Ordination of Deacon John into the Priesthood

 

My dear brothers and sisters in Christ, what a glorious day this is! We gather today to witness something truly remarkable – the ordination of Deacon John to the sacred priesthood. And the Gospel we've just heard about Jesus' baptism in the Jordan couldn't be more fitting for this occasion.

You know, when I first read this Gospel passage in preparation for today, I found myself puzzling over the same question that has perplexed Christians for centuries: Why would Jesus, who was without sin, need to be baptized? John the Baptist himself was confused by this! He protested, saying, "I need to be baptized by you, and yet you are coming to me?" It seems almost backwards, doesn't it?

But as I reflected on this mystery, and as I thought about what we're celebrating today with Father John's ordination, I began to see the profound connections between Christ's baptism and what happens when a man is ordained to the priesthood.

Let me share with you what I believe are four crucial dimensions of Jesus' baptism that speak directly to us today – and especially to Father John as he begins his priestly ministry.

First, Jesus' baptism was a moment of decision. He knew that the time had come to begin his public ministry. He was stepping forward, making himself known, committing himself to the mission the Father had given him. In the same way, Father John's ordination is a moment of profound decision. He has discerned, prayed, prepared, and now he steps forward to say "yes" to God's call in a definitive way. This isn't a casual commitment – it's a total gift of self.

Second, it was a moment of identification. This is perhaps the most beautiful aspect of Christ's baptism. Although Jesus himself had no need to repent for sins, he wanted to identify himself completely with sinners – with us! He was willing to stand in the waters of the Jordan alongside tax collectors, prostitutes, and all manner of people seeking God's mercy. He was saying, in effect, "I am one with you. Your struggles are my struggles. Your humanity is my humanity." 

Christ became one like us to enter totally and completely into our humanity in every way but sin. He can understand our weaknesses, our failures, our temptations and our sorrows, as well as our joys, successes and accomplishments. He paid the full price for us, right up front when he died on the cross for us.

And isn't this exactly what a priest does? Father John, through your ordination, you are configured to Christ in a special way. You identify yourself with God's people – all of them. The sick and the healthy, the joyful and the sorrowful, the saint and the sinner. You will stand with them in their moments of greatest need, bringing Christ's presence to them.

Third, Jesus' baptism was a moment of approval. Listen again to those powerful words from heaven: "This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased." At the very beginning of his public ministry, the Father spoke his approval and affirmation. Father John, at your ordination yesterday, when Bishop John laid hands on you and invoked the Holy Spirit, God was speaking his approval over you as well. You are called, you are chosen, you are loved by God.

And fourth, it was a moment of empowerment. The Holy Spirit descended upon Jesus like a dove, anointing him for his mission. He would proclaim good news to the poor, liberty to captives, sight to the blind. He would confront the forces of power and injustice. He would bring God's kingdom to earth.

Father John, you too have been empowered by the Holy Spirit through your ordination. You didn't lay down on that floor yesterday because it was comfortable, or because you were tired! You didn't make those promises because you would gain anything in return. You did all that, first and foremost, because God asked you to. And now the Holy Spirit will enable you to be Christ's hands and voice in this world.

For twenty-five years, Deacon John faithfully served the Roman Catholic Diocese of Buffalo at St. Vincent de Paul Church. Then as a deacon in formation into the Priesthood for the Polish National Catholic Church, you served at St. Michael the Archangel Parish in Niagara Falls and the Parish of Our Lady in Brant. His gifts for preaching about the Eucharist, his work establishing prayer groups, his ministry as a spiritual director – all of this has been preparation for this moment. People know him as kind, humble, a true spiritual mentor. And now, as Father John, he will be able to offer even more – celebrating the Eucharist, anointing the sick and dying, bringing Christ's presence to those who desperately need it.

But here's what I want all of us to remember today: What happened at Jesus' baptism, and what happened at Father John's ordination, is connected to what happened at our own baptism. Through baptism, we all become children of God. We are identified as adopted sons and daughters, no longer children of darkness but children of light. We become known by the name "Christian" – that is, followers of Christ. God accepts us as his own and sends his Holy Spirit upon us.

Being a child of God made a difference in Father John's vocation, but what difference does it make in our lives? How do we live out our baptismal identity?

We witness to God's presence through our daily interactions with others. We bring Christ's compassion and mercy into our homes, our workplaces, our communities. We stand with those who suffer. We speak up for justice. We offer comfort to the grieving and hope to the despairing.

This world desperately needs the priesthood, yes. But it also desperately needs baptized Christians who take their identity seriously. The world needs witnesses who know how to love. And as St. Paul reminds us, Christ died for all so that all who live might no longer live for themselves but for Christ.

Father John, your whole identity has now been configured to Christ. You speak in his voice at Holy Mass – his "I" becomes yours. You are called to love Christ totally, and to love as he did, even to the end. When you are fifty years ordained, you will still get up in the middle of the night to go to the sick, and you may be tired and exhausted, but you will go every time you are called because you believe that you are the bearer of the salvation of Jesus Christ.

To many you will open the gates of heaven. When there seemingly was no chance, you will give them words of comfort and forgiveness and peace, and heaven will open for them because of what you did. Never forget that. In the midst of all the distractions, all the worries, all the challenges, keep before you the heaven that awaits you and the Lord Jesus who will be waiting to thank you for what you did for his brothers and sisters.

For the rest of your life, you will be called Father. As a father looks forward to coming home to see his children, so will you look forward to each Sunday, to see your spiritual family. You will laugh with them and cry with them, enjoy their successes and mourn their losses. And Father John, you have been blessed with the support of your beloved wife Lynda. Thank her for giving you the time to serve God's children as well as your own. In the Polish National Catholic Church, we honor both the call to marriage and the call to priesthood, following the ancient Christian tradition where married men have served at the altar, just as they did in the early Church.

It was your love for the Church and for Jesus Christ that brought you to this day. May that same love keep your priesthood holy and filled with many blessings.

And for all of us here today, may we never forget that we too were baptized. We too were claimed by God. We too heard the Father say, "This is my beloved child." If we live lives worthy of the name "Christian" – if we love as Christ loved, if we serve as Christ served, if we give ourselves as Christ gave himself – then someday we too might hear those words again: "This is my beloved child, with whom I am well pleased."

Always remember the glory of this weekend. The glory to which Father John has been called and now, finally, been given. And may we all give thanks to God for another father among us.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

 

Our Search Wil Not Be in Vain

 

You know, when we think about the story of the Epiphany, our minds naturally gravitate toward those exotic travelers from the East – the Magi. And why wouldn't they? They're fascinating figures who've captured our imagination for two thousand years. But I want us to consider something this morning that might seem a bit counterintuitive. I want us to think about why the shepherds, that other group in our Christmas narrative, never quite captured our hearts in the same way.

Have you ever wondered about that? We have elaborate legends about the Magi – their names, their ages, their kingdoms. We've painted them, sculpted them, written songs about them. But the shepherds? They show up, they see the baby, and then they sort of fade into the background of our collective memory. Why is that?

I think Matthew gives us a clue in today's Gospel. Look at what the Magi experience. They see a star – just a star, nothing more. No angelic announcement. No heavenly choir. No detailed directions. Just a celestial light that suggests something significant has happened somewhere. And so they set out on this long, dangerous journey with nothing but that astronomical observation and their own faith to guide them.

Compare that to Luke's shepherds. Those shepherds are practically spoon-fed the entire experience. An angel appears to them – not a distant star, but a personal messenger – and this angel tells them everything: "Today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Christ and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger." I mean, they get GPS coordinates! And when they arrive, there's angelic verification. And when they leave, there's a whole heavenly chorus singing them home.

No wonder we don't tell stories about the shepherds. They didn't really have to search. They didn't have to struggle with doubt or uncertainty. They didn't have to interpret signs or wonder if they were on the right path. Everything was handed to them on a silver platter, so to speak.

But that's not our experience, is it? That's not how faith works for most of us. We don't get detailed instructions from heaven. We don't get angels showing up at our bedsides telling us exactly what to do with our lives, our families, our vocations. We don't get heavenly choirs confirming that we've made the right decision.

No, our experience is much more like the Magi. We see signs – subtle, ambiguous signs – and we have to decide whether to follow them. We have questions about life's meaning, about suffering, about God's will. We face obstacles – our modern Herods who try to distract us or lead us astray with with empty promises, with the culture's competing values. We wonder about our children's futures, about illness, about loneliness, about death. And we'd love to have those shepherd-style assurances, but the fact is, most of us don't.

At this time of the year, of course, we are interested in a certain group of travelers in that desert, travelers conjured up by Matthew to provide all generations with an ancient insight to the Child who was about to be born, that this Child was indeed for all ages, for all peoples, for all places, for all times. From north to south, from east to west, God is Emmanuel, "with us."

But here's what I find most compelling about the Magi: they searched together. They didn't make this journey alone. They traveled as a community, supporting one another through the desert, encouraging one another when the way was unclear, pooling their wisdom to interpret the signs they encountered.

And that's the lesson for us, isn't it? We can't be shepherds – we can't expect everything to be revealed to us clearly and unambiguously. But we can be like the Magi. We can be searchers who journey together.

Think about it: when we gather in a church. we're not just a collection of individuals. We're a caravan. We're a pilgrim people. We listen to the Word together. We break bread together. We support one another through life's deserts. There's a strength in that communal searching that we simply cannot achieve on our own.

The Magi didn't have all the answers when they set out. They had a wicked king trying to manipulate them for evil purposes. They had a long, uncertain journey ahead of them. But what they did have was fellowship with one another and that light – however distant and mysterious – to guide them forward.

But here's the best part of the Magi story, the part that gives me hope: at the end of their long journey, they found what they were looking for. They encountered the Christ child. Their search was rewarded. Their faith was vindicated. Their long journey through the desert wasn't in vain.

And that's the promise for us too. We may not be shepherds with clear instructions and angelic messengers. We may be Magi, struggling through the desert with only a distant star and our faith community to guide us. But if we keep searching, if we keep journeying together, if we keep following that light – however dim it sometimes seems – we will find what we're looking for. We will encounter Christ. Our search will not be in vain.

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends in this New Year of 2026, that we support one another on this journey. Let's keep our eyes on that star, trusting that it will lead us home. And let's remember that we're not alone – we have each other, we have the Church, and we have the promise that those who seek will find.

 

New Year's Resolution

 

Christmas at Divine Mercy Parish, Las Vegas

 

After my return from Divine Mercy Church in Las Vegas, where we celebrated 11 Masses in 7 days for the Feast of Gaudaloupe, Third Sunday of Advent, Memorial service, Funeral service and birthday party, I was asked to celebrate Christmas Eve Mass at the cathedral. A record100 people attended the service in which I preached that Christmas is "about a baby" which was my Sonshine message for Christmas.

Now as we approach another New Year, let me offer this reflection.

“Stay positive about the future.”  Some of you have known losses in the past year. You’ve lost a spouse; you’ve lost a child; you’ve lost health; you’ve lost relationships; you’ve lost your job; you’ve lost your house, your church was sold, you lost part of your pension -  all sorts of losses.

But you do have a choice about these losses. Your choice is either you turn in on yourself, and become depressed about it, or you can follow the example of others, who have turned tragedy into a positive thing. I think, for example, of Fr Erick and the people who worship at Divine Mercy in Las Vegas. The congregation first pastor was a media superstar. He had 22 million followers on FaceBook. Wherever he went in Vegas he was greeted like a celebrity. People came from California and Washington states to receive his blessings. Then sadly, he betrayed his people by scamming the congregation out of their building. Thanks to the faith, perserverance  and tenacity of their parish committee, the congregation was able to recuperate some of their donations but the court ordered the congregation to move out of the building. Thanks to Fr. Erick, he literally moved the altar, tabernacle, communion rail, pulpit and chairs to a new location to worship and serve the community. The consequence of this ordeal is that this congregation is better than ever thanks to their sacrifices and dedication to serve their community. In Advent they raised thousands of dollars to feed the homeless in their community. So, despite the lost of their building, the people never lost faith thanks to their inspired new pastor and now better for that experience. Pointing to Christ means “to stay positive about the future.”    

On January 10^th, deacon John will be ordained a priest for the PNCC at Holy Mother of the Rosary Cathedral in Lancaster, NY. He is man who has served as a Catholic deacon for decades. However, he felt the vocation to serve in the priesthood and I have served as his vocation director. Instead of a lost dream, he looks forwards to kneeling before the bishop to receive the Holy Spirit in which he will say yes, like the blessed Mother “I am the handmaid of the Lord, let it be done to me according to your word.”

This coming year, I have another four men who have requested to serve as deacons or priests. It is my calling to nurture these vocations.

And when we say yes to God - even when we're uncertain, even when we're afraid, even when we can't see how it's all going to work out - God honors that yes. God works through that yes. God does extraordinary things through ordinary people who are willing to trust.

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends In 2026, help us to say yes to God as help us to trust when we cannot see. Help us to be instruments of God's love in a world that desperately needs it.

 

 

 

 

Behold, I am the Handmaid of the Lord

 

My brothers and sisters, there's something I want us to really think about in this new year. When we hear the story of the Annunciation - this moment when the angel Gabriel comes to Mary - we often focus on the miraculous nature of what's happening. And rightfully so. But I think we sometimes miss something equally important: Mary's very human response to what God is asking of her.

Look at what happens in this passage. The angel appears and says, "Hail, favored one! The Lord is with you." And what's Mary's reaction? She's "greatly troubled." She wasn't immediately peaceful. She wasn't instantly serene. She was troubled.

And then comes the announcement itself - that she's going to conceive and bear a son, that he'll be called the Son of the Most High, that his kingdom will have no end. Extraordinary promises. World-changing promises. And Mary asks a perfectly reasonable question: "How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?"

Now, I want us to sit with that question for a moment. Mary isn't doubting God's power. She's asking a real, practical question about how this is going to work in her actual life. She's engaged to Joseph. She knows how babies are made. She knows what people will think. She's asking, "How is this going to happen?"

And here's what strikes me: God doesn't rebuke her for asking. The angel doesn't say, "Mary, just trust and don't ask questions." Instead, Gabriel gives her an explanation. He tells her about the Holy Spirit, about the power of the Most High overshadowing her. He even gives her a sign - her elderly cousin Elizabeth is also pregnant. God honors her question. God respects her need to understand.

And then comes that moment - that beautiful, world-changing moment. "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word." Her "yes." Her "fiat."

But let's not romanticize this too much. Mary's yes wasn't given in a vacuum. She knew what this could mean. She lived in a small town where everyone knew everyone else's business. She was engaged to Joseph, and suddenly she's going to be pregnant before their marriage is complete. She could face shame, rejection, even death by stoning according to the law. Her yes was going to cost her something.

Yet she trusted. She surrendered. She said yes to God's plan even when she couldn't see the whole picture.

Now, fast forward nearly fifteen hundred years to December 1531, to a hill called Tepeyac just outside what's now Mexico City. And here's where we see something remarkable - Mary appears again, but this time to Juan Diego, an indigenous peasant who had recently converted to Christianity.

Think about the context for a moment. Mexico had been conquered by the Spanish just ten years earlier. The indigenous people had seen their world turned upside down - their culture suppressed, their temples destroyed, their people decimated by disease and violence. Many had been baptized, but it was often forced or done out of fear. The faith hadn't really taken root in their hearts because it came wrapped in the violence of conquest.

And who does Mary choose to appear to? Not the Spanish archbishop. Not the powerful conquistadors. Not the educated theologians who had come from Europe. She appears to Juan Diego - someone the world considered insignificant, someone who was struggling to survive in a society that had been torn apart.

Mary met Juan Diego where he was. She honored his culture, his language, his way of seeing the world. And through him, she brought millions of indigenous people to faith in her Son - not through force or fear, but through love and respect.

What does this mean for us today? I think it means that God is still choosing unlikely people to do extraordinary things. God is still speaking to us in ways we can understand, meeting us where we are, honoring who we are.

So here's my question for you this new year in 2026: What is God asking you to say yes to? Maybe it's something big - a major life change, a difficult decision, a call to serve in a new way. Or maybe it's something that seems small but is actually profound - being more patient with a difficult family member, reaching out to someone who's lonely, standing up for someone who's being treated unjustly.

And when we say yes to God - even when we're uncertain, even when we're afraid, even when we can't see how it's all going to work out - God honors that yes. God works through that yes. God does extraordinary things through ordinary people who are willing to trust.

Our Lady of Guadalupe, pray for us. Help us to say yes to God as you did. Help us to trust when we cannot see. Help us to be instruments of God's love in a world that desperately needs it.

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends In 2026, God bless you and keep you, and may we all learn to say yes to God's call in our lives, whatever that may be.

 

How God Meets Us at Christmas

 

I still have fond memories of taking pictures of Father Robert in San Antonio after his was ordained by Bishop John. But after the beautiful ordination service, I was asked to take more family pictures. Father Robert with all his brother priests, then with his parents and friends. However, what I would call the most stunning photo that I would print on a vocation flyer was the family portrait of Fr. Robert’s with his wife McKensie holding their 2 year old son JJ beaming with pride and what I also learned that mom was expecting another child in June. The young couple shared that they picked the name Emelle (pronounced “in-mell”) if it was a girl and no name yet for a boy.

As this young couple looks forward to the birth of another child. Christmas is God’s answer to our waiting, God’s response to the centuries of prayers that lay hidden in our groaning, in our sighs, our frustrations, each of them a plea, mostly silent, for a divine intervention, all of them asking God to come and rid the world of injustice and our hearts of loneliness and heartache. Something people around the world are all craving for: rid the world of injustice, war, deportation, loneliness and heartache of all kinds.

But God’s answer didn’t exactly meet our expectations even as it surpassed them. What was born with Jesus’ birth and what still lies seemingly helpless in mangers all around the world wasn’t exactly what the world expected.

What the world expected was a superstar, someone with real talent, sharpness, and raw muscle-power to out-gun everything that’s bad on this planet, someone charismatic enough to make everyone who opposes him slink away in defeat. it appears that’s exactly what some are expecting in our country today. However, what is God’s answer to that: A baby lying helpless in the straw!

Why?

Why would God choose to be born into the world in this way?

The power of God revealed in Christmas is the power of a baby, nothing more.

Because you can’t argue with a baby! Babies don’t try to compete, don’t stand up to you, don’t try to best you in an argument, and don’t try to impress you with their answers. Indeed, they can’t speak at all. And that is the Savior who was born in Bethlehem, and that is how God is still basically in the world. Like a baby.

God does not outgun anyone, out-muscle anyone, threaten anyone, or overpower anyone. The power of God revealed in Christmas is the power of a baby, nothing more, nothing less: innocence, gentleness, helplessness, a vulnerability that can soften hearts, invite in, have us hush our voices, teach us patience, and call forth what’s best in us.

But we have always been slow to understand this. We want our messiahs to possess more immediate power. And we are in good company here. The messiah that people longed for during all those centuries leading up to Jesus and Bethlehem was precisely conceived as a human superhero, someone like a power ninja someone with the earthly muscle to bang heads together and purge the world of evil by morally superior muscles.

But that’s not the Christmas story, nor the power revealed in it. An infant lying in the straw in Bethlehem didn’t outgun anyone. He just lay there, waiting for anyone good or bad to come to him, see his helplessness, feel a tug at his or her heart strings, and then gently try to coax a smile or a word out of him.

That’s still how God meets us.

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends that we take a moment to really look at the infant at our manger at home or in our church.  See his helplessness and then feel a tug at your heart that says you my chosen one and I love you.

 

Looking for Directions

 

You know, I have to tell you about something that happened just this week. On Monday, my good friend Fr. Erick drove us to Sedona, Arizona so I could take a few landscape pictures to add to my portfolio. We had just completed 9 services for the Feast of Guadalupe – what a wonderful, prayerful experience with his beautiful Hispanic community. Now it was our time to relax and hit the road.

In advance of our trip, I contacted the park rangers for suggestions on the best photo site locations. We needed directions because we only had 24 hours and my goal was to find the best sunrise and sunset locations. To our rescue comes angel Kimberly. Kimberly is a US park ranger and she knew exactly where we needed to be throughout our journey. We needed a sign, some guidance to be at the right place at the right moment.

And that got me thinking – how often do we ask God to give us a sign? When we reflect on that question, it probably happens more often than we might initially think. "God, what am I supposed to do with my life?" "Lord, is this the person I'm meant to be with?" "Should I go there and do this?" "Jesus, give me a sign that you love me" – and that one's usually followed with a suggestion on how He might do that.

It's understandable, really. We're told that God loves us. That He answers every one of our prayers. So in a way, we admit that maybe we're a little dense. Perhaps we might have missed that answer or not clearly understood His plan when things aren't going the way we think they should. So we want some clarity, some understanding, some reason brought into whatever situation it is we find ourselves in. We look for more clues, more evidence of God's presence, His activity in our lives. We ask for a sign.

Now, in today's Gospel, we know that both Mary and Joseph had an angel tell them and explain to them how Mary was going to become the mother of Jesus even though Mary and Joseph had been betrothed but not had relations with one another. But there's a detail about this that kind of fascinates me.

Mary had an angelic visitor greeting her one day in her home in Nazareth. She had this dialogue with the angel and a further confirmation of this wondrous news with the incredible and miraculous announcement that her elderly relative Elizabeth was pregnant with John the Baptist.

Joseph has an angelic visitor too, but the angel comes to him in a dream. And here's what's interesting – the angel comes not to announce glad tidings to him as the angel does for Mary. The angel comes in response to Joseph being in a difficult spot. He's at a loss, perhaps sad, confused, angry even, or most likely feeling unworthy.

Matthew tells us that Joseph knew that Mary was "found with child through the Holy Spirit." There's no reason to believe that Joseph didn't believe that. He loved Mary and already knew how beautiful she was, interiorly. But after Mary tells Joseph about her encounter with the angel, the scriptures kind of just matter-of-factly tell us that Joseph was planning on divorcing her quietly.

The more you reflect on it and dig into this, you realize that Joseph must have been filled with self-doubt and unworthiness. Because Mary and Joseph were betrothed, but not living together. In ancient Judaism, betrothal was more than just what we would understand as engagement. Betrothal was the time when the couple was already legally married but before they lived together. It was a sacred time of transition. From the betrothal on, they could only be separated by death or divorce – which wasn't very accepted in ancient times.

We read: "Joseph her husband, since he was a righteous man, yet unwilling to expose her to shame, decided to divorce her quietly." Joseph, not believing he was even worthy to be Mary's husband at this point and wanting in a sense to free her of being attached to him, doesn't know what to do. It's not good. Divorce is not a good answer – but Joseph doesn't know what else to do. As much as Joseph loves Mary, he thinks this is the only viable plan. Being a righteous man, he would've prayed to God for guidance, looking for some sign that he was correct.

This is what this Gospel story is really about. God was unwilling to let Joseph move on through life believing lies about himself, of somehow being unworthy. God the Father sends an angel to Joseph in his sleep. In Joseph's dreams, God the Father invites Joseph to let go of self-doubt, to reject the voices of the devil speaking words of fear, and instead to dream His dream. Dream His dream of being a father to His Son Jesus – not just in a spiritual but a real way. Dream His dream of taking Mary, full of Grace, as his wife into his home, truly as his to love, honor, cherish, and protect all the days of his life.

St. Joseph has taught me a few beautiful lessons with this – lessons that have helped shape my understanding of God and I think are really important for each of us when we have our moments of asking for a sign.

First is that we have to be open to how the Lord wants to speak to us. Just because your betrothed gets an angel popping by the house one afternoon doesn't mean that's how God is going to "visit" you. But for us, we always have to remember that God the Father – He who made us, who knows us so intimately that scripture tells us He knows the exact number of hairs on our heads – He knows how best to speak to us. So I can't let jealousy or envy that God speaks and works differently in one person's life compared to mine enter in. Because if I do that, more likely I'm going to miss how God is speaking to me.

The second thing is to trust God. Trust His plan. Trust His plan that has been at work outside of our human time and human expectations. Trust He has always and is always at work – but that He wants that to be done not "to" us but with us. He wants to work with us.

This brings me to the final point or the final lesson that St. Joseph teaches us. We have to be connected to the Lord in our everyday lives so that we can know how to see Him, hear Him, and encounter Him in those bigger moments when we are crying out for signs. Joseph had to have been a man of great faith, and trust, and prayer. He had to already have been a man in a relationship with God to have been able to appreciate and accept this "dream." Had he not, it would've been easy to dismiss it as a crazy dream. Because Joseph knew the Lord already, he was able to hear Him speaking to Joseph in this difficult hour. He was able to trust God's plan was greater than his plans. He was able to get up and follow what it was God was inviting him into – and experience the truth of those promises.

Let me tell you how this played out in Sedona. Angel Kimberly had us visit 13 sites. My ultimate goal or "dream shot" was to take a reflection of Cathedral Rock that I saw on the internet. The only problem was that I was on the wrong side of Oak Creek. I told this to Kimberly and she recommended I drive to Baldwin Trail. So I hiked for an hour along the trail and when I finally found the creek, I again was on the wrong side and it was impossible to get a reflection of Cathedral Rock. Disappointed and exhausted, I started walking back along the trail and got lost.

However, I discovered an area with long rocky deep crevices filled with puddles of water. I walked around and noticed a reflection of Cathedral Rock in the water. This was the "dream shot" that I had been searching for, though not as awesome as the one online. 

 

Then hiking back to the car, Fr. Erick suggested that we drive back to Airport Mesa for a sunset shot. I thought we were miles away, but Fr. Erick was my angel – in eight minutes I found myself standing with my tripod with 500 tourists taking pictures of an awesome sunset over Sedona.

See, sometimes God's plan is different from what we imagined, but it's exactly what we need. I was looking for one specific shot, but God gave me something different – and then surprised me with something even better than I could have planned.

So let me ask you: What signs are you looking for as answers to your prayers right now? What fears and doubts make it difficult to sleep? What are the things that seem impossible – the things that seem barren, lost, dead in you right now? The things that if God himself asked you, "What do you want for Christmas?" – not any material things that we maniacally focus on this time of year, but the things that are deepest in our hearts right now that we tend to have grown indifferent to, thinking they are unanswerable, impossible?

Joseph tells us to trust God. Be open and attentive to His plan and even more to be open and attentive to the ways He is speaking to us – speaking to our fears, our doubts, our worries; inviting us into deeper love and trust with Him, His plans, His dreams for us; so that we too can make Christmas truly a celebration of His birth – for each of us, and for the world once again.

 

 

Feast of Our Lady of Guadaloupe

 

My brothers and sisters, there's something I want us to really think about today. When we hear the story of the Annunciation - this moment when the angel Gabriel comes to Mary - we often focus on the miraculous nature of what's happening. And rightfully so. But I think we sometimes miss something equally important: Mary's very human response to what God is asking of her.

Look at what happens in this passage. The angel appears and says, "Hail, favored one! The Lord is with you." And what's Mary's reaction? She's "greatly troubled." The Greek word there suggests she was deeply disturbed, trying to figure out what this greeting could possibly mean. She wasn't immediately peaceful. She wasn't instantly serene. She was troubled.

And then comes the announcement itself - that she's going to conceive and bear a son, that he'll be called the Son of the Most High, that his kingdom will have no end. Extraordinary promises. World-changing promises. And Mary asks a perfectly reasonable question: "How can this be, since I have no relations with a man?"

Now, I want us to sit with that question for a moment. Mary isn't doubting God's power. She's asking a real, practical question about how this is going to work in her actual life. She's engaged to Joseph. She knows how babies are made. She knows what people will think. She's asking, "How is this going to happen?"

And here's what strikes me: God doesn't rebuke her for asking. The angel doesn't say, "Mary, just trust and don't ask questions." Instead, Gabriel gives her an explanation. He tells her about the Holy Spirit, about the power of the Most High overshadowing her. He even gives her a sign - her elderly cousin Elizabeth is also pregnant. God honors her question. God respects her need to understand.

And then comes that moment - that beautiful, world-changing moment. "Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord. May it be done to me according to your word." Her "yes." Her "fiat."

But let's not romanticize this too much. Mary's yes wasn't given in a vacuum. She knew what this could mean. She lived in a small town where everyone knew everyone else's business. She was engaged to Joseph, and suddenly she's going to be pregnant before their marriage is complete. She could face shame, rejection, even death by stoning according to the law. Her yes was going to cost her something.

Yet she trusted. She surrendered. She said yes to God's plan even when she couldn't see the whole picture.

Now, fast forward nearly fifteen hundred years to December 1531, to a hill called Tepeyac just outside what's now Mexico City. And here's where we see something remarkable - Mary appears again, but this time to Juan Diego, an indigenous peasant who had recently converted to Christianity.

Think about the context for a moment. Mexico had been conquered by the Spanish just ten years earlier. The indigenous people had seen their world turned upside down - their culture suppressed, their temples destroyed, their people decimated by disease and violence. Many had been baptized, but it was often forced or done out of fear. The faith hadn't really taken root in their hearts because it came wrapped in the violence of conquest.

And who does Mary choose to appear to? Not the Spanish archbishop. Not the powerful conquistadors. Not the educated theologians who had come from Europe. She appears to Juan Diego - someone the world considered insignificant, someone who was struggling to survive in a society that had been torn apart.

You see the pattern here? It's the same pattern we see in today's Gospel. God consistently chooses the unlikely, the overlooked, the ordinary. Mary herself was an unlikely choice - a young woman from Nazareth, a town so insignificant that people asked, "Can anything good come from Nazareth?" And now she appears to another unlikely person, Juan Diego, to do something extraordinary.

But here's what I find most beautiful about the Guadalupe story. When Mary appears to Juan Diego, she doesn't speak to him in Spanish, the language of power and conquest. She speaks to him in Náhuatl, his own language. She appears with indigenous features. She wears the clothing of an Aztec princess but with symbols that the indigenous people could read and understand - symbols that told them about the Gospel, about Christ, about the faith in ways that made sense to their culture.

Mary met Juan Diego where he was. She honored his culture, his language, his way of seeing the world. And through him, she brought millions of indigenous people to faith in her Son - not through force or fear, but through love and respect.

What does this mean for us today? I think it means that God is still choosing unlikely people to do extraordinary things. God is still speaking to us in ways we can understand, meeting us where we are, honoring who we are.

Mary's yes at the Annunciation wasn't just a one-time event. It was the beginning of a life of saying yes to God, even when it was difficult, even when it was costly. And her appearance to Juan Diego shows us that she continues to say yes to God's work in the world, continues to reach out to those who are marginalized and forgotten, continues to bring people to her Son.

So here's my question for us today: What is God asking us to say yes to? Maybe it's something big - a major life change, a difficult decision, a call to serve in a new way. Or maybe it's something that seems small but is actually profound - being more patient with a difficult family member, reaching out to someone who's lonely, standing up for someone who's being treated unjustly.

Whatever it is, I think Mary's example teaches us something important. We don't have to have all the answers before we say yes. We don't have to see the whole picture. We don't have to pretend we're not troubled or uncertain. Mary was troubled. Mary asked questions. But in the end, she trusted. She surrendered. She said yes.

And when we say yes to God - even when we're uncertain, even when we're afraid, even when we can't see how it's all going to work out - God honors that yes. God works through that yes. God does extraordinary things through ordinary people who are willing to trust.

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends, help us to say yes to God as Our Lady of Guadaloupe did. Help us to trust when we cannot see. Help us to be instruments of God's love in a world that desperately needs it.

John the Baptist

 

On You Tube, you will find many evangelical preachers screaming at you to “repent your sins.” Nobody likes being called out or being accused. That’s the real bummer we face every year on the Second Sunday in Advent when the gospel readings confront us with this freaky mass of zeal and passion of John the Baptist. John comes as Jesus’ advance man. He’s a bizarre figure outside the mainstream, dressed in animal skins and eating bugs and looking for all the world like the prophet Elijah. Like Elijah before him, John, in our Gospel is calling out society for turning away from God and warning folks to come to repentance. I think he was more persuasive than our You Tube preachers because tons of people came out to hear him and let him give them a dunk in the Jordan when they confessed their sins.

The gospel story tells us even Pharisees and Sadducees were curious about John. I’ll bet they only came out to hear this guy because they thought he was a novelty or because they were afraid he might be telling people something which would impugn the power structure the Pharisees and Sadducees so enjoyed. When John sees these bigwigs, he really gives them an earful. He calls them snakes and goes totally ballistic on them—telling them their vaunted pedigrees don’t amount to spit and, unless they actually started doing something worthwhile with their faith, there was going to be a lot of chopping and burning in their future.

I think both John the Baptist and Elijah before him saw a nation which had skidded off the rails. Given the borderline psychotic times we live in here in America, we could certainly use a prophetic voice calling us all to repentance.

If you watch Youtube, many speakers make the very interesting point that liberal ideas and values are everywhere in the media. You don’t need to go to church to hear them. So why, they asked, would anyone feel the need to attend church or your church every Sunday? My answer? For the same reason people came to hear John the Baptist on the banks of the Jordan. Maybe the folks came for the entertainment value of hearing this wacky guy preach, but that wasn’t what drew them into the water. They came because they knew in their hearts they needed to confess and be forgiven and be transformed. Progressive ideas alone don’t bring people to repentance. The hunger for God does.

As Catholics we begin every Mass to confess our sins and claim the renewing power of Christ. We ask forgiveness for what we’ve done and for what we’ve left undone—for the sin of not producing the fruits worthy of repentance. I find I have to ask myself every day, “Have I really served the Lord today?” In the swirling chaos of this present hour—when compassion, mercy, and generosity are so needed—have I born the fruit Jesus expects of me? Could I be doing more? The Baptist calls to each of us during this sacred time to examine our conscience and wrestle with our faith. And that’s a good thing.

When the Evangelical preachers of this world try to call us out, we’ll get defensive. But when we hear John the Baptist calling, we’ll hear the truth about ourselves and gladly come with both contrition and joy to the river.

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends that they all have a blessed Advent.