A wildfire rages right now just outside the little town that I serve. If the wind was blowing in a slightly different direction, it could have devastated our community. Natural disasters such as this always reminds us of just how fragile life truly is; it can change as swiftly as the breeze. Regardless of the hardships we face, the Cannaanite woman in the Gospel Reading today is an example of how to act-- never stop fighting. NEVER. 

Before you try walking on water, look at St. Peter today in the Gospel reading from Matthew as an example of what not to do. In this famous miracle, the future first pope called out to Jesus to ask if he could join him standing on the surface of the Sea of Galilee. He does. It all goes well until Peter takes his eyes off the Lord. Suddenly he panics at the raging storm around him and begins to sink. Is that not you and me? When the storms of life come and they will come, we are all tempted to lose sight of the Lord. We stop praying; we stop going to Mass; we neglect our soul (I am not speaking about those who refrain from coming because of the uncertainty of COVID-19. Each of us needs to judge the risks we take and act accordingly. Rather, I am referring to avoiding the extremes. True virtue is found in the middle, as St. Thomas Aquinas reminds us). The challenge for us Christians is to lock our gaze firmly on Jesus, no matter what comes. 

The only miracle of Jesus found in all four Gospels is the multiplication of the loaves and fish (Matthew 14:13-21). It must have left a powerful impression for Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John to include it. For them, they saw the Old Testament connection and power. Jesus is greater than the prophets of old. Jesus gives them the true bread -- himself. He is the true source of lasting happiness and joy. No amount of money, power, honor, or pleasure can ever take his place. "Why spend your money for what is not bread; your wages for what fails to satisfy? Heed me, and you shall eat well, you shall delight in rich fare. Come to me heedfully, listen, that you may have life." (From the First Reading at Mass in the Book of the Prophet Isaiah)

Have you ever asked yourself, "What is the deepest desire of my heart?" It's an intense question! It would not surprise if you said "no". However, take a moment to consider it. What is the deepest desire of your heart? What do you long for? What makes you happy? Although only a few people may consciously ask themselves such a dramatic question, the decisions we make in our lives -- the big and even the small -- all revolve around our quest for happiness. In the first reading at Mass this Sunday from the First Book of Kings 3:5,-7-12, God essentially asks King Solomon this question: “Ask something of me and I will give it to you.” If you can have anything in the known universe, how would you respond to God? More money? More beauty? More earthly pleasure? Solomon's response will surprise you.  

My heart is heavy. Los Angeles, California; Miami, Florida; Boston, Massachusetts; Brooklyn, New York; New Haven, Connecticut; St. Louis, Missouri; San Francisco and Sacramento. Nantes, France. Within the past few weeks, Catholic churches and monuments in these cities have either been set ablaze or vandalized. We only hear a scant whimper from the mainstream media. I only fear the trend will spiral even more recklessly. Do you see why my heart is heavy? Yet despite it all, my Christian heart is hopeful. Our master tells us in the Gospel reading today that the "wheat and the weeds" must grow together for now. Nothing escapes his gaze. When the final judgment comes, evil doers will receive their due soon enough. We need not seek vengeance with the dull weapons of the world; rather we love lavishly like Him. We turn the other cheek first. We forgive and we pray ardently for those who hate us. To spin the classic adage, we bring a rosary, not a knife, to the gun fight.  

This Sunday, we hear in the Gospel reading Jesus' famous Parable of the Sower (Matthew 13:1-23). ​​​​​​It's one of my personal favorites. In it, Jesus describes the four main ways people receive the message of Christianity as a seed being planted in soil. Some people outright reject the faith immediately; others, embrace it with fervor in the beginning, but soon fall away. The third group receives the Word but the shimmer of material wealth quickly catches their eye, leaving God in the dust. The final group, flourishes in the sun, becoming ablaze in God and producing an abundant harvest for the Kingdom. Why does the "seed" take root in some "soils" and not others? Pondering this question for nearly 20 years, I think I've discovered part of the answer -- the difference between the soils is the degree of need. The more we acknowledge our need for God, the greater the fruit will be in our lives. 

How are we to approach these uncertain times we find ourselves in? We have two fundamental, yet strikingly different options, I believe. One way is summed in the following words which were proclaimed on a major news channel from one of its million-dollar personalities: "If you believe in one another and if do the right thing for yourself and your community, things will get better in this country. You don't need help from above. It's within us." (emphasis added). Compare that sentiment with the words of Jesus in this Sunday's Gospel Reading from Matthew 11:25-30: “Come to me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am meek and humble of heart; and you will find rest for yourselves. For my yoke is easy, and my burden light.” Which path will you choose? 

Most kids who grew up on Saturday morning cartoons in the 1980's will know the following famous saying, "More than meets the eye." It is part of the theme song of the Transformers that we all sang along with our little hearts. In many ways, the mission of the Catholic cathedral also matches this song perfectly, especially our own in downtown Sacramento -- The Cathedral of the Blessed Sacrament. Built 131 years ago a few blocks from the capital building of the most populous state in our nation, commanding the 5th largest economy in the world, the cathedral stands as a visible holy reminder to the rich and powerful that there is "more than meets the eye." 

The year 2020 should be dubbed the "Year of Fear." This makes the words of Jesus in this Sunday's Gospel reading all the more powerful: "FEAR NO ONE...  do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul; rather, be afraid of the one who can destroy both soul and body in Gehenna." (Emphasis added) Who is this person of which he speaks? The Roman Emperor? The Devil? No. Jesus is actually speaking of God himself; the creator of our soul is the only one that can destroy it. In the Book of Proverbs and Psalms, the God taught his Jewish people that "The beginning of wisdom is the fear of the Lord." We need to have a healthy fear of God, but not one rooted in punishment like a child has towards his parents, but rather a fear rooted in love. The latter fear seeks to avoid hurting or disobeying the other because we cherish them. The last thing in the world we want to do is to cause pain to those we love the most. 

We share many things in common with our Protestant brothers and sisters. In fact, on key fundamentals of the Christian faith, what unites us far outweighs what divides us. Yet at the same time, striking divergent points of contention cannot be swept under the rug. The great Solemnity of Corpus Christi (The Body of Christ) that the Church celebrates this Sunday is one such stumbling block. We maintain the ancient position that what Jesus gave us at the Last Supper and subsequently commanded us to repeat until he comes again, is truly his Real Presence hidden behind the appearance of bread and wine. It is not merely symbolic; it is radically so much more.  We see him clearly teaching this baffling doctrine in our Gospel reading: "Amen, amen, I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you do not have life within you.... For my flesh is true food, and my blood is true drink. Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood remains in me and I in him." (cf. John 6:51-58). For the first 1500 years, all Christians believed this. Only until the Reformation of the 16th Century do we begin to see this belief challenged. "What's the big deal anyway?" An outside observe may ask if they see a Protestant pastor and a Catholic priest arguing about this teaching. Simply put, its a big deal because the Eucharist, the bread and wine that is consecrated on the altar every single Sunday is not just a "something" but rather, a "someone."