Fr Kevin Kilgore

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Gospel: John 3: 13-17

Jesus said to Nicodemus:
“No one has gone up to heaven
except the one who has come down from heaven, the Son of Man.
And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert,
so must the Son of Man be lifted up,
so that everyone who believes in him may have eternal life.”

For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,
so that everyone who believes in him might not perish
but might have eternal life.
For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world,
but that the world might be saved through him.

The Gospel of the Lord.

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In August 2021, two-hundred children began gathering with their families at the Immaculate Conception Parish in Haiti. All of the little ones were dressed in white, preparing to celebrate their baptism.

Thirty minutes before the ceremony was set to begin, the ground beneath them started shaking. Suddenly the roof collapsed, crushing twenty-three people, including a two-year-old child in her mother’s arms.

Somehow the mother survived.

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When I first heard the story, I let out a loud, guttural cry, asking, “Why God? Why would you let this happen? Is life not already difficult enough for them?”

I shared my troubled heart with a fellow priest that day, who said to me simply:

“At 3 pm on a Friday afternoon, an innocent man was nailed to a cross. We believe that man was also the Son of God. Three days later, he was raised from the dead.”

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The fact that Jesus was raised from the dead does not explain why evil exists in this world – nor does it make it okay for a church roof to collapse. 

But it does tell us something about who God is.

Mysteriously, God permits evil to operate in this world, whether man-made or erupting from the natural world itself. 

But only for a time. 

Perhaps to give us a chance to fight against it, to choose which side we are on, while also longing for a better world to come. 

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Elsewhere in the Gospels, Jesus likens death to a “thief in the night.” It’s in the very nature of a thief to come without warning, stealing what is not its own. 

Are we not reminded of this thinking of those poor children prematurely stolen from their families?

But on this Feast of the Exultation of the Holy Cross, we can stand in defiance of death, saying that there is at least one precious thing which death cannot take from us – not without our permission.

Our faith.

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While we may have many unanswered questions about good and evil, life and death, or why a church roof collapsed, today is an opportunity for us to reaffirm our core beliefs.

That life is not only a gift, but also a mystery.

That this world was created by a God who is good. 

That this same God lived among his creation, that he suffered and died like us, and that he was victoriously raised from the dead.

That this same God has made a way for us all to live again, even if that comes through an unceremonious, sudden, and terribly tragic earthquake.

For nothing – not even death – can separate us from the love and life of Christ… not without our permission.

Christ Crucified, pray for us.

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Image credits: (1) Christ Crucified, Francisco Goya (2) National Geographic (3) Believersbibleschool..com

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Gospel: Matthew 18: 21-35

Peter approached Jesus and asked him,
“Lord, if my brother sins against me,
how often must I forgive?
As many as seven times?” 
Jesus answered, “I say to you, not seven times but seventy-seven times. 
That is why the kingdom of heaven may be likened to a king
who decided to settle accounts with his servants. 
When he began the accounting,
a debtor was brought before him who owed him a huge amount. 
Since he had no way of paying it back,
his master ordered him to be sold,
along with his wife, his children, and all his property,
in payment of the debt. 
At that, the servant fell down, did him homage, and said,
‘Be patient with me, and I will pay you back in full.’
Moved with compassion the master of that servant
let him go and forgave him the loan. 
When that servant had left, he found one of his fellow servants
who owed him a much smaller amount. 
He seized him and started to choke him, demanding,
‘Pay back what you owe.’
Falling to his knees, his fellow servant begged him,
‘Be patient with me, and I will pay you back.’
But he refused. 
Instead, he had the fellow servant put in prison
until he paid back the debt. 
Now when his fellow servants saw what had happened,
they were deeply disturbed, and went to their master
and reported the whole affair. 
His master summoned him and said to him, ‘You wicked servant! 
I forgave you your entire debt because you begged me to. 
Should you not have had pity on your fellow servant,
as I had pity on you?’
Then in anger his master handed him over to the torturers
until he should pay back the whole debt. 
So will my heavenly Father do to you,
unless each of you forgives your brother from your heart.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

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On Friday morning, my alarm went off just before 5 am. I had to get up, throw on a baseball cap, and make a quick brew of coffee. Friends were picking me up a few minutes later to go to the 9/11 memorial service in lower Manhattan.

One of them lost her brother that day.

As people often say in reference to 9/11, “Never forget.” 

How can we?

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When tragedies like 9/11 happen, or other senseless acts of violence like the random stabbing of a mother in Times Square who just returned to work from maternity leave, or the assassination of Charlie Kirk, a young man speaking on a college campus, we often turn to God. 

Some blame him for allowing these things to happen. Others begin to long more ardently for heaven, a place of permanent peace without guns, knives, or planes used as missiles.

But many also turn to God, recognizing just how difficult – yet important – forgiveness is.

As Peter asks Jesus in today’s Gospel, “Lord, if my neighbor sins against me, how often must I forgive? … As many as seven times?”

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I imagine the other disciples were biting their tongues, holding their breath, and anxiously shuffling their feet, waiting, hoping that Jesus would bless Peter for thinking so generously, but then gently correct him.

Saying something like, “No, Pete. Once is enough. Twice is generous. But no more than three times.”

After all, that’s hard enough.

But the Lord takes what Peter thought was a heartily generous idea and reduces it to the size of a pea. “Not seven, but seventy-seven times.” 

That’s a lot of sinning and a lot of forgiving before a relationship goes kaput.

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But what, exactly, is forgiveness?

A lot of things pass for it, like letting someone off the hook, dismissing an offense by saying something nice, or hiding our true feelings to preserve the peace.

But often beneath the surface, we’re just dismissing the other person, slowly imposing distance between us until there’s nothing left.

What the Lord is asking us to do instead is to throw away the calculator. To stop adding and subtracting how many times we were right or wrong, because forgiveness is not an equation; it’s a permanent disposition of the heart. 

It’s the way God always looks upon us. Thankfully, the Lord does not tally up our sins or require that we pay him back in full. 

Rather, he casts our debt aside – much like the king did to his servant in today’s Gospel parable – so that we might have a relationship with him. But God also instructs us to extend that same courtesy to others.

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Such an idea haunted me while standing in lower Manhattan, surrounded by people like my own friend who lost her brother. Others lost a parent, a spouse, or worse, a child.

We stood and prayed. We laid flowers. We recited their names. We remembered.

It’s what we do when tragedies like 9/11 happen. 

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But to speak of forgiveness is risky business. Jesus had to know how impossible it feels for the human heart to overcome such deeply seeded hurts.

Or, frankly how hard it’d be to do anything on his moral checklist: “Love your enemies. Do good to those who hate you. Bless those who persecute you. Pray for those who mistreat you.”

Some might call such ideals ridiculous. 

Many of us know what it feels like to have a heart seething with anger, hardened by the desire for revenge, or the stubbornness of refusing to forgive someone. 

But bearing such negativity does nothing to improve our own health, our outlook on life, or our overall sense of peace; rather, it only makes it worse, like pouring salt into an open wound.

At the very least, we can conclude that doing the opposite of what Christ teaches us – hating our enemies instead of loving, praying for, or forgiving them – never leaves us fulfilled. 

Just ask anyone who bears hatred in their heart how happy they really are.

It’s a humbling truth to accept, but Jesus is right. Following the path of love is the only way to find authentic peace and a lasting share of human happiness. 

The last person to speak publicly at the 9/11 Memorial service also reminded us of that.

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Humble us, O LORD. 

Do for us what we cannot do ourselves. Allow your peace to reign in our hearts, too often broken by tragedy.

Help us to forgive others as you have forgiven us, not seven but seventy-seven times.

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Image credits: (1) WEAU (2) Family Foundations Institute (3) Revive Our Hearts

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Gospel: Luke 6:39-42

Jesus told his disciples a parable:
“Can a blind person guide a blind person?
Will not both fall into a pit?
No disciple is superior to the teacher;
but when fully trained,
every disciple will be like his teacher.
Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye,
but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own?
How can you say to your brother,
‘Brother, let me remove that splinter in your eye,’
when you do not even notice the wooden beam in your own eye?
You hypocrite!  Remove the wooden beam from your eye first;
then you will see clearly
to remove the splinter in your brother’s eye.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

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Four monks took a vow of silence.

One day, while they were walking together down a dusty road, one of them stubbed his toe against a rock and cried out, “OUCH!”

A second monk turned to him and said, “You fool! You just broke your vow of silence!”

Another turned to him and said, “Now you’re the fool! You just broke your vow of silence by telling him that he broke his!”

The fourth monk stopped, smiled, and said aloud, “I’m the only one who didn’t.”

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Jesus uses the same type of humor in today’s Gospel by poking fun at our pride. “Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own?” he says.

Sight is a curious thing. 

Eyes allow us to appreciate the beauty of God’s creation – the glow of sunrise, the twinkle of the stars at night, the blue of water, the face of our beloved. But it can also be misused to judge and criticize the imperfections of other people without noticing our own.

This is the irony of the eye. 

It cannot see itself. Nor can it look inward. Eyes can only look outward, allowing us to see one of two possibilities: beauty or imperfection. 

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No one is perfect.

“All have sinned and have fallen short of the glory of God,” Saint Paul says. Meaning, sometimes it is right and necessary to correct a friend, a neighbor, or a colleague who has done wrong.

But before criticizing someone else, the Lord commands us to take a hard look within, making sure that we are not guilty of the same offense – or a greater one – lest we be hypocrites.

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Think of the four monks. 

They all broke their vow, while judging others for doing the same. Jesus might ask them the what he asks us today, “Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own?”

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Image credit: (1) Crosswalk.com (2) The Parable of the Mote and Beam, Domenico Fetti (3) Cerebral Faith