First Sunday of Advent @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish, Birch Run

First Sunday of Advent: The Splinter in Your Mind

The Red Pill Moment

In the 1999 science fiction classic The Matrix, there is a defining moment that has permeated our culture. The protagonist, Neo, sits across from Morpheus in a rainy, decaying room. Morpheus explains to Neo that he has been living in a dream world, a computer-generated simulation designed to keep him docile. He says, “You know something. What you know you can't explain, but you feel it. You've felt it your entire life, that there's something wrong with the world. You don't know what it is, but it's there, like a splinter in your mind, driving you mad. ”

Morpheus then offers the famous choice. The blue pill: you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. The red pill: you stay in Wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes. The blue pill is the comfort of sleep; the red pill is the harsh, demanding, but liberating shock of reality. 

Today, on the First Sunday of Advent, the Church presents us with the Red Pill. The liturgical color changes to violet. The music shifts. The readings become stark. We are being asked to wake up from the simulation—the simulation of a world that tells us life is only about buying, selling, eating, and entertainment—and to confront the "splinter in our mind" that tells us we were made for God. 

The Sleep of the Good-Enough

The Gospel today from St. Matthew (24:37-44) is chilling, not because it depicts evil, but because it depicts apathy. Jesus compares the coming of the Son of Man to the days of Noah. We tend to imagine the people of Noah’s time as wicked monsters, but Jesus describes them quite differently. He says they were “eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage. ”

Think about that list. Eating. Drinking. Getting married. These are not sins! These are the fundamental goods of human life. They are necessary for survival and society. The tragedy of the people in Noah’s day wasn't that they were doing evil things; it was that they were so consumed by the good things that they became blind to the ultimate thing. They were so busy maintaining their daily routines that they didn't notice the storm clouds gathering. They were sleepwalking through life, right up until the flood came and carried them away. 

Jesus warns us: “So too, you also must be prepared, for at an hour you do not expect, the Son of Man will come. ” The danger for us in 2025 is the exact same. We are not necessarily fighting against paganism; we are fighting against the anesthetic of busyness. We are fighting the blue pill of comfort that tells us we have plenty of time. 

St. Paul, in the Second Reading from Romans (13:11-14), identifies this spiritual lethargy perfectly. He writes with the urgency of a man shaking a sleeping friend by the shoulders: “You know the time; it is the hour now for you to awake from sleep. ”

Paul contrasts the "works of darkness" with the "armor of light. " Interestingly, he lists "rivalry and jealousy" alongside "drunkenness and promiscuity. " Why? because rivalry and jealousy are the byproducts of a mind that is asleep to God. When we forget that our true citizenship is in heaven, we start fighting over the scraps here on earth. We need to wake up. 

Atomic Faith: Making it Obvious

So, how do we wake up? How do we take the red pill and stay awake when the entire world around us is screaming for us to go back to sleep, to buy more, to scroll more, to care less?

We can turn to a principle from James Clear’s book, Atomic Habits. The first law of behavior change is: 

Make it Obvious

Clear argues that our behaviors are largely responses to the cues in our environment. If you want to eat healthier, but you leave a jar of cookies on the counter, you will eat the cookies. The visual cue triggers the habit. Conversely, if you want to practice the guitar, but it’s hidden in the closet, you will never play it. To change the habit, you must change the environment to make the cue unavoidable. 

In the spiritual life, we often rely on willpower. We say, "I will just try harder to remember Jesus this December. " That is a strategy for failure. Instead, we must Make it Obvious. We must design our environment so that the reality of God is the first thing we see. 

The Prophet Isaiah gives us the ultimate visual cue in the First Reading (2:1-5). He describes a physical restructuring of the world: “The mountain of the LORD’s house shall be established as the highest of mountains. ” He describes a world where “swords are beaten into plowshares. ” These are tangible, visible changes. When the sword becomes a plow, you can’t miss it. The environment dictates a new way of living—one of peace rather than war. 

The Challenge: Redesigning Your Advent

This Advent, I challenge you to redesign your environment to make the "Red Pill" of faith obvious. 

1. The Visual Interrupt: In The Matrix, "glitches" were signs that reality was breaking through. Create holy glitches in your home. Do not just put the Advent wreath on the table as a centerpiece; put it in a place where it interrupts your flow. Place your Bible open on the coffee table, not closed on a shelf. Put a Rosary on top of your phone charger. Make it so that you literally cannot go through your day without bumping into a cue that says: Wake Up.   

2. The Digital Cue: We live on our screens. St. Paul tells us to “put on the Lord Jesus Christ.” In the modern world, this means we must curate what we see. Change your phone background to an image of the Nativity or a verse from today’s Gospel. Unfollow accounts that make you feel jealous or inadequate (the "rivalry" Paul warns against) and follow accounts that prompt you to pray. 

3. The Morning Anchor: The people in Noah’s day were swept away because they started their day with "eating and drinking. " Start your day with the light. Before you check the news, before you check the weather, light a candle. Say one prayer. Make the presence of God the most obvious thing in your morning routine.  

The world wants you to stay asleep. It wants you to be a consumer, a passive observer of the holiday season. But the Lord says, “Stay awake!” He is coming. The Mountain of the Lord is calling. Let us beat our swords into plowshares, our distractions into devotion, and walk in the light of the Lord. 

Ecumenical Prayer Service, Taymouth First Presbyterian Church

The Fullness of Gratitude: Remembering, Rejoicing, and Resting

We are gathered here— all seeking to give thanks—in this place two days before Thanksgiving. It is so easy to see Thanksgiving Day as merely about the food, the football, or the break from work. But when we look at our scripture readings today, we realize that 

Thanksgiving is not just a holiday; it is a sacred posture, a disciplined way of life.

What we heard from the Law, an Epistle, and the Gospel give us a framework to embrace this disciplined posture. Let’s look at gratitude as a three-part journey: 

Remembering, Rejoicing, and Resting.

1. Gratitude is Remembering: The Offering of the First Fruits

We start in Deuteronomy (26:1-11), where the Lord instructs the Israelite on how to present their offering of the first fruits. It's a gorgeous and deeply humble ritual. You bring the best of the harvest—the absolute first—and before you can offer it, you must recite your family history.

And the first line of that recitation is a punch to the gut: 

“My father was a wandering Aramean.”

Stop and think about that. You are standing in the Promised Land, successful, holding your greatest bounty, and you must begin your praise by confessing that your roots are in wandering, slavery, and oppression. It is the ultimate underdog narrative.

We love the underdog story, don’t we? That’s why we cheer for the unexpected sports team, and why we listen to the musical Hamilton, whose hero's drive is rooted entirely in his past as an "orphan, immigrant, bastard." The energy comes from remembering where you started.

This is the challenge of the first fruit: You cannot appreciate the "milk and honey" without acknowledging the "wandering Aramean." True thanksgiving isn't just praising God for the blessing; it’s praising God for the deliverance—for getting you out of the wandering, through the wilderness, and into the place of abundance. As Deuteronomy 26:8-10 says: 

"The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm... He brought us to this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey. And now, I bring the first of the produce of the soil that you, Lord, have given me.” 

What is the wandering Aramean in your own story? Let us not forget that struggle; it is the very foundation of our present thankfulness.

2. Gratitude is Rejoicing: The Antidote to Anxiety

If Deuteronomy anchors us in the past, the next text anchors us in the urgent present.

But how do we maintain our connection to gratitude when our world is full of negativity? The headlines are heavy, the trials are real, and the anxiety is palpable?

Paul, writing from prison to the Philippians (4:4-7), gives us the counter-intuitive answer: 

“Rejoice in the Lord always. I will say it again: Rejoice! ... Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.”

Notice the mechanism here. He doesn't say, "Solve your problems and then be thankful." He says, "Be thankful while you are presenting your requests." It is the spiritual discipline of inserting thanksgiving into your worries.

Let’s call this the "sandwich of peace." When you pray about a fear, first offer thanks for the blessings you already have, then present your need, and then immediately offer thanks again, trusting that God is already at work. This act of gratitude interrupts the cycle of worry. It is the spiritual equivalent of the mindfulness and pause button we all seek in our stress-filled world. When you choose gratitude in the midst of the chaos, the "peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

3. Gratitude is Resting: The Easy Yoke

The ultimate act of spiritual maturity is not running faster or working harder; it is accepting the gift of rest. This is what Jesus offers us in Matthew 11:25-30.

Before the famous invitation, Jesus offers his own prayer of thanks: 

“I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children.”

 Again, it is the humble and the infants—the ones who know they cannot carry the weight alone—who receive the truth.

Then, the invitation: 

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

This passage is a direct confrontation with the modern “hustle culture” that defines our worth by our exhaustion and our relentless striving. We are constantly pressured to carry heavy, self-imposed burdens of perfectionism, endless productivity, and financial worry. We often feel guilty for resting.

But Jesus is saying: 

I do not want your fatigue; I want your surrender.

To put on the "easy yoke" is to thank God by trusting Him with the weight. It is the realization that your identity is not tied up in how much you achieve, but in how much you are loved. The ultimate act of Thanksgiving is to receive this profound invitation, to stop striving, and to find the quiet, restorative peace that only comes from resting your soul in His care.

Conclusion

So, as we prepare for a day of feasting, may our hearts feast first.

1. Remembering the journey, so we appreciate the abundance.

1. Rejoicing in the now, so we bypass anxiety into thanksgiving.

1. Resting in the easy yoke, so we live in the grace we have been given.

Let us be filled with gratitude and thanksgiving: May the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, guard our hearts and minds today and always. – Amen.

Christ the King Sunday @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish, Birch Run

In the 2010 movie The King’s Speech, we meet Prince Albert, Duke of York — known to his family as “Bertie” — who unexpectedly became King George VI, at the very onset of the Second World War. 

When we hear the word "King," our minds automatically conjure up images: crowns, gold, and power. A king's authority is often symbolized by the strength of his voice—his ability to speak with command.

The great crisis of Bertie’s life was not a foreign enemy, but his own profound, paralyzing stammer. Though he was called to lead his nation on the brink of World War II … to inspire, and to rally his people … he struggled to speak at all — every halting word betraying his own weakness, fear, and limitation. 

This weakness threatened to defined his kingship. 

To truly reign, he had to find his voice, a voice trapped within his own vulnerable humanity. His true strength was unlocked only when he embraced and conquered this personal internal struggle.

Today we celebrate the Solemnity of Christ the King — the final Sunday of our Church year. Next Sunday, we will start a new Church Year, and enter into Advent. But today, the Church asks us not to think of a baby in a manger, but to look at the majestic, eternal King.

This struggle to find true authority brings us to our Scriptures, which reveal a God whose sovereignty is constantly turned upside down.

The First Reading introduces us to the second human King of Israel, King David. The people asked him to be their shepherd and commander. David’s kingship was born out of relationship — “your [own] bone and your [own] flesh.” David had proven his leadership through loyalty, protection, and care for the flock. The Lord Himself called David “a man after [God’s] own heart.” This human kingship pointed to something far greater: leadership defined not by wealth, or power, or palaces, but by a self-sacrificial love for his people.

Our Second Reading explodes this image into the universe. It reminds us that Christ is not just the commander an earthly kingdom; He is the universal King. He is the image of the invisible God, the firstborn of all creation. He existed before time began, He created everything, and in him, “all things hold together.” Yet, this King of infinite power reconciles everything to Himself “by the blood of his cross.”

Which brings us to today’s Gospel. If you want to see the King of the Universe enthroned, don't look at a gilded palace. Look to the Cross. The soldiers and the crowds demanded that He use His power for self-preservation, mocking Him with the title: “The King of the Jews.” But Jesus shows us a different kind of sovereignty. His power is revealed in His weakness. He does not command legions; instead, He asks God the Father to forgive His executioners.

The profound act of Christ’s divine reign is revealed in his final words to the criminal hanging beside him. This criminal, who acknowledged his own guilt, saw past the current circumstances to the true authority of God — the authority of mercy saying, "Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

And what is the voice of Christ the King in his moment of ultimate vulnerability? How does the King of Kings, the Word Made Flesh speak from the cross? It is the purest expression of His divine authority.

Amen, I say to you, today you will be with me in Paradise.

This is the promise of Christ the King to us. His shepherding care, His divine power, and His unconditional mercy all converge on the Cross. His kingdom isn't built on force; it’s built on forgiveness, grace, and mercy.

As we approach this altar to receive the Sacred Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ — let us choose Him as our King and Lord. His kingship is defined by humility and service, and so our own discipleship must be defined by the same. 

Like our King, let us seek the lost, speak with mercy, and cling to the Cross. Our “King’s Speech” is found in the living Word of God. He has already promised us Paradise. Let us pray that we may have the faith to say to Jesus: "Remember me," and live our lives as loyal subjects of Christ our Risen King.

Dedication of the Lateran Basilica @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish Birch Run

Today we celebrate the Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica in Rome. It’s not a saint, it’s not an event in the life of Jesus or Mary or one of the saints. So what’s the big deal?

Seventeen-hundred-and one years ago, the Emperor Constantine gave the property, which had once been owned by the Laterani family, to the Church for public worship.

For the first 300 years of its existence, the Church operated in secretly in Rome, and suffered persecutions off and on. And so, this makes the Lateran Basilica is the oldest public church building in Rome and the oldest Basilica in the Western world.

Point of trivia: The Lateran Basilica is the Pope’s Cathedral. St. Peter’s is not a Cathedral — but it is a Basilica. And it’s just more centrally located.

And so, today we celebrate the dedication of Cathedral of Cathedrals 17 centuries ago — as an indication of our continuity as Catholics with the 12 Apostles and proceeding through two-thousand years with the current reigning pontiff — Pope Leo.

Our readings address “What is a temple,” or maybe in more modern language: “What is a place of worship?”

The first reading from Ezekiel gives the image of God’s temple in heaven and a trickle of water flowing from the temple into the Dead Sea — where the seeming small amount of water gives life to the toxic waters.

For us as Christians, this trickle of water can be seen as Baptism. But even more so, it is God’s grace in all of the Sacraments — cleansing us of the toxins of worldliness and sanctifying us into the living Body of Christ.

St. Paul takes this even further. We are the Temple of the Holy Spirit. We receive the first fruits of the Spirit in Baptism, and the fullness of the Holy Spirit in Confirmation.

And all of this grace is focused in a special way in the Sacraments of Service — Holy Matrimony and Holy Orders.

Today also marks the end of Vocations Awareness Week. And, last weekend — as the start of that week — I spoke of the Saints and deceased priests and family members who were helpful in my own discernment of my priestly vocation.

A key aspect of any priestly vocation is “sacrifice.” While hearing about playboy priests, or priests who felt God’s call in a prison cell or in the midst of a sinful life are “entertaining stories,” or perhaps “interesting anomalies,” . . . Giving up a life of crime or a life of sinfulness is not much of a Sacrifice. 

I would propose that all Christians are called to do this. 

According to Merriam Webster, a sacrifice is “the act of giving up or losing something of value for the sake of something else” and in the case of a religious vocation, it is giving up a career, marriage, children, and sometimes family for the sake of God and service to Jesus Christ and His Church.

A religious vocation is not about running away from something. It is about running into the all consuming love of God, and doing everything for the love of God.

God should never be second-place. Every Baptized Christian is called to put God first, and everything else second. And this is a constant effort we all share in order to grow in holiness and virtue.

And so, what does a priest do? There’s the joke about a kid who said he wanted to be a priest because he would only have to work for one hour on Sunday.

Oh how I wish . . . 

In the 21st century, a priest runs a small business. Oftentimes without many resources. It requires business sense, and an understanding of what needs doing.

My official title here at Ss. Francis and Clare is Administrator and President of the Parish Corporation. 

That “job” can often get in the way of doing “priestly” things.

A priest is vowed to obedience and celibacy. In the eyes of every bishop, the most important thing is obedience. And in the eyes of every married couple celibacy is an unimagined curiosity.

But a priest is also vowed to pray. And not just a couple of Hail Mary’s here and there. 

There is a four-volume book of prayers called The Liturgy of the Hours or The Divine Office. It is an arrangement of Psalms, Acclamation, Antiphons, and Readings. Priests pray this daily. It can be “cranked out” in about an hour, or it can be drawn out across the day. But the vow to pray is central to priesthood. Without prayer, the river that protects our temple from the toxins of the world dries up. 

And, of course, the Great Prayer of all Prayers — the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Priests are encouraged to offer Mass daily. Some do; some don’t. I would propose that the offering of this Holy Sacrifice tunes a priest into Christ’s Sacrifice — provided that the Mass is offered worthily and well.

And then the Rosary, and hopefully a Holy Hour before the Blessed Sacrament.

Finally, a priest is vowed to Faithfully Hand on the Sacred Mysteries. This means the Sacraments of the Church. And I would add the word: Generously. 

Our little parish here has Mass and Confessions 6 days a week. This is, unfortunately, an exception to the rule in many places. 

Finally, in the Gospel we hear of Jesus’s zeal in the phrase: Zeal for your house will consume me.

Zeal is nothing more than love in action. In religious terms, zeal means advancing the Kingdom of Christ, sanctifying souls, and advancing the greater glory of God.

As we approach this altar to receive the Sacred Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ — Let us give thanks for the river of grace that flows from this temple. And let us remember that we are all called to be living stones, built up as the temple of God. And as that temple, let us be zealous for God and Christ Jesus — putting our Faith, Hope, and Love into action as we go forth into a world starved for God’s grace, and mercy, and love.

Vocations Story Bulletin Insert @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish Birch Run

Vocations Story Bulletin Insert

All Souls Day @ Ss. Francis and Clare Parish, Birch Run

Today we celebrate the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed. We remember in a special way those parishioners who passed away over the last year. And, as if that’s not enough — this weekend falls at the end of the Solemnity of All Saints, and begins Vocations Awareness Week.

Priests have been asked by the bishop to talk about their vocations journey — which for someone ordained at the ripe old age of 46 — is long and winding road. In next week’s bulletin will be a condensed version of that.

Today, I would like to talk about the saints and the deceased persons who helped me discern my vocation.

First would be my grandmother who asked me before she died: “Why don’t you just hurry up and join the seminary?” I was 17 years old, and was running headfirst into the computer revolution. So, that seed — although planted early — didn’t sprout until nearly 30 years later.

Blessed Father Solanus Casey, who for his time, over 125 years ago, was considered a “late vocation” at the ripe old age of 27. He joined the Capuchin Franciscans in Detroit, was ordained in 1904, and for those of you who know his story — he was a Wisconsin boy living in Michigan — and miracles followed him wherever he went.

Saint Edmund Campion, was an English priest during the persecutions in England during the reign of Elizabeth the first. He fled to France, but then snuck back into England. Posing as a wealthy jewel merchant, he gained access to homes, where he surreptitiously baptized infants, offered Mass and heard confessions of recusant Catholics. No one suspected that this wealthy playboy gambler was a priest, until he was captured by a royal spy who had infiltrated the underground Catholic community. He spent months in the Tower of London, and was hanged, drawn, and quartered.

Saint John Bosco, another “late” vocation — entered the seminary at the ripe old age of 21. He came from a farming family and was no stranger to hard work. His father died when he was 2, and he and his brothers worked the land to provide for their mother and each other. When he finally entered seminary, he was very far behind in his studies of Greek and Latin. But somehow managed to persevere. He went to Turin, which was in the throes of the Industrial Revolution. He felt the need to “think differently” in how he exercised ministry, and ran afoul of the status quo. He was accused of “stealing parishioners” from other priests, his open-air catechism classes were seen as disturbing the peace, and the growing Italian revolutionaries were suspicious of his loyalty to the Pope. He ended up creating a religious order that exists to this day and provides education and support for youth and orphans.

Those were my spiritual muses: a Michigan boy, a persecuted spy, and an out-of-the-box thinker. And gramma.

The deceased priests who influenced me the most were Fr. Edward Obuchowski, Fr. Donald MacLennon, Fr. Larry Pashak, and Fr. Valerian Rykowski. 

Their stories are their own, but needless to say they worked hard, prayed hard, and played hard. By the time I met them, they were compassionate old men — more “grandfathers” than “fathers.” Faithful to a fault to Catholicism and to their ministries. And despite difficulties that may have popped up, they stayed the course and persevered in their vocations. 

You see, no matter your vocation, we all have a “great cloud of witnesses” whether canonized saints or just plain folks, praying for us in eternity — or as I like to think of it: cheering us on as we fight the good fight.

The saints that inspired me faced difficulty with dignity and honor and were faithful in persevering in their vocations. The men and women that inspired me were both practical and spiritual. Pragmatic, yes, but with their eyes fixed on Jesus and their hearts desiring eternity with Him. 

Priesthood is an adventure of sorts. But it’s also not for the faint of heart. In one day you can deal with both birth and death. You can be praised as a saint one minute, and get an email or a voicemail calling you the devil shortly thereafter. It’s often a roller-coaster ride of sorts.

Priests in the 21st century are independent, but crave community and fraternity. There are daily challenges that require practical knowledge, and minute-by-minute urgent needs that require lots of prayer.

As we approach this altar to receive the Sacred Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus Christ — let us pray for our priests, both living and deceased. Realizing as one TV priest used to say: “No priest, no Mass. No Mass, no Eucharist. No Eucharist, no Church.” 

And let us also pray for our deceased loved ones and all the faithful departed — especially those parishioners who died in the past 12 months.