Have You Caught Anybody Lately?

 

You know, I have to admit something to you this morning. When I was about ten years old, my parents used to take me on vacation to Cape Vincent, a small cottage fishing village along the St. Lawrence River. My father knew a coworker who had built a home there and invited us to go fishing with him out on the river. The only problem was that Matty's tummy couldn't handle the ride. Once our guide found the spot where the fish were biting, we'd sit in the boat with our fishing lines in the water, waiting for a nibble. But the boat would be bobbling up and down in the water, and my insides would be bobbling up and down until I became seasick and they'd have to take me back to shore.

For me, fishing was always something old retired guys did off the pier. You know the type – bring a deck chair, drink a few beers, maybe fall asleep with your rod in the water. But fishing for a living? That's a whole different story. As I got older, I began to understand what real fishing meant in the ancient world. It was brutal, back-breaking work. The bleeding hands, the sheer danger of a life on the ocean, the long hours away from home – these fishermen weren't having a leisurely afternoon by the water. They were engaged in hard, uncertain labor just to put food on the table.

So when we hear in today's Gospel that Jesus walks by the Sea of Galilee and sees Peter and Andrew casting their nets, we need to understand what he's really asking of them. He says, "Come after me, and I will make you fishers of men." And immediately – Matthew tells us *immediately* – they left their nets and followed him.

Now, here's what strikes me about this. These men were leaving a life that was brutal, hard, and fairly uncertain. But what were they trading it for? A life that would be brutal, hard, completely uncertain, and would end in martyrdom for most of them! Notice how Matthew begins this whole section – he tells us that John the Baptist has been arrested. Jesus is starting his ministry with a warning sign flashing right in front of him: "This path leads to danger."

So why would they do it? Either they were really desperate to get out of the fishing business, or there was something about Jesus that compelled them to change their identities and embrace a completely new way of life.

Here's my question for all of us today: Have you caught anybody lately?

I know, I know – that sounds pushy. You might be thinking, "Father, I don't want to force my faith on anybody. I don't think religion should be something you wear on your sleeve." And I get that. We don't want to be obnoxious or intrusive. But if we're honest with ourselves, this might not be a sign of our great humility. Rather, we know it's a risk to intrude into anyone else's life and try to talk with them about important matters.

Or maybe you're thinking, "I'm just not that good at talking about my faith. I don't know the right words to use." I understand that too. But notice what Jesus actually says to these fishermen. He doesn't tell them, "Come follow me and I will teach you to have intelligent religious discussions." He doesn't say, "I'll make you great preachers" or "I'll turn you into theologians." Rather, his expectations are much more practical. He says, "I will make you fishers of men." He builds on something they already know how to do.

Think about that for a moment. Jesus takes their ordinary skills – their knowledge of nets and boats and patience and persistence – and transforms them into tools for the kingdom of God. He doesn't ask them to become something completely different. He asks them to bring who they already are into his service.

The same is true for us. We each have skills, experiences, relationships, and gifts that Jesus can use. Maybe you're good at listening. Maybe you're skilled at organizing. Maybe you have a gift for making people feel welcome. Maybe you've been through difficult times and can offer hope to others who are struggling. Jesus can take all of that and use it to draw people closer to him.

Sometimes I think being the Catholic Church today can feel like being an ancient fisherman. It can be brutal, hard, and uncertain. The fish don't always seem to be swimming our way. And the fish already in the net have so many reasons to try and tear themselves loose – there's pain, sickness, family issues, fear, disillusionment with the Church itself. We can feel like we're working hard and not catching much.

But here's what we can't forget: Jesus didn't promise his first disciples that fishing for people would be easy. He promised that he would be with them. "I will make you fishers of men" – *I* will do it. Not you alone, but *I* working through you.

Most of us got here to this church through fairly ordinary means. Our parents brought us when we were young. A friend invited us. Someone we worked with mentioned their faith community. These weren't dramatic, blinding-light conversions. They were simple invitations extended and accepted. And that's usually how it works.

So when's the last time you invited someone to come with you to Mass? When's the last time you mentioned to a coworker that your parish has a great program for their kids? When's the last time you offered to pray for someone who was going through a difficult time? These are simple things – casting the net, if you will.

You know what people say when they're asked why they're not active in a church? The number one reason is: no one ever asked me. Think about that. We're not talking about people who are hostile to faith. We're talking about people who are just waiting for an invitation.

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends, help us to see the opportunities he's placing before us this week. Maybe there's someone at work who needs encouragement. Maybe there's a neighbor who's going through a hard time. Maybe there's a family member who's drifted away from the Church and just needs someone to reach out with love and without judgment. We're all fishers now. Jesus has called us by name, just as he called Peter and Andrew. The question is: will we leave our nets and follow him? Will we let him transform our ordinary gifts into tools for his kingdom?

"$9,000 in Debt"

Little Tonawanda Creek in Winter 

Photo by Fr. Matt

      

A young hard working single mom was told by her coworker to come see me. She heard that I might be helpful in locating some resources.

 

This mom has a 10 year old son and her older sister lives with her in the home and requires daily treatments for a medical condition. However, she owned $9,000 in back utility payments. There has been no heat in her home for the past three months. The electric was turned back on so that  her sister could continue her medical treatments. However, her furnace and oven were not working. When she called the utility company to recommend a payment plan they told her she would have to pay the full amount before the heat could be turned back on.

$9,000 in debt, no heat in the house so does that mean we need to start a “Go Fund Me” page. Instead, I called 211, the county referral resource center and the customer service agent suggested to contact HEAP (Home Energy Assistance Program). This mom did call HEAP and because she works two jobs, they told her that she was not eligible because she makes “too much money.” Really, single mom, works two jobs for non-profit agency, caregiver to her child and sister and still doesn’t qualify.

What’s the next option? 211 agent suggests to contact NYS Temporary Assistance Program. Once again, this mom had applied and she was told that she doesn’t quality.

So I checked the RGE customer service website and found a section entitled “Payment Arrangements.” Our distressed mom discovered that her heat had never been turned off despite the fact she owed $9,000. However, if she did not pay by January 22 her utilities would be shut off. Then the kind agent (guardian angel) said wait, while she consulted with her supervisor and came back to ask some questions. I thanked the agent for her patience and understanding and when she came back on the phone she asked mom questions about mom’s income and bills. After 10 minutes of getting background information about her incomes and monthly bills, the agent returned to the phone and told mom: “YOU QUALIFY.”

What this meant was that her utility account would be zeroed out to nothing and that $10 would be added to each bill moving forward. Her monthly bill would be about $130 which mom could pay. There would be no balance on her current account. Our “guardian angel” customer service lady told mom to contact the landlord to check that her pilot lights were working and if not call the utility company to come and turn them back on. Also, the agent recommended to mom to call her sister’s doctor and request the office to fax back verification of her sister’s medical condition that required utilities be turned on for the lack of energy would agitate her medical condition.

Needless to say, I expressed our gratitude to this customer service lady who “saved the day” and hopefully the heat would be back on tonight so that her child and sister would be warm and healthy.

Lords, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends whose “guardian angels”: are looking out for us during desperate times. We are grateful for all their extra time and going beyond the call of duty. They are a sign of your love and compassion for all your children in desperate times.

Exerpt from my Homily for the Ordination of Deacon John to 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.

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.  

 

Lord, I pray for all my Sonshine Friends that like Father John who accepted your invitation to serve is an inspiration to all of us to speak up for justice, comfort to the grieving and hope to those who despair.

 

 

 

 

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.