It's a Dirty Job

  

Did you ever hear anyone say, “It’s a dirty job, but someone’s got to do it?” What’s the dirtiest job you’ve ever had?

My dirtiest job occurred yesterday after a historic rain storm. The photo above shows the damage to our driveway hill as the flood waters created foot deep trenches that prevented us from driving. So, with shovel in hand I started to fill in the trenches with stone that washed over the side of the hill. Four hours later I had the driveway hill filled in with stone so we could drive on the hill.

However, last night another major rain storm came over our region. This morning, I walked back to the hill and this is what I discovered. I was in shock but got out the shovel and started filling in with more stones. 

 

I called Brad, my guardian angel builder, who understood my dilemma and who contacted Cam, the excavator. After another four hours and two new underground drains the driveway was back in usable condition. 

My boots were muddy and my hands bloody from hauling stones, but somebody had to do this job. That reminds me of other dirty jobs.

Collecting garbage, stocking grocery shelves, milking cows, picking crops, cleaning hotel rooms, bathing our feeble loved ones. These jobs don’t pay a lot of money, and they don’t get you invited to black-tie fundraisers. But someone has to do them because the people who perform these tasks are very important and special who choose to do these dirty jobs.

But much more shocking than shoveling stone into a damaged driveway is the image of our Lord and Savior on his knees, washing the dirty, sweaty feet of his all-too-often clueless disciples—even the one who he knew was about to rat him out to the authorities. Our Holy Thursday gospel tells us Peter was pretty freaked out seeing his beloved and esteemed rabbi doing the dirty work assigned to a slave or the lowest person on any household totem pole. I’ll bet the others were weirded out by this too, but the evangelist doesn’t tell us. But Jesus explained this act of service—an act others might see as degrading—was a demonstration of how he expects us to live our lives. We are to love as he loves: without hierarchy or judgment. We are to love others as ourselves. We can no longer demonize or vilify. We can’t say the poor deserve what they get. We can’t look down on anyone. We are to love, forgive, assist, and share.

We’re told that as Jesus broke the bread that night, he gave thanks. You’d wonder what he was giving thanks for, considering he was about to be betrayed, abandoned, arrested, beaten, mocked and crucified. But Jesus was thankful. I imagine he was thankful for God’s unfailing presence even in the midst of chaos and grief. And he was thankful for the ones he loved, for the disciples to whom he demonstrated a radical form of servant-love. As Jesus and the disciples ate that last meal in remembrance of God’s faithfulness, so we eat it now in remembrance of Jesus’ self-emptying love for us.

We call the night when we share this feast Maundy Thursday. It’s the night when he gave us two commandments. First, that we eat this meal to remember not only God’s power to deliver God’s people, but to remember how Jesus suffered to deliver us. Second, when we come together around this table, we are reminded of Jesus’ command to love one another as servants—even if that means sometimes we have to do the dirty work.

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends. A blessed Three Days, my friends. May Christ’s love shine in your heart. Special thanks to my guardian angels, Brad, Cam and Chris for repairing the rain storm damaged driveway.

 

Choose a Donkey Over a Horse

     

Jesus rides into Jerusalem on a donkey. Question, why would Jesus choose to come to town on a donkey?

The donkey teaches disciples, then and now, how much bravery it takes to follow the suffering servant. It takes courage to choose destiny over fear. 

First, the disciples learned to serve with humility. Sometimes I think it was hard to be a disciple. They had an inside relationship with Jesus. The Gospels say he even gave them the power to preach and heal the sick in his name.

They watched the power of God, and witnessed the miraculous regularly. It’s hard to go from the main actor on stage to a stagehand behind the curtain. It must have confused them when Jesus said, “Go ahead of me, there you’ll find a donkey tied, bring it back to me.”

Humility is demanding. Instead of working miracles and healing the sick, we find the disciples on “donkey duty.” Heal the sick, of course. Work miracles, absolutely. Humble themselves for “donkey detail” was a tough pill to swallow. 

The disciples seem confused about how to retrieve a donkey. Jesus has to tell them how, “Go, find it. Bring it back to me.” Lessons in humility are tough. Jesus makes sure our souls are not always center stage. He knows it’s not good for the soul to continually be popular. When we become celebrities, it generates cult worshipers instead of followers of Jesus. “Humble yourself and go find a donkey.”

The second lesson the disciples learned was to deny power and celebrity. Humility denies the enticement of power and popularity.  In the 1^stcentury, the temptation to choose power was ever-present. The Jews expected a King. A man who would liberate the Holy Land from Roman control. They hoped it would be Jesus. 

Here is where the Gospel reading of the donkey becomes fascinating: A few days before Jesus entered the city, Pilate entered on a horse. It was a message to the Jews that Rome’s power over them surpassed their hopes for a Messiah. Pilate chose a horse. Jesus chose a donkey. Jesus wasn’t in orate chariots pulled by well-bred horses. There was no sword at his side nor armor on his chest. He did not enter the city gates as a show of force. He entered as a servant on a beast of burden. 

This is what Jesus expected of his disciples. He refused power, and he didn’t accept a throne. He knew he was there to suffer for the sake of others. Yet Jesus laid his power down to pick up his cross. 

What did the disciples learn on Palm Sunday? They realized that humility is the way of the Kingdom, and popularity is the way of the world. Then they learned that a servant lives and dies for others. 

Servants are not popular. The crowds that followed Jesus into Jerusalem quickly diminished when he disappointed them.  I’ve learned the crowd usually leaves when they are disheartened. Few stick around and heroically choose love. The crowds will usually return to Egypt before they walk through the desert of disappointment. Disappointment tests life, faith, hope, and even love. When we expect a horse and get a donkey, we’re tempted to walk away.

Did Jesus deserve a horse? Of course he did. But a servant chooses a donkey – the way of a cross – instead of the horse of a conqueror.  

The metaphor of the donkey answers the question, “who is this Jesus?” He is the one who dies so others can live. The horse, Pilate’s horse, always tempts our hearts to say, “I did better than the rest of my friends. I’m smarter, and I have more natural gifts, God favored me.”

The donkey, Jesus’s donkey, offers our hearts the chance to say, “How can I choose love over pride? How can I use my gifts to serve others? How can I share my blessings with the world?”

The question we should ask ourselves is “what transportation will we choose to carry us through life?”

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends that during this difficult time in our country, we choose to be a servant instead of a conqueror. During Holy Week reach out to a neighbor or someone you know in need and lend a helping hand.

 

 

 

I Really, Really Believe

  

One thing strikes me really powerfully in the story of the Raising of Lazarus. It’s just two words, "Jesus wept." He wept. Now this is his beautiful humanity coming forth. We know that Lazarus and Mary and Martha, they were close friends of Jesus. He wept for his friend. And I think that's powerful. It's powerful to understand that weeping can be a holy moment, and that sometimes we're tempted to hold back our tears, but weeping can be profoundly human and profoundly healing.

How many times when I am onsite providing grief support to a person whose coworker had died that the person in front of me is holding back tears. Yet, let them come. Tears are a source of comfort. They help to relieve the sadness and bring calm to the body and soul.

The story of the Raising of Lazarus is a crucial, climactic moment in John’s gospel where we really get to experience a living Jesus. You realize this is the turning point where events start to race downhill toward Jesus’ crucifixion. This is where we might start to see the Son of God look more like us. In this story we see Jesus crying, feeling both love and grief. From here on we’ll see him feeling apprehensive about his fate. We’ll hear him pray for his disciples. He’ll even humble himself to be their servant and wash their feet. He’ll tell them to love each other as he has loved them. We’ll even see him, as he suffers on the cross, make arrangements for the care of his ageing mother. Now we see Jesus’ true humanity. 

I think John wants to give us this picture of a genuine and relatable Messiah so that we may believe in him. When we meet someone and we share in their vulnerability, don’t we have a new relationship with them? Don’t they become more genuine? Don’t we believe in them more? To “believe” in John’s gospel doesn’t mean simply to assent that something may be true. The word in Greek is pisteuo (pisteuw). It means to put trust and confidence in something. When Martha says in verse 27, “Yes, Lord, I believe,” the Greek form of that word means “I really, really believe!”

The gospel calls us to believe in the things of Christ—love, compassion, prayer, humble service, and care for others. Belief in Christ means God can bring new life out of death. No matter where we are on life’s highway, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over. There is always a word of faith to proclaim, a deed of love to be done, a blessing to hope for. 

Lord I pray for all my Sonshine Friends that like Martha despite the tears, despite the sadness, despite our doubts, we can say: “Yes, Lord, I really, really believe!”

While the gospel story is about the promise of a new life with the Lord, I had the humble privilege of being asked to serve as the wedding photographer for Ben and Saiesha’s wedding. Being a wedding photographer means you can pick up on the little, unexpected moments.

 

The promises they made to one another include love, compassion, prayers and humble service and care for one another till death. Hopefully, the photo above captures the God moment when they spoke these vows to one another. The unexpected moment in the gospel had to be when Lazarus eyes were open and Martha and Mary were shocked to see their brother alive again. I am sure there were tears, but these were tears of joy. My unexpected moment is when Fr. Don, the dad of the groom, smiled after he had told his son to kiss Saieha, his new daughter-in-law.

 

 

 

 

 

How's Your Vision

  

In about a month, I will have the humble privilege to travel with Bishop Mack to confirm the children and young adults at Divine Mercy Parish  in Las Vegas. Fr. Erick has many beautiful ministries for his Hispanic families. I have an invitation to take a day trip to the Grand Canyon. Now a million photos are posted daily on the internet. No doubt millions of images of the Grand Canyon have been uploaded. Instead of the usual tourist shot, I hope to capture a moment in time that can best be describes as stunning. Question, where is this location?

In the ninth chapter of John’s gospel, a young man who has his life radically changed that he gets snarky with the religious authorities. These religious authorities are so set in their ways they couldn’t recognize God’s actions if it bit them in the butt. His parents are so afraid of ostracism they’re ready to throw their disabled son under the bus. Then there are  bystanders who don’t believe in miracles even when they see one, and we have the usual clueless disciples.

The disciples have concluded that being born blind has to suck. Admittedly, blindness has its drawbacks. The disciples think because this poor guy has to sit on the street corner with his cup in hand asking for spare change that God must be mad at him or his folks for something. It must be comforting for the disciples—and for the rest of us, too—to think there’s a reason for everything. 

In this story the Pharisees are again cast in the role of the bad guys, and they really live up to it. In fact, I think their behavior here is a quintessential example of what it is to be real dumb-assed jerks. 

So how do these Pharisees see the world? These guys have such a rigid world view that nothing can shake them. Jesus can’t be holy because a truly holy person would observe the Law of Moses and never do any kind of work on the Sabbath. Period. Forget compassion. Forget mercy. The law is the law, and they are its smug and self-righteous guardians.

This makes me ask: what absolutes might we believe? There is but one true expression of the Christian faith. Male homosexuals are all pedophiles. Women are not as smart as men. Every American should have the right to own a firearm. My brother-in-law is selfish? Big business is out to screw you. Foreigners sponge off our country. Everybody should pull themselves up by their bootstraps. Some people never change. Everything is their fault. 

Conservative or progressive, rich or poor, Black or white, we all have ideas in our heads which we think are unshakable. We think we see it all clearly, but maybe we don’t. And sometimes we just need to surrender. That’s what repentance is—changing our minds. Admitting there’s another way to look at things. The 18^th century ship captain John Newton once believed it was okay to transport Africans to the New World as slaves, but God opened his eyes to the truth. In return, Newton, who went blind in later life, wrote the poem which became the lyrics for “Amazing Grace:” 

“I once was lost, but now I’m found, was blind, but now I see.” 

Is there a place in your life open to mystery? Or a place in your heart open to change? Can you accept you might be wrong?

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends that this Lent is meaningful and brings you a new vision. May you see differently as if looking through the eyes of Jesus.

Looking differently taking a stunning image of the Grand Canyon means doing some planning. My secret tip is to download a site on google called “Fine Art Grand Canyon” and scan all the photos tourist have taken of this wonder of the world.  After a 5 minutes search, I found the following image above that I plan to take on my photo adventure.

 

 

A Woman Apostle

  

The Gospel Reading tells the story of a woman who is worthless by the standards of Jewish society at that time. Jesus has sent his disciples off for food, and he is sitting at a well when she comes to draw water. There is every reason why he shouldn’t talk to her at all.

What Jew or Samaritan would want to invite her to lunch?

First, she is a woman. The disciples are flabbergast at Jesus that keeps them from asking him what he thought he was doing when they return and find him talking to her without even a chaperone by her.

Secondly, she is a Samaritan. As she herself points out to him, Jews don’t talk to Samaritans. Samaritans are outcasts from the Jewish point of view, and self-respecting Jews stay away from them.

And, thirdly, this Samaritan has the sort of history that makes women pariahs even in their home communities. Jesus knows her status, and he lets her know he does. She has had five husbands—five husbands!—and she is currently living with a man to whom she is not married. Even by the lax standards of our own day, this sort of history would make people look askance at her. In her village she is undoubtedly a shamed person.

So, take it all and all, she’s a worthless person, isn’t she? What Jew or Samaritan would want to invite her to lunch?

But, you might be thinking, the savior of the world could certainly spare a crumb even for a shamed Samaritan woman. He could preach to her that her sins are forgiven, you might be supposing, or he could offer her some other kind of pastoral help.

But he doesn’t, does he? No, he asks her to help him. He opens the conversation with her by asking her to give him a drink.

And then look at how this story ends: she brings belief in Jesus to her village, and the villagers come to Jesus because of her.

She isn’t worthless then, is she? No, then she takes her rightful place among the apostles. The evangelization of her village is her accomplishment.

And so when Jesus asks her to care for him, he starts a process that brings her from being worthless to being the apostle to her village.

It was our Lord's belief in her innate goodness that changed her life. It was the love of Christ which changed a Samaritan woman with a checkered past into a future saint of the church.

My question to you today is this: are you an agent of transformation in the lives of others, or do you go around undermining, backbiting, gossiping and otherwise putting other people down.

We are challenged on a daily basis in our homes, in our work places and in our encounters with others throughout our daily lives to see them as Christ sees them: as men and women who are not perfect but in whom God has limitless love. Sometimes, we even need to see that in ourselves.

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends that we act an agents of change to see the goodness of one another and help to bring out the best in one another.

 

Fr. Matt's 76th Birthday Homily-Listen to Jesus and Do Not Be Afraid

                                                           

Antelope Canyon, Arizona by Fr. Matt

There is something deeply human about the desire to capture a perfect moment. I have been learning about the secrets of winning a photo contest, and the lesson is striking: most of us drive to a breathtaking place like the Grand Canyon or Niagara Falls, roll down the window, snap a quick shot on our phone, and drive away. We call it a tourist photo. The odds of winning a gold medal with that kind of effort? About one in a billion.

And then comes the harder truth. A photo judge reviewing 2,600 entries has only three seconds — three seconds — to look at each image and assign a score between one and ten. Three seconds to decide whether a photograph says something worth saying, or whether it is just another snapshot of a place everyone else has already photographed a thousand times before.

Now here we are, on the Second Sunday of Lent, and the Gospel places us on top of a mountain.  Six days after Jesus had spoken plainly about his coming suffering and death, he took Peter, James, and John up a high mountain. There, he was transfigured before them — his face shining like the sun, his clothes becoming white as light.

This is no tourist snapshot. This is the WOW moment. And it raises a serious question for all of us as we make our way through these forty days: what kind of Lent are we planning to live?

Because let's be honest with ourselves. Lent can feel a lot like that tourist photo. We examine our conscience, come up with something to give up — chocolate, a glass of wine, scrolling through our phones — and we hope we can survive forty days without going completely sideways. Habits are hard to break, especially the ones that are not good for us. And if we handed that Lenten practice to the Lord the way a photographer hands a tourist snapshot to a judge, what score do you think we would receive?

The WOW factor in photography, as it turns out, begins with planning. Before going to photograph Antelope Canyon near Page, Arizona — a place photographed a billion times by tourists and professionals alike — the serious photographer does the homework first. You study what has already been done. You look for the image that would make someone stop, look twice, and say, "WOW." You plan your shot so that when the light hits just right, you are ready. You are not just pointing and hoping. You know what you are looking for.

Christ's Transfiguration aims at strengthening the apostles' faith in anticipation of his Passion: the ascent onto the "high mountain" prepares for the ascent to Calvary.

That is not accidental. Jesus did not simply wander up a mountain and happen to glow. This was deliberate, planned, purposeful. In other words, Jesus was planning ahead for his disciples. He knew what was coming — the arrest, the trial, the cross — and he wanted them to have something to hold onto when the darkness fell. He gave them a glimpse of the destination before asking them to walk the road.

Jesus was not putting on a show. He was equipping his closest friends with something they would need desperately in the days ahead — the memory of having seen the glory of God with their own eyes.

From the bright cloud came the voice of the Father: "This is my Son, the Beloved; he enjoys my favour. Listen to him." When the disciples heard this, they fell on their faces, overcome with fear. But Jesus came up and touched them, saying, "Stand up, do not be afraid."

Notice what the disciples received on that mountain. Not a checklist. Not a set of rules. Two things: a command to listen, and a command not to be afraid. Those two instructions are the entire blueprint for a Lenten WOW factor. Listen to Jesus. And do not be afraid.

In this Transfiguration, the glory on the mountain was meant to carry the disciples through the agony in the garden. It was meant to carry them through Good Friday. It was the image they were meant to hold in their hearts when everything else looked like defeat.

And here is where the photo contest metaphor becomes something more than clever. The photographer who wins the gold medal is not the one who drove to the Grand Canyon and points a cell phone at it. The winner is the one who studied the light, planned the composition, arrived before dawn, waited patiently, and captured something nobody else had seen in quite that way. The winner is the one who was fully present, fully intentional, fully committed.

So what does a WOW factor Lent actually look like? It looks like planning. It looks like asking, honestly and prayerfully, where the Lord is calling you to make a real difference — not just in your own comfort level, but in the lives of actual people around you.

For me, it is reaching out to a family member struggling with dementia and their exhausted caregiver spouse, and not just offering sympathy, but rolling up your sleeves to find them real help — a medical team, a care plan, a safe place to live, a path forward. It might look like connecting my fire chief who has volunteers but no grant funding with someone who can teach him how to apply for what he needs. It might look like standing with our Latino brothers and sisters who are living in fear right now — not just feeling sad about it, but providing them with concrete, practical guidance to protect their rights and their dignity. It might look like protesting unjust policies, volunteering at an animal shelter, or simply helping a neighbor access medical or home care services they cannot navigate alone.

The divine voice commands us to listen to Jesus. But listening is more than hearing. As Jesus says in the Sermon on the Mount, building on the rock means not only hearing his words, but acting on them. Lent is not a season for better intentions. It is a season for becoming people who act on what we hear.

I have a good friend 83 years old whose spouse died in 2024, he shared that reading this reflection brought back the loneliness that he felt with the loss of his Rosemary but also the comfort of his family and friends who brought him through the pain and feeling of despair. He wrote: “I will never forget all the love and support I felt. It brought to mind the love and support he felt as a 9 year old when his dear mother died suddenly.  By the grace of God he survived. That is a wonderful feeling."

That hard walk is human life itself, marked by suffering, doubt, broken dreams, anxiety and loss. Without a glimpse of what lies ahead at the end of our striving, despair easily takes hold. And the nightly news gives us plenty of reasons for despair, doesn't it? Violence, injustice, corruption, people living in fear, communities being torn apart. It is precisely for moments like these that we return to the mountaintop. We return to the memory of the Transfiguration — not to escape the valley, but to find the courage to go back down into it.

The Transfiguration serves as a foretaste of the glorified state in heaven awaiting the faithful. It reminds us of our ultimate destiny — to share in the divine life and glory. The glory we glimpsed on that mountain is not just for Jesus. It is the destination to which he is leading all of us.

So what will be the focus of your WOW factor this Lent? What photograph of yourself are you going to hand to the Lord? What image of your life, your love, your service, will make him stop and say — WOW?

The three disciples fell to the ground in fear. But Jesus reached down and touched them. "Get up," he said. "Do not be afraid." Those words are for us too, right now. Whatever feels overwhelming — whatever injustice feels too large, whatever need feels too great, whatever cross feels too heavy — get up. Do not be afraid. You have seen the glory of the Lord. You know where this road leads.

Lord, I pray for all your people this Lent, that we will take the time to search our hearts for a plan that will truly make a difference — not just for ourselves, but for the people you have placed in our lives. Give us the wisdom to make of ourselves a picture that reflects your love and your compassion for all your people. May the light that shone on that mountaintop shine through us, into every dark corner of this world that needs it.

Listen to Jesus. And do not be afraid.

 

Be an Angel

                                            Frozen Rivendale Waterfalls by Fr Matt
  

Up to this point, Jesus has been a carpenter. I’m sure he had plenty of work to do. Now, however, he’s encountered John the Baptist, he’s been baptized, the Holy Spirit has descended upon him, and God’s voice has declared him God’s beloved son. Everything normal and familiar is gone, and the Spirit sends him out into the wilderness, away from everybody and with nothing to eat. 

How would you feel when everything familiar has slipped away? Here’s Jesus in a transitional stage. He’s left his old life. He’s got no one to talk to. He’s got nothing to eat. He’s in a desert and, as far as the eye can see, there’s nothing to look at. Was he frightened, do you think? Was he lonely? Did he feel confused? How would you feel? 

This is the moment when temptation always seems to strike. Whenever we feel we’ve lost something familiar—even if that thing was toxic to us—we become vulnerable. Maybe it was a bad behavior with alcohol or a drug. Maybe it was a job. Maybe it was your health or a favorite hobby you can’t do anymore. Maybe you’ve retired and are sitting at home wondering what to do with your time. Maybe your cognitive skills are waning with dementia and feel irritated and lost. Maybe your children have gone off to college or moved away and you no longer have the identity of being a parent and care-giver anymore. Maybe your spouse has died. At such moments the Devil loves to whisper stupid stuff in your ears. 

Every transition is a little death. It’s always tempting to dwell on what was lost instead of focusing on the possibilities of what may be ahead. Grief can take us into really frightening places, Or perhaps we’re ready to throw ourselves off the pinnacle of the temple. It may not be a temptation to suicide, but a great temptation to think because something that mattered has gone, nothing matters anymore. There may be the temptation to despair.

So here’s Jesus all alone in a wasteland facing the Devil by himself. But I take comfort in two things. First, that Jesus never was really alone. God was always there. In our times of confusion and temptation, Jesus has been where we are. Jesus has felt the loneliness, the emptiness, and the temptation just as we do. There’s no place we’ll go where he hasn’t been. 

The second thing which really jumps out at me is that angels were there to minister to the tempted. People would never have been able to beat their addiction if it hadn’t been for those in whom they confided, to whom they confess, and who were there to say, “Yeah, we’ve been there too.” 

I pray that God will put into our lives the people who need to be there, who will be understanding and supportive during our wilderness time. So often in my own life, in times of transition, I’ve been waited on by God’s messengers in human form. 

Our wilderness times can be challenging and frightening and leave us vulnerable to temptation. But God’s Word dwells within us, and God’s angels are never far away.

Do you know the legend of Saint Lawrence? He was a deacon in Rome back in the 3^rd century when the Emperor Valerian was persecuting Christians. Valerian liked to crucify and behead Christians. It was kind of his thing. Nevertheless, he’d heard of Lawrence’s charity to the poor, so he told the deacon he’s spare his life if he forked over the wealth of the church into his personal bank account. Lawrence agreed. He assembled before the emperor all the sick, the lame, the blind, and the destitute, and told Valerian, “These are the treasure of the church.” I suggest your “WOW for Lent:” might be a donation to support he poor in your community. May our hearts be with these treasures during this holy season.

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends that during this Season of Lent may we be angels to those in need our understanding and supportive to those people in their time of wilderness.