John 6 and Superheroes

Lately I have been a superhero fanatic.  I cannot seem to get enough of them.  Earlier this summer I saw The Dark Knight rises two days in a row, followed it up with Spiderman on day three, and on day four I watched Captain America on Netflix.  Now, this might not prove anything accept that I am a complete nerd.  But, judging by the money these movies are bringing in, I think it’s safe to say we as a country are on a Superhero binge.  We can’t seem to get enough.  But what is it exactly that attracts us to these movies?  Certainly they are full of action, suspense and adventure.  And then there are the superheroes themselves.  When the rest of the world is running away from evil and danger the superhero stays put.  He or she doesn’t move.  The superhero has counted the cost and is willing to risk his or her life for the greater good.  To make the sacrifice. That kind of courage is attractive!  But I would say that ultimately, deep down inside, what attracts us to these movies is that we all desire at some level to be superheroes.   

 

 

Now I am not suggesting here that we all want to put on tights and a cape, jump from buildings and fight crime. What I am suggesting, is that I think we all want to be courageous.  We want to be brave.  We want to contribute to bringing about the good in life; to sacrifice for others.  And when everyone else seems to be running away, we want to stay.

 

 

Perhaps we all want to live this kind of life.  The problem for us is this:  we are not sure what it means to be a superhero in our own lives.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

For the last five weeks the Catholic Church has been making her way through the 6^th chapter of John known as the Bread of Life Discourse.  Each week the mystery of the Eucharist has been revealed to us.  The mystery that what takes place at this altar in just a few minutes is nothing less than bread and wine becoming Jesus’ body and blood.  But among other things, what makes this mystery so provocative is this: if we believe in this miracle, then our lives can never be the same.  For we become thrust into a completely new way of viewing life:  that somehow our suffering is redemptive.  That to gain our life we must lose it.  That we are called to give rather than receive.  That we are committed to a faith that is countercultural.  That we will choose to give our lives to Jesus, because he was willing to sacrifice his life for us.  

 

And this seems nothing less than choosing to be modern day superheroes.  But who are these modern day superheroes?

 

Sasha is a modern day superhero:  Struggling with depression, fighting thoughts of suicide and trying to raise six kids, she chose to get help.  To not give up. To stay in the battle.  To live her life, even though her depression was nothing less than hell, so that her children might grow up with their mother.  She is a modern day superhero.

 

Max is a modern day superhero:  just entering high school he came across a kid who was being picked on and bullied.  Knowing that he would probably never live down the reputation he was about to gain, he stood up for this kid.  Everyone else walked away, and he remained.  He is a modern day superhero.

 

Mike is a modern day superhero:  knowing how important faith is for his kids, he brings them to church every weekend despite their objections.  He talks to them often about the importance of faith.  And he speaks the challenging words to his kids knowing that in the short term they might hate him. But in the long term it might save their souls.  Mike is a modern day superhero.

 

These people are all around us.  You may be sitting next to one right now.  For living our Catholic faith in our present age is nothing less than heroic, brave, and selfless.  And each of us sitting here is being asked to live this kind of life. 

 

And so the question comes to us today from Jesus just as it did to his followers 2000 years ago:

 

Do you also want to leave?  Do you also want to leave?

 

 

Some left and returned to the life they were living.  But some chose to stay; to stay and be superheroes recognizing that there was nowhere else to turn, that Jesus had the words of eternal life, and that he was the Holy One of God. 

 

 

My brothers and sisters, as the years go on in this country it is only going to be more and more difficult to be Catholic.  Cardinal Francis George of the Archdiocese of Chicago reflected some years ago how difficult it will be to be Catholic in our present age when he said, “I expect to die in bed, my successor will die in prison and his successor will die a martyr in the public square.”  Perhaps we are not being called to be martyrs. But the message of Christ—living out our Catholic faith—will require nothing less of us than to be modern day superheroes.  To stay when everyone else is running away.  To stand up for the good of all.  To sacrifice.  And to each day wake up and say to God, to whom shall we go, you have the words of everlasting life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I belong to a religious missionary community called the Glenmary Home Missioners.  Now I am not saying this because I am a member of the community and want to include myself, but I think that Glenmary is made up of a lot of modern day superheroes.  For over seventy-five years Glenmary has worked in the United States throughout the south, southeast and Appalachia, serving poor, neglected and very non-Catholic areas.  Imagine, there are still hundreds of counties throughout these areas of the United States that have no Catholic presence.  Areas where the people have never met a priest.  Areas where mass has never been celebrated.  Areas where a person has to drive 1-2 hours just to receive the Sacraments of the Church.   And Glenmary has faithfully been going to these areas when no one else wanted to go, sometimes braving terrible experiences, in order to bring the gifts of the Catholic church to a people in need.

 

In just two weeks I am going to start my first assignment in Eastern Tennessee.  This is Glenmary’s newest mission area.  Imagine, in just 10 short months, this mission area has gone from just a Glenmary priest celebrating mass with a handful of Catholics in one of their homes—because they do not have a church—to hundreds of Catholics receiving the sacraments every single weekend as this growing Catholic population gathers in a store front.  There is now talk that soon this once small community will have to build a church.  And hopefully one day Glenmary will be able to hand this community over to the care of the diocese, and move on to yet another area where the people are longing for the gifts of the Catholic Church.

 

We are all called to live a heroic faith.  The work that Glenmary does in the United States, though seemingly insignificant to many people, is heroic because it helps the most poor of this country.  Please join us in this ministry by offering your support.  Please pray for us.  Consider a vocation to serve in the home missions.  And if you are able, please consider helping us financially.

 

Thank you.  Peace.

Homily for 20th Sunday in OT--Appeal at Holy Rosary, Indy--Bread of Life Discourse

Amen, amen I say to you, unless you eat the flesh of the son of man you do not have life within you.

A decade ago I found myself at the funeral of my friend’s 13 year old brother who had died a tragic death.  I walked up to view the body in the casket.   He laid there looking so young and innocent.  I touched his hand.  The cold, damp and lifeless skin was a painful reminder of the reality of his death; a reminder of death in general.

I walked outside of the funeral home to get some fresh air.  Here I encountered another friend who came to express his sympathy.  I had not seen this guy in a few years and heard that he had come on tough times: alcohol, drugs, wondering and floundering.  He didn’t look well.  I reached out to give him a hug.  When my arms embraced him I experienced something more frightening than the body of a lifeless 13 year old lying in a casket.  My friend’s body, though still clearly alive, was lifeless, cold, empty and seemingly without spirit.  This exchange reminded me that day of something significant: there is more than one way the human person can die.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus speaks words to those gathered around him at the time that should arouse our attention to say the least.  He says: I am the living bread come down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give is my flesh for the life of the world.  His audience sensed the extreme measure of his statement.  They tried to find wiggle room to avoid his words, and he responded quite clearly: if you don’t eat my flesh, you won’t have life. In other words: if you do not chew on my flesh and blood, which is true food and true drink, you will be dead.  And it was certainly not a physical death in which the heart stops working and the brain shuts down to which Jesus was referring.  He was referring to a spiritual death; a death like I experienced in my friend the day I saw him at the funeral.

Now, perhaps this statement for us here who are Catholics is not that frightening.  For most of us have received the Eucharist, and are at least struggling to believe in its effects and vitality. But for the countless millions of people throughout the world who have never even heard of the Eucharist, let alone consumed it, we should be at least moderately concerned.  What can we say of the status of the spiritual life of these people, or that of the many Catholics who don’t believe in the real presence, or have even left the Church and no longer receive Jesus’ body and blood?

It was my senior year of college.  I was doing my student teaching in a public high school.  In my class there was a young girl named Kayla. All through my lecture Kayla wasn’t paying attention.  Of course, I got used to students not paying attention to me.  But she was different.  She kept writing in what looked to be a journal.  After class I asked her to stay behind.  I mentioned to her that I noticed she had been writing in a notebook the entire class.  She opened it up and showed me the contents:  page after page of poetry indicating how sad she was, how lonely she felt, how awful her family life was, and that she didn’t see any reason to live.  As a public school teacher, sadly, there was not much I could do for her.  I set up an appointment for her with the counselor. I notified the right people. But I knew deep inside what it was that Kayla was experiencing: it was a spiritual death.  And I knew the only thing that could be her cure.

Perhaps it is not our place to judge the spiritual status of those people who are not receiving the Eucharist.  But it is safe to say that we are experiencing a spiritual death in our present age.  I don’t think anyone would deny this.  From the disintegration of the family, to the loss of innocence in our young people, to the attacks on life and religious freedom, to the hateful rhetoric that fills the political debate, we are experiencing the opposite of the life which Jesus promises us in the Eucharist.  

But there still is hope.  There always is hope.  For the spiritual death we experience is not like a disease to which there is no cure.  God gave us a cure.  He chose to come down from Heaven to be with us.  To walk with us.  To live for us.  To die for us.  And ultimately to give himself to us vulnerably and exposed in his body and blood.  To be the cure.  And the cure is right here with us.  But we have the responsibility to share that cure with the world:

To invite people to learn about the bread of life

To teach our children of the truth found at this altar

To talk to our family members about the hope we have in his healing presence

To share with others the faith we have found from this sacrifice

To risk the ridicule of speaking to a world about the only solution that exists to heal its ills: a loving God who shares himself with us in the most intimate way so as to touch every part of our being and transform the very world to which we speak.

We have the remedy for the death that infiltrates our world: we simply have to have the courage to share it.

I belong to a religious missionary community called the Glenmary Home Missioners.  Back in the 1930s, our founder looked upon the state of the Catholic Church throughout the world.  He saw that countless missionaries were being sent to places like China, Japan, and the continent of Africa.  Yet he looked upon our own country and saw that vast areas here in the United States were experiencing a spiritual death.  In places in the South, the Southeast and in Appalachia, hundreds of thousands of people were without the gifts of the Catholic Church. People in countless counties had no access to the sacraments, to the Mass, and the Eucharist. Today, as then, hundreds of counties existed in which the Catholic population was less than ½ of 1 percent.  Imagine; 99.5 percent of all the people living in these areas had never consumed and probably never even heard of the Eucharist.  Therefore, it has been the work of Glenmary for the past 75 years to bring the gifts of the Catholic Church to these neglected, forgotten, impoverished and struggling areas.  To bring them the bread that came down from heaven.

Some people claim that the missionary spirit of the Church has left her.  Well I will be one to stand in front of you all today and disagree with them.  In just two weeks I am going to start my first assignment in Eastern Tennessee.  This is Glenmary’s newest mission area.  And imagine, in just 8 short months, this mission area has gone from a Glenmary priest celebrating mass with a handful of Catholic in one of their homes, because they do not have a church, to hundreds of Catholics receiving the bread of life, the Eucharist, every single weekend as this growing Catholic population gathers in a store front.  There is now talk that soon this once small community will have to build a church.  And hopefully one day Glenmary will be able to hand this community over to the care of the diocese, and move on to yet another area where the people are longing for the Bread of Life.

We are all privileged and blessed to have heard of and even to have received the gift of Jesus in the Eucharist.  For this we have received life: fullness of the life here on Earth and the chance to be with Christ for eternity.  So I humbly ask you to please help support the mission of Glenmary to bring the Bread of Life to the mission areas here in the United States.  Please pray for us.  Consider a vocation to serve in the home missions.  And if you are able, please consider helping us financially.

Homily for my appeal for the extraordinary form Mass, Holy Rosary, Indy--The Good Samaritan

A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho.  They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half dead.

A decade ago I found myself at the funeral of my friend’s 13 year old brother who had died a tragic death.  I walked up to view the body in the casket.   He laid there looking so young and innocent.  I touched his hand.  The cold, damp and lifeless skin was a painful reminder of the reality of his death; a reminder of death in general.

I walked outside of the funeral home to get some fresh air.  Here I encountered another friend who came to express his sympathy.  I had not seen this guy in a few years and heard that he had come on tough times: alcohol, drugs, wondering and floundering.  He didn’t look well.  I reached out to give him a hug.  When my arms embraced him I experienced something more frightening than the body of a lifeless 13 year old lying in a casket.  My friend’s body, though still clearly alive, was lifeless, cold, empty and seemingly without spirit.  This exchange reminded me that day of something significant: there is more than one way the human person can die.

Most of us live our lives somewhat fearful and conscious of physical death.  Once we pass the teenage years where we think we are invincible to almost everything, we come to see the fragility of life.  Either we lose someone close to us, or we ourselves experience sickness that brings us uncomfortably close to death. But perhaps it is not physical death that we should be the most worried about.  Perhaps there is something more that should be our concern.  A spiritual death, much like I experienced with my friend at the funeral.  Much like what seems to be indicated in today’s Gospel. 

A quick read of today’s Gospel may seem to indicate that Jesus wants us to act like the Samaritan, helping those in need.  But it we look closer, I think there is something more: We are like the ones in the ditch.  We are the one’s traveling down the road in today’s Gospel, the roads of Indianapolis, the highways of Indiana, and the Interstates of America.  We have found ourselves falling victims to robbers: cultural bandits and philosophical thieves.  They have left us lying in the road, stripped, beaten and half-dead: spiritually dead.  Who can argue that our present circumstance is not one of spiritual death?  From the disintegration of the family, to the loss of innocence in our young people, to the attacks on life and religious freedom, to the hateful political rhetoric that fills our televisions.  There is a spiritual death that seems to pervade our culture that leaves each of us clinging for life, hoping for a Samaritan man to walk by. 

It was my senior year of college.  I was doing my student teaching in a public high school.  In my class there was a young girl named Kayla. All through my lecture Kayla wasn’t paying attention.  Of course, I got used to students not paying attention to me.  But she was different.  She kept writing in what looked to be a journal.  After class I asked her to stay behind.  I mentioned to her that I noticed she had been writing in a notebook the entire class.  She opened it up and showed me the contents:  page after page of poetry indicating how sad she was, how lonely she felt, how awful her family life was, and that she didn’t see any reason to live.  As a public school teacher, sadly, there was not much I could do for her.  I set up an appointment for her with the counselor. I notified the right people. But I knew deep inside what it was that Kayla was experiencing: it was a spiritual death.  She was the one lying in the ditch waiting for someone to come by and save her.  At that moment I knew the only thing that could save her.  The only thing that can save us all.

The spiritual death we experience in our present age is not like a disease to which there is no cure.  God gave us a cure.  He chose to come down from Heaven to be with us.  To walk with us.  To live for us.  To die for us.  To be our Samaritan. And ultimately to give himself to us vulnerably and exposed in his body and blood.  To be the cure.  And the cure is right here with us.  But sometimes, before we can receive the help of the Samaritan, we all have to come to realize that we are the ones lying in the ditch.  We are the ones experiencing the spiritual death.  We are the ones who need to be saved.  We are the ones who need the Samaritan.  Only then, can we receive the life that awaits:

We can have oil poured over the sins of our past

We can have wine of salvation flowing through our bodies

We can have the bandages of mercy covering our wounds

We can have the bed at the Heavenly Inn that has been prepared for us

The spiritual death of our age is prevalent.  But we can trust that the Good Samaritan will never walk us by.

I belong to a religious missionary community called the Glenmary Home Missioners.  Back in the 1930s, our founder looked upon the state of the Catholic Church throughout the world.  He saw that countless missionaries were being sent to places like China, Japan, and the continent of Africa.  Yet he looked upon our own country and saw that vast areas here in the United States were experiencing a spiritual death.  In places in the South, the Southeast and in Appalachia, hundreds of thousands of people were without the gifts of the Catholic Church. People in countless counties had no access to the sacraments, to the Mass, and the Eucharist. Today, as then, hundreds of counties existed in which the Catholic population was less than ½ of 1 percent.  Imagine; 99.5 percent of all the people living in these areas have never consumed the Eucharist.  Many have never heard of the Good Samaritan, Jesus, the one who can save them from their spiritual death.  Therefore, it has been the work of Glenmary for the past 75 years to bring the gifts of the Catholic Church to these neglected, forgotten, impoverished and struggling areas.  To show them to the Good Samaritan. 

Some people claim that the missionary spirit of the Church has left her.  Well I will be one to stand in front of you all today and disagree with them.  In just two weeks I am going to start my first assignment in Eastern Tennessee.  This is Glenmary’s newest mission area.  And imagine, in just 8 short months, this mission area has gone from a Glenmary priest celebrating mass with a handful of Catholic in one of their homes, because they do not have a church, to hundreds of Catholics receiving the bread of life, the Eucharist, every single weekend as this growing Catholic population gathers in a store front.  There is now talk that soon this once small community will have to build a church.  And hopefully one day Glenmary will be able to hand this community over to the care of the diocese, and move on to yet another area where the people are longing for Jesus, the Good Samaritan.

We all struggle to escape the spiritual death of our age.  Yet we are privileged to have heard of the Good Samaritan who will never pass us by. And for this we can receive life: fullness of the life here on Earth and the chance for life eternal.  So I humbly ask you to please help support the mission of Glenmary to bring the news of the Good Samaritan to the mission areas here in the United States.  Please pray for us.  Consider a vocation to serve in the home missions.  And if you are able, please consider helping us financially.

Thank you.  Peace.

18th Domingo en Tiempo Ordinario--Hambres de Corazon

A veces, ustedes tienen un hambre que no pueden satisfacer? Un hambre increíble y grande.  En el pasado, cuando he tenido un hambre que no podía satisfacer, me gustaba comer un bistec!  Un bistec muy jugoso y muy poco hecho!  Me gustaba mucho!!!  Pero, después de mi viaje a Miami, pienso que he tenido una conversión---y no es religiosa.  Ahora, cuando tengo mucha hambre, voy a comer comida cubana!  Si, es muy suficiente para satisfacer el hambre!

Para nosotros, tenemos  hambre y necesitamos la adecuada comida para satisfacer nuestra hambre. 

Pero, tal vez, tememos hambres que no podemos satisfacer con comida.  Hambres que existen en nuestros corazones, en nuestras almas.  Pero, a que de hambre me refiero?

Somos un pueblo que tiene hambre de sabiduría. Después de la masacre en Colorado, aun más, nosotros tenemos hambre de sabiduría.  Queremos saber porque el mal existe en el mundo.  Queremos entender porque nuestra cultura puede producir tan mucha violencia.  Tenemos hambre de sabiduría.

Somos un pueblo que tiene hambre de confianza.  Nuestra cultura tiene una mala comprensión de confianza.  Deseamos que la confianza sea real, fiel, y mutua.  Deseamos conocer a los demás, y queremos que otros nos conozcan.  Deseamos compartir nuestras vidas con otras personas.  Tenemos hambre de confianza.

Somos un pueblo que tiene hambre de la verdad.  Estamos cansados de individualismo y pluralismo.  Deseamos estar unidos con los demás, y caminar juntos en la verdad.  Tenemos hambre de la verdad. 

En el Evangelio de hoy, la gente tenía hambre también.   Pero, ellos no tenían hambre física, sino hambre de corazón.  Jesús sabía sus hambres.  Y él podía y quería satisfacer sus hambres.  Entonces, él les dijo:

Yo soy el pan de vida.  El que viene a mi no tendrá hambre, y el que cree en mi nunca tendrá sed.

Jesús quería satisfacer sus hambres.  Solamente, ellos necesitaban creer en el. 

Nosotros somos un pueblo que tenemos  hambres de corazón.  Queremos satisfacer estas hambres.  Entonces, Jesús nos dice:

Yo soy el pan de vida.  El que viene a mi no tendrá hambre, y el que cree en mi nunca tendrá sed.

Hoy, cuando recibimos el cuerpo y la sangre de Cristo, podemos estar satisfechos, porque Jesús puede satisfacernos.  Jesús puede satisfacer todo.

Podemos estar satisfechos: satisfechos con la sabiduría de Jesús.  Sabiduría que reemplaza desesperación con la esperanza, la violencia con la paz, y la venganza por  el perdón. 

Podemos estar satisfechos: satisfechos con la confianza en Jesús. 

Podemos estar satisfechos: satisfechos con la verdad de Jesús.

Podemos estar satisfechos.

Solamente, necesitamos creer en Jesús.

Soy un miembro de una comunidad  llamada Glenmary Home Missioners.  Nosotros somos misioneros en los Estados Unidos, en el sur, sureste, y en Appalachia.  En estos lugares, la gente tiene mucha hambre de corazón.  Ellos no pueden aceptar a Jesús, porque no han oído de él. Ellos tienen mucha hambre porque en estos lugares, todavía hoy, no hay una presencia de católicos—no hay misa, no hay los sacramentos, no hay sacerdotes.  También, ellos tienen mucha hambre, porque estos lugares tienen mucha pobreza, mala educación y mal cuidado de la salud.  Pero, por casi setenta y cinco años, los misioneros de Glenmary han servido estos lugares: ellos traen el evangelio de Jesús.  Y Jesús es el pan de vida, y el que viene a Jesús no tendrá hambre, y el que cree en Jesús nunca tendrá sed.

En Septiembre, voy a empezar mi primera asignación en nuestras misiones en Tennessee.  Esta es una de las más nuevas en Glenmary.  Imagínense, en solamente ocho meses, hay cientos de personas que están recibiendo los sacramentos de la fe.  Ahora, celebran la misa en una tienda porque ellos no tienen una iglesia.  Pero, posiblemente, en el futuro, ellos pueden construir una iglesia.

Entonces, humildemente, quiero suplicarles para que ustedes puedan apoyar nuestra misión.  Por favor, recen por nosotros.  Posiblemente, consideren si tienen una vocación con Glenmary.  Finalmente, si pueden,  ayudarnos económicamente.

Gracia por todo.  Gracias porque estoy aquí con ustedes.  Paz.

17th Sunday in OT---Hungers of the Heart---Glenmary Mission Appeal in Miami

Do you ever have a hunger inside that just cannot seem to be satisfied?  I mean where you feel like your stomach is going to eat itself.  Well we have a restaurant in the north that tries to satisfy this kind of hunger.  It’s called the Golden Corral.  Perhaps you have heard of this place.

Now, the very name of the restaurant should already tell us something—I only know of one thing that goes into a corral, and it sure isn’t humans!  It should be enough to say that this restaurant has available just about every kind of food known to us.  But even more, it is all you can eat.  In essence, you can go to a place like this and eat the meat of just about every four legged and two legged animal that exists (believe me, I’ve tried).  Now, after indulging in all that meat (and who really has time for vegetables and fruit) one can choose dessert.  There is your usual cookies and ice cream.  But if you are looking for something to put on top of that dessert, get this: they now have a fountain of chocolate. A fountain!  Not just chocolate sauce or sprinkles, but a fountain.  People practically stick their entire face in this fountain to get the chocolate.  And if that isn’t enough, they also serve cotton candy that a person can enjoy on the ride home.  This restaurant certainly makes a good effort to satisfy the deepest of hungers.

But I think we all have hungers inside that food can’t even satisfy.  Hungers that go to the very depths of our soul.  Hungers that push us to ask the big questions of life.   

We are a people who hunger for meaning:  after the massacre in Colorado last week we long even more for deeper meaning in our lives.  We want to understand why evil like this can exist.  We want to understand how our culture can produce so much violence.  We hunger for meaning. 

We are a people who hunger for intimacy:  I am not just referring to physical intimacy, which is important.  But in our culture it seems that our skewed sense of physical intimacy is leaving us feeling hungrier.  Hungrier for an authentic intimacy, a love that is lasting, real, complete.  A love that includes an intimacy of the entire person: heart, spirit, mind and body.  And so we hunger for intimacy.

We are a people who hunger for truth:  We have wandered and wondered long enough in this world of relativism and individualism.  This world of rugged individualism that leaves us wandering alone and lonely down a road with no direction.  This world of tolerance for everything except the truth.  We desire inside to be united with others, but realize that when each of us holds our own truth, then our disunity is proof that none of us held anything at all.  And so we hunger for truth.

The people in today’s gospel were hungry too.  Jesus knew their hungers.  And it was through a miracle that he satisfied the physical hunger of the people.  They ate and were satisfied.  But I would argue a greater miracle occurred in the Gospel.  Not just a miracle of food.  But a miracle of faith. 

In being physically fed, the people saw that Jesus could satisfy all of their hungers.  For once fed with bread and fish, the people saw clearly.  They saw that Jesus is truly the prophet, the one who is to come into the world.  The one who can satisfy all their hungers. 

They simply needed to have faith.

Today we are going to be physically fed with the gifts of bread and wine.  But the true miracle exists not in our physical nourishment, but in our spiritual nourishment.  In the miracle of faith.  For this bread and wine, when touched by divinity, becomes for us the body and blood of Jesus.  In his body and blood we find that we can truly be satisfied. 

We can satisfied: satisfied with meaning that touches the deepest desires of our heart.  Satisfied with meaning that replaces despair with hope, violence with peace, revenge with forgiveness. 

We can be satisfied: satisfied with an intimacy that reveals to us our true desires.  Satisfied with an intimacy that is forever faithful, forever enduring, forever giving.  Satisfied with an intimacy that drives us to deeper, more meaningful relationships in our life.  Satisfied with an intimacy that allows us to finally love ourselves, so that we can truly love others. 

We can be satisfied:  satisfied with a truth that transcends each of us.  A truth that endures.  A truth that contains the answer to all that we desire:  a loving God, who proved his love for us by dying on the cross, that all of our hungers might one day be satisfied in him.  We can be satisfied.

We only need to have faith.

I belong to a religious community called the Glenmary Home Missioners.  In the 1930s, our founder looked upon regions in the south and south east of the United States, along with Appalachia, and saw that these people were hungry. Their hungers were much like our own, but there was no one there to lead them to the God who could satisfy those hungers.  There were hundreds of counties throughout this area that had no Catholic presence:  people would have to drive hours just to receive the sacraments of the church.  Thus most would go without, and remain hungry.  These people were hungry, being in some of the most poor and neglected areas of the United States.  These people were hungry, receiving poor education, few opportunities to grow, and little to no health care.  These people were hungry, never receiving the chance to hear of this Jesus who gives himself to us in the Eucharist.  Therefore, he founded Glenmary, and for nearly 75 years the community has worked tirelessly to bring the gifts of the Catholic Church to these areas.  To relive the hungers of the people to whom we serve.

At the beginning of September I am going to begin my first assignment as associate pastor in Glenmary’s newest missions in Eastern Tennessee.  I am super excited for this opportunity.  Imagine, just a few short months ago, this mission was nothing but a few Catholics gathering at a parishioner’s house, and celebrating mass in this county for the first time ever.  Now, this mission has attracted hundreds of Catholics who gather for Mass every week in an abandoned store front.  And there is talk that soon an actual church will need to be built.  In just a few short months, hundreds of people have been given the chance to have their deepest hungers satisfied.  And hundreds more will likely follow after them.

So I close in humbly asking for your support of the Glenmary Home Missioners.  Please support us with your prayers.  Consider a vocation serving in the US missions as a priest or brother.  Finally, if you are able, consider supporting us financially.  Help us to satisfy the hungers of a people truly in need.

Peace.  Thanks.