Fr Kevin Kilgore

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Gospel: Luke 14:25-33

Great crowds were traveling with Jesus,
and he turned and addressed them,
“If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, 
wife and children, brothers and sisters,
and even his own life,
he cannot be my disciple.
Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me
cannot be my disciple.
Which of you wishing to construct a tower
does not first sit down and calculate the cost
to see if there is enough for its completion? 
Otherwise, after laying the foundation
and finding himself unable to finish the work
the onlookers should laugh at him and say,
‘This one began to build but did not have the resources to finish.’ 
Or what king marching into battle would not first sit down
and decide whether with ten thousand troops
he can successfully oppose another king
advancing upon him with twenty thousand troops? 
But if not, while he is still far away,
he will send a delegation to ask for peace terms. 
In the same way,
everyone of you who does not renounce all his possessions
cannot be my disciple.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

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In the ancient world, the verb “hate” simply meant to “choose” one thing over another.

For example, I could say, “I love the summer and hate the winter.” While it’s possible to enjoy both seasons, I am simply stating my preference for warm weather over cold weather.

When the Lord tells us to “hate” our families, friends, and even ourselves, he is not being literal; rather, he is insisting that we choose him over everything else.

This Gospel passage is all about priorities.

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Think about what it meant for Jesus, who gave this command shortly before his entrance into Jerusalem, where he knew he would be crucified.

To “hate” his mother, his disciples, and even his own life meant choosing the cross over his love and concern for Mary; over his affection for his disciples; over the enjoyment of his ministry; and over the natural human desire to avoid pain and suffering.

His Father’s will always came first, even when it meant accepting a hefty amount of suffering. 

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Today we face the same challenge, to put God first, albeit in a far more subtle way. It’s possible for us to have God as a very high priority in our life – as high as second place – while still valuing something or someone else.

Very simply, do we choose Jesus on Sunday mornings, or does something else take priority?

Do we consistently choose the path of forgiveness, instead of resentment?

Do we choose to surrender our lives to God, instead of trying to author it ourselves?

Do we choose to praise God in times of sorrow and difficulty, instead of giving into doubt, even despair?

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“If anyone comes to me without hating his father and mother, wife and children, brothers and sisters, and even his own life, he cannot be my disciple.”

The Lord must come first.

It’s not merely a noble idea.

Choosing him is the only way to follow him, lest other things get in the way.

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Image credits: (1) Facebook (2) Faithful Canvas (3) Perfectinchrist, Daily Devotional

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Gospel: Matthew 22:34-40

When the Pharisees heard that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees,
they gathered together, and one of them,
a scholar of the law, tested him by asking,
“Teacher, which commandment in the law is the greatest?”
He said to him,
“You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart,
with all your soul, and with all your mind.
This is the greatest and the first commandment.
The second is like it:
You shall love your neighbor as yourself.
The whole Law and the Prophets depend on these two commandments.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

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Saint Martin de Porres, whose feast day we celebrate today, was known for his overwhelming sense of compassion – perhaps a byproduct of the pain and discrimination he experienced as a child.

Born in 16^th century Peru, Martin was the illegitimate son of a Spanish nobleman and a freed African slave. Raised in poverty after his father abandoned his family, Martin faced unrelenting discrimination for being poor and bi-racial.

But his life was forever changed when, at the age of 24, the prior of the local Dominican monastery allowed Martin to enter, taking vows of poverty, chastity, obedience, and prayer.

He was never ordained a priest, but Martin spent the rest of his life as a religious brother, serving in the infirmary, caring for the sick and the dying. He also founded an orphanage and hospital for abandoned children.

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Vignettes describing Martin’s compassion can still speak to us today. 

For example, when an epidemic broke out around him, and the other monks quarantined themselves in their cells out of fear of becoming ill, Martin went out into the streets and brought the sick and homeless into the infirmary.

He even carried a beggar covered in sores into his room, offering the man his bed. 

Martin slept on the floor.

When asked why he was bringing germs into the monastery, Martin replied, “Compassion, my dear friend, is preferable to cleanliness.”

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While we may not find ourselves in Martin’s position, we can all embody his mantra, “compassion is preferable to cleanliness,” in some form.

Generosity is preferable to greed; selflessness is preferable to selfishness; love is preferrable to hatred; and action is preferable to indifference.

May we find some way to be compassionate towards a neighbor today. 

Saint Martin de Porres, pray for us.

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Image credits: (1) Pinterest (2) shinzoo.com (3) anastpaul.com

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Gospel: John 6:37-40

Jesus said to the crowds:
“Everything that the Father gives me will come to me,
and I will not reject anyone who comes to me,
because I came down from heaven not to do my own will
but the will of the one who sent me.
And this is the will of the one who sent me,
that I should not lose anything of what he gave me,
but that I should raise it on the last day.
For this is the will of my Father,
that everyone who sees the Son and believes in him
may have eternal life,
and I shall raise him on the last day.”

The Gospel of the Lord.

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After the death of his wife, CS Lewis, a renowned Christian author, wrote, “Her absence was like the sky, spread over everything.”

Grief is something we’ve all experienced; it’s part of what brings us here tonight. The loss of a loved one – a parent, a spouse, a friend, even a child – can feel like the sky, spread over everything.

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Jesus himself likened death to a thief that comes in the night. It’s in the nature of a thief to steal, taking what does not belong to itself.

Still, we gather in defiance of death to say that there are a few precious things which death cannot take from us. Not without our permission.

Death cannot steal our faith in God. Not without our permission.

Death cannot steal our memories of our loved ones. Not unless we choose to forget.

And death cannot extinguish the flame of hope burning within us. Not unless we smother it. Rather, we are here to add oil to our lamps, to keep that precious flame burning bright.

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For some of us, it has been a year or more… for others, only a handful of days. But grief does not hit us all at once; it comes in stages.

There’s the first Thanksgiving. The first snowfall. The first Christmas. The first phone call that goes to voicemail. The empty chair at the table.

Weeks or months go by, and a letter arrives in the mail with their name on it. Suddenly, you pick up their scent in the house – an old t-shirt you found in the closet; or their pillow you still snuggle with at night.

Maybe you hear them walk down the hallway; see an old picture; remember the warmth of their hugs; or the sound of their laugh, a unique burst of joy flowing freely from their soul. 

At first these memories can bring tears to our eyes as we fall back into days gone by, wishing they were still here. 

But over time, that sadness can be transformed into the realization that death is not the end; rather, it is the beginning of something new – and beautiful.

Pope Benedict XVI said Christians can experience a “consoled sadness.” Yes, we grieve deeply because we loved deeply. Yet we also continue to believe – in defiance of death – that Christ is alive again.

And because of him, we shall live, as well.

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Tonight, as we pray for all souls who’ve gone before us, we remember in particular our loved ones. Their names will be spoken as a family member, friend, or member of our Lazarus Ministry brings forward a candle, placing it in front of the altar.

That candle not only symbolizes the life of our loved one; it also reminds us of the light and warmth they brought into our lives.

The candle’s wax represents our humanity, created from the elements of the earth. Tangible; vulnerable; fleeting.

The wick represents our soul united with Christ. 

As that wick burns bright, its flickering flame reaches towards the heavens – pointing us to where our eternal homeland is – the kingdom of God.

Meanwhile, the wax slowly burns away, reminding us, “He must increase, and I must decrease.”

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Tonight you may find precious memories suddenly come rushing in. Welcome them. Embrace them. Allow them to let you smile, even laugh. Laughter is not only a healing balm; it can also be an act of faith.

Many years ago, when a priest preached his Easter sermon, he was expected to tell a joke, even if it had nothing to do with Jesus, Easter, or religion.

The goal was simple: to make people laugh so hard they shook the walls of the church. 

After enduring the horror of Good Friday, when Jesus was crucified, died, and was buried, Christians gathered together on Easter to celebrate the glorious joy of Christ’s resurrection – and with that, their belief that death was no longer definitive.

In the words of Saint Paul, “Where, O death, is your victory? Where, O death, is your sting?” 

We will have our own chance to make the walls of this church tremor with love when we gather after Mass to share memories of our loved ones over coffee.

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“Her absence was like the sky, spread over everything,” CS Lewis wrote after the death of his wife. 

But through the winding valley of grief, he learned that something new, even something beautiful, could be revealed at every turn.

May the Lord reveal himself to us in this bend of our journey, revealing a deeper understanding of the marvelous truth that all souls shall rest comfortably in the arms of Christ.

Eternal rest grant unto them, O LORD, and let perpetual light shine upon them. 

May they rest in peace. 

May their souls and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.

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Image credits: (1) sanctifycyrils.chuch (2) magiscenter.com (3) Pinterest