Cycle C Sunday Resources

If you wanted to name the three most important events of your life, how would you go about choosing them? Your birth is an obvious first. But after that, what criteria would you use to select the others? Most of us would probably pick major transition points, choices that, as Robert Frost wrote, seemed to make all the difference.

To dream the impossible dream, to fight the unbeatable foe, to bear with unbearable sorrow, to run where the brave dare not go.” In “The Man of La Mancha,” Don Quixote sang those words in his imaginary role as the chivalrous hero to Dulcinea, the lady of the court he had invented for his dream quest. His idealistic song ends with the idea that if he is true to his quest, the world will be better because one man “strove with his last ounce of courage … to reach the unreachable star.” Of course, Don Quixote was crazy.

The Fourth Sunday of Easter always celebrates Christ as the Good Shepherd. In spite of the comforting image of Christ as Shepherd, today’s Scriptures indicate that hearing the voice of the shepherd requires discernment, and that his followers can expect to receive the same treatment as he did.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus had turned what we popularly call the Last Supper into an occasion to teach his disciples at length. The last meal Jesus shared with his disciples was not that supper, but this breakfast he prepared for them on the shore.

When the risen Jesus made himself present in the midst of the disciples who were hiding in the upper room, his words and actions recapitulated everything he had done with and been for them, especially at their last supper together. He greeted them saying, “Peace be with you.”

Having prayed our way through Holy Week, we are only too aware that the disciples, particularly the men among them, performed poorly during the events of Jesus’ passion. Unsurprisingly, they didn’t do a lot better with the Resurrection.

The week we call holy invites us to enter into the heart of our faith with our heads and hearts and feet. One way we might approach this week is through the vantage point of the three crowds Luke describes. Their diverse responses to Jesus have been repeated through the ages and probably in our own lives.

Hell hath no fury like a mob riled up by demagogues. Some well-placed, hateful words can stir up ferocious shouts and actions that few of the people involved would perform singly or in moments of rational thinking.

When someone from the people of Bemba acts unjustly or irresponsibly, then that person is required to stand in the center of the village, alone and unrestrained. The other members of the Bemba people are called together and they gather in a large circle around the one who has been accused of some wrongdoing.

Jesus’ Father has a habit of choosing to work through the most inauspicious people and circumstances. Looking at God’s lack of highly qualified agents, one might suspect that the Creator is downright poor.

Every now and then, we see someone whose face, maybe even his or her whole being, appears radiant. People speak of brides and grooms as glowing with joy. It is even more than joy. It might appear when parents first behold their child, or see that child accomplish something wonderful. We seem to glow in moments of genuine fulfillment and love. When we understand what has caused that sort of feeling to shine forth from others, we get a glimpse of their deepest desires and the essence of who they are. That is what the disciples saw happen to Jesus as he prayed on the mountain.

As we begin Lent, Luke tells us a story in which the challenge of tempting Jesus makes the devil so desperate that he actually imitates Jesus and quotes Scripture to induce him to betray his identity and vocation.

In his commentary on today’s reading from Matthew, ordained Presbyterian elder Cláudio Carvalhaes describes an Ash Wednesday service he attended with people who were homeless.

It seems to me that we often tend to hear the Gospel too piously. When I picture a scene in which Jesus preached today’s Gospel, I wonder if he might have blindfolded a couple of kids to illustrate his point.

When I was a high school sophomore, we had a teacher that some of us disliked. When I complained to my mom, she told me that I must pray for the teacher. When I repeated my grumbling days later, Mom asked if I had done what she said. I said, “Yes.” In response to her raised eyebrows, I continued, “It was nearly impossible, but, yes, I am praying for her … to have a happy death before the end of the semester.”

Luke won’t let us blink or turn away. He portrays Jesus as looking up at the people of the world and addressing us with the words, “Blessed are you who are poor” and “Woe to you who are rich.”

What was Peter expecting when he let Jesus commandeer his boat as a pulpit? He had already met and heard Jesus and had even invited him to dine in his home where he saw Jesus heal his mother-in-law.

A number of years ago, I was invited to translate for a reporter interviewing members of a youth group about their hopes and plans. After we finished, the reporter said to me, “I have never heard anything like this! I kept asking these kids what they wanted to do in the future, and each one started out saying something like, ‘My people need health care, so I want to be a doctor,’ or, ‘My people need education, so I want to prepare to teach in the university.’ I have never heard college students in the U.S. explain their plans in relation to the needs of our people.” 

When was the last time you were in church and heard a truly breathtaking homily, saw people moved to tears by the challenge they heard, or witnessed a prophetic challenge to pious decorum?

“There’s nothing worth doing that isn’t worth overdoing.” Thus spoke one of my delightfully irreverent college friends. Impudent as that sounds, it echoes one commentary about the first of Jesus’ signs recorded in John’s Gospel.

“The people were filled with expectation.” That is how Luke described the excitement around John the Baptist.

What would happen if a group of Romanian Gypsies or Afghan Muslims showed up at the parish or chancery, announcing that they had come to find the reformer who was about to make our church into what it ought to be?

The Lord look upon you kindly and give you peace! What better way to begin the new year than with this blessing? The Virgin Mother herself probably heard it pronounced over her and her people.

The fifth joyful mystery of the rosary meditates on the story of finding Jesus in the Temple. It could also be called the first of Mary’s “mysteries of protest.”

Everybody is bustling, getting ready for Christmas. Did you ever wonder what the preparations for the first Christmas looked like from the vantage point of eternity?

I wonder if Luke had tongue in cheek when he wrote the conclusion to his description of John the Baptist. From Luke’s picture, it seems that although John made clear demands on everybody, the poor got the worst of it.

“The word of God came to John … in the desert.” On this Second Sunday of Advent, unless we live in an area such as the Southwest U.S., the desert is probably about as far from our imaginations as a herd of camels. In today's Gospel, Luke wants us to think about the desert and why John was there instead of protesting around the palace or preaching in the Temple.

We are living in a time of global turmoil as we watch some democracies being taken apart while other ones erode socially, culturally and economically. In ancient biblical times, people faced similar crises to those we face today. In the midst of wars, with empires usurping power and lands from one another, the Israelites looked for good and just leadership. In this Sunday’s first reading, the biblical writer speaks about a divinely promised new leader who will do what is just and right and bring peace and security to the land of Israel and Judah.

Christmas day has finally dawned. There’s been so much anticipation, so much hype, that it’s hard for one day to bear the weight of all the expectations.

 We have only one, very short, document written about Jesus during his own lifetime: the inscription explaining the reason for his execution. Luke quotes it as saying: “This is the King of the Jews.”

After a stint of several years in Africa, a European missionary went on a home visit and returned after a few weeks with a fine set of colorful posters that he used to illustrate his sermons. As he had hoped, the pictures proved to be a great success. Each Sunday after the liturgy, many in the congregation would linger around the posters and discuss what they had learned.

Radio broadcaster, Paul Harvey (1918-2009) who, at the peak of his 40-year career, was heard on 1,600 radio stations by 24 million people weekly, was best known for what he called, “The Rest of the Story.”

This interlude is the time between transgression and awareness, when God invites us forward into life; it is so much more powerful than anger or violence. 

 Have you run into those churchy types whose very presence makes you aware that you don’t measure up? They don’t have to publish their religious résumé. Something about their bearing broadcasts it without any need for a printed copy. 

When we meet the judge of today’s parable, we are quickly informed that the widow can’t appeal to his good side — he doesn’t have one. 

“There are new rules in place now,” he said. “There is no more black and white, no more segregation. We are, all of us, experiencing a new beginning. We are all green with new life.” 

Growing up, we each had chores so that we might contribute toward the family’s well-being and learn responsibility. One of mine, not my favorite, was to keep the fire going when my dad set up the grill for a cookout.

Today’s Liturgy of the Word opens with Amos quoting God, crying out, “Woe to the complacent.” Even with all the drama of hearing God shout, the last word is the key.

This week the scriptures invite us to consider profit and loss and grace. The prophet Amos, a rancher and orchard owner by trade, goes on the offensive against his wealthy colleagues who have, as Pope Francis would say, allowed the culture of prosperity to deaden them.

 When he inaugurated the Year of Mercy, Pope Francis said, “We want to live this Jubilee Year in light of the Lord’s words, Merciful like the Father” (Misericordiae Vultus #13).

Jesus is the face of God made visible, the wisdom of God revealed and the One who daily challenges the quality of our discipleship. 

St. Paul, in today’s reading from Galatians, summarizes for us: “May I never boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ.” With the urgency and detachment of the 72, we go forth daily, bearing the good news of Christ. Then, as St. Paul says, we will be “a new creation.”

The prophets understood that praying was serious business and often a real danger to their personal and communal agendas.

Have you ever suffered for your faith? Has any harm come to you because you believe in Jesus? At this very moment, there are Christians being tortured and killed because they dared to admit that they are believers.

What is expected of us as we watch and work for the realization of God’s reign among us? What should we be doing in this seemingly endless interim between the appearances of Jesus?

Unlike catechisms, scripture frequently offers us a choice. The same theology doesn’t run from the first chapter of Genesis to the last chapter of Revelation. 

Scripture tells of plenty of conflicts between brothers. It began with Cain and Abel and then seemed to be a generational curse with Ishmael and Isaac, Jacob and Esau and finally the colorful eleven-to-one saga of Joseph and his brothers. Moses and Aaron apparently got along, but in the Christian Scriptures we hear that even Jesus’ own family thought he had lost his mind (Mark 3:21). 

We usually refer to today’s Gospel story as the story of the good Samaritan. But the person at the center, the one who most likely represents us and needs to learn something, is the lawyer Jesus wouldn’t let off the hook. Luke doesn’t name him, so let’s call him “Roger.”

The website “The Beatles Bible” dubs “Imagine” as John Lennon’s most iconic song. According to Wikipedia, Lennon once explained that it was an “anti-religious, anti-nationalistic, anti-conventional, anti-capitalistic” song that got “sugar-coated” into acceptability.

Mission has always been central to my life as a Dominican. I am a biblical scholar, working primarily in the area of biblical prophetic texts, while simultaneously wondering about and interrogating the prophetic text called “life.” My work as a biblical scholar and teacher is more than a career; it is a vocation.

As Jesus prepares to go away, he promises his disciples his “forever presence” in the person of his own Spirit. When we read this pledge in the context of the entire discourse, we realize that what he promises through the Spirit goes beyond the physical presence they have experienced and anything he has already given them.

We tend to think that there are moments that change us forever. We might refer to the time when we allowed ourselves to fall in love. It could be the day of becoming a parent or being ordained or making a lifelong commitment. But the more we think about those events, the more we realize these were, at most, signal moments in a much bigger process. 

I often think that if at the age of 10 months I had possessed the kind of rational power I use today, I would never have learned to walk. I would have tried it out a few times, but after discovering that I could fall backward, forward, on my side and on my face, I would have come to the conclusion that I was destined to be a sitter — perhaps a crawler, but certainly not a walker. That two-legged stuff was for those more athletic — perhaps longer-legged — than I.