me that his colleagues in Kyiv had also held a memorial service for him.  It was also hugely attended and it was live-streamed, so that his family and friends in America could watch.  

Death is not something that much crosses the territory when you work at a high school.  It is widely, simply and understandably assumed by my colleagues and I that the teens we meet in the classroom, pass in the halls, joke and laugh with in the sunshine on the quad, have decades of life ahead; will be here engaged and challenged by their lives long after the middle of the century has passed.  As I say, Joe's death has left me almost numb.  It seems that it cannot be that he no longer walks, talks, fights, hopes, laughs, dreams, loves...among us.

His parents are Mike and Sara.  Joe was their only child.  If you think of it now and again, please say a prayer for them.

Take good care.  God bless.

Love,

Fr. Brawn

May Schedule (All Masses English):

Saturday, May 2

5 PM 

Sunday, May 3

8 AM, 630 PM

CATHOLIC COMMUNITY OF PLEASANTON

11 AM

Sunday, May 10

8 AM, 1115 AM

Saturday, May 16

5 PM

Sunday, May 17

630 PM

Sunday, May 24

8 AM, 1115 AM

Sunday, May 31

630 PM

Weekday Masses (All English, 8 AM)

Sat May 2

Mon May 4

Sat, May 9

Mon, May 11

Sat, May 16

Mon, May 18

Sat, May 23

Mon, May 25

Sat, May 30

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