May They Learn To Be One!    

To help us understand today’s gospel reading, I want to begin with a story… It was the first time a family had saved up enough money to rent a cottage at the beach. After unpacking and somewhat arranging things, they all picked up their towels and went to the beach. The children were running in and out of the surf and building sand castles when, in the distance, a stooped-over old woman appeared. Her scraggily gray hair was blowing in the wind and her clothes were dirty and ragged. She was muttering something incoherent to herself as she picked up things from the beach and put them into a plastic bag.

 

The parents quickly called their children to their side and told them to stay away from that old lady. As she passed by, bending down every now and then to pick up things, she smiled at the family. But her greeting wasn’t returned.

 

It was later on that a longtime resident of the beach community told them that the little old lady had a son who, years ago, once cut his foot on something on the beach and his foot later became severely infected. Since then she made it her lifelong crusade to pick up bits of glass and cans from the beach so that children would not cut their feet.

 

Now, I understand that it is natural to be protective, to shy away from those perceived as a threat, to be uncomfortable with those who are strange or different. But I want to look at something deeper, more challenging, and far more scary. What I want to examine is: why this ugly change in the crowd that listened to Jesus at the Nazareth synagogue. At first, they seem warm and welcoming; it says that they spoke highly of him and were amazed at the “gracious words that came from his mouth.” He was the hometown boy who had made good. They had heard about his preaching and miraculous cures elsewhere, and now here he was in their synagogue. So, the question is: why did this nice congregation of people turn into an angry mob that wanted to kill Jesus?

 

Years ago, when I studied some sociology in college, I remember learning about “in groups” and “out groups”. The “in group” is the group of people with which an individual identifies: one’s family, one’s school, one’s close friends. But “out groups” are those with whom one does not, and probably doesn’t want to, identify. There is a separation of identity, of “we” vs. “they,” of “us” vs. “them”. Often membership in a group is based on ethnic identity, race or culture. The people of the “in group” have similar tastes, opinions and behavior. They have a positive attitude toward the members of their group; and often a quite negative attitude toward those who are different, the outsiders. For the “in group” there is cooperation, good-will, mutual help, and a sense of solidarity. But attitudes toward the “out group” include avoidance, dislike, indifference and antagonism.

 

So what’s going on with the reaction to Jesus’ homily in the synagogue? First, the references Jesus makes are stories in the history of Israel with which members of the congregation would have been quite familiar. Elijah and Elisha were popular prophets and miracle workers that were considered shining lights in Israel’s past.

 

The problem, I think, is that Jesus, even by using facts with which they were familiar, got them into the in group/out group frame of mind. He reminds them that Elijah performed a miracle for a widow of the Phoenician city of Sidon, which is now the third largest city in Lebanon. Elisha performed a miracle of cleansing a leper from Syria. In simple terms, Jesus highlights that Elijah and Elisha went outside their “in group” and did something nice for the Arabs. And the hostility of the in group/out group division starts to boil: good-will and solidarity are replaced with dislike, antagonism, and, finally, the desire to murder Jesus.

 

It has happened here in our nation. Martin Luther King, Jr. was executed the day after he spoke up for some garbage workers, and for not knowing his proper place in society. The same thing happened to John and Robert Kennedy. And contrary to claims that it was a “nice visit by some tourists,” we all could see for ourselves what happened on January 6, 2021. On that day we saw the violence, the hate, the noose prepared for the hanging of the Vice President, the desire to murder. One group of Americans attacked another group of Americans. That, by definition, is not a nice, touristy day in the nation’s capital.

 

Going back to the gospel, we note that as Jesus continued his ministry, he seemed to meet opposition all along the way. One of the main reasons was that he was constantly mixing up the “in group” and the “out group.” He was accused of “welcoming sinners and eating with them,” of being nice to Roman soldiers, of breaking the rules set by the religious authorities, of saying things about God that weren’t supposed to be said, of making tax collectors, public sinners, and people at the bottom of society members of his “in group.” And at the Last Supper he celebrated communion with one man, one of the leaders, who would deny even knowing him and another who would sell out and betray him. But he ate with them nonetheless. It was similar when he had miraculously fed thousands of people without making them pass some kind of test for belonging. The disciples wanted to divide them up by having the people go into the villages to buy bread, but Jesus said no, we’ll unite them by feeding them all right here. While so many people around Jesus were thinking in terms of “in group” and “out group,” of building oneself up at the expense of another, Jesus went in the opposite direction, smashing down the walls and barriers that kept people apart. As a matter of fact, Jesus’ dying wish—part of his prayer at the Last Supper—was: “Father, may they be one as you and I are one.” For that kind of thinking the crowd in Nazareth wanted to kill Jesus, and sometime later, the crowd in Jerusalem succeeded in making sure that he was killed. But Jesus’ plea continues to echo down through the centuries, and I think it should make us stop and think, it should challenge us to the core of our being: may you be one, as my Father and I are one! Can we do that? Can we put aside the prejudice, division and hatred? And we look for common ground and focus on what should unite us? If we are Christian in fact, and not just in name, I believe we have to.

You might also like

Father's Homilies

Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter April 26, 2026

By Charlene Currie • May 7, 2026
Building Bridges, Not Walls. Homily for the Fourth Sunday of Easter April 26, 2026

Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026

By Charlene Currie • April 25, 2026
Born to Look … Learning to See Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter April 19, 2026 The scoutmaster used to take his troops on hikes along wilderness nature trails. After each hike he would challenge the scouts to describe what they had observed on their excursion. The boys invariably hadn’t seen a fraction of what the scoutmaster had seen. He would wave his arms in great circles and shout, “Creation is all around you, but you are blocking it out. Stop wearing your raincoat in the shower. You were born to look, but you have to learn to see.” You were born to look, but you have to learn to see. One of the questions that always arises about today’s gospel passage is: Why didn’t the two disciples recognize Jesus? Let’s spend some time reflecting on the possibilities. One obvious answer is that they were disheartened. Their lives are at their lowest point. They are sad and confused. The one they had pinned their hopes on had been humiliated and crucified in a horrible way. How could such a disaster be anything but a total defeat? How could a Messiah, or Savior, allow himself to be beaten and put to death? In addition, the two disciples are probably terrorized, full of fear. The leaders of the people, both religious and political, had made their point. Anyone who rocks the boat and challenges authority will be dealt with swiftly and brutally. If the two were recognized as followers of Jesus, his fate could also be theirs. Let me share another story with you, a story which shows how expectations can color what we see and experience. ---------------------------------- A young man from a wealthy family was about to graduate from high school. It was the custom in his affluent neighborhood for the parents to give the graduate a car as a graduation present. Bill and his father spent months looking at cars, and the week before graduation they found the perfect one. Bill was certain that the car would be his on graduation night. Imagine Bill’s disappointment when, on the eve of the big day, his father handed him a gift-wrapped Bible! Bill was so angry, he hurled the Bible across the room and stormed out of the house, vowing never to return again. Bill and his father never saw each other again. Yet it was the news of his father’s death that brought Bill back home again. One night, as he sat going through his father’s possessions that he was to inherit, Bill came across the Bible that his father had given him. He brushed away the dust and opened it to find a cashier’s check, dated the day of his graduation—for the exact amount of the car they had chosen together. ------------------------------- As the scoutmaster said, “You are born to look, but you have to learn to see.” What does today’s gospel passage want us to learn to see? One obvious answer is that the privileged place to encounter Jesus is in the celebration of the Eucharist, or Mass. In the gospel Jesus does two things: he interprets the Scriptures and how they apply to him; and he “breaks bread” with the two disciples. We thus have the two halves of the Mass: the liturgy of the word and the liturgy of the Eucharist. The Bible is telling us where to look, and it is teaching us to learn to see. Like the cashier’s check in the Bible, Jesus’ presence is not always obvious or straightforward. So, where and how should we look? The first place is the Bible. We need to take time to read God’s word slowly, savor it, and allow it to speak to us. If you are having difficulty, a commentary will help. Turning to those who know the Bible better that we do, and asking for clarifications and advice, will also help. The second place of encounter with Jesus is the Eucharist. The mystery of Emmaus is that the disciples recognize Jesus in the “breaking of bread,” which was one of the phrases used for the celebration of the Eucharist. Try to enter the Mystery more and more by giving yourself totally, without distractions, to each part of the Mass. Savor what it means to gather with open minds and hearts; to listen to the message of Scripture, the inspired word of God; to take the message of the homily home with you and reflect on it; to ask for forgiveness and to pray for peace; to intercede for our needs and the needs of the whole world; to receive our Lord mindfully, and not just hurry through the motions. Finally, in the Emmaus story, Jesus approaches his people who are depressed, disappointed and broken-hearted. At first, they do not recognize him. But as they listen more and more, their hearts start to burn within them. So, another way to experience the presence of Jesus Christ is to do as he did, to find value in what he taught and how he acted. He clearly said that he could be found in the poor and vulnerable: I was hungry, and you gave me food; I was thirsty, and you gave me drink; I was naked, and you clothed me; I was ill, or in prison, or lonely, and you visited me. Today’s gospel gives us a blueprint for encountering Jesus and feeling his presence. But we have to give ourselves to it wholeheartedly. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see. The Bible has a treasure in it, and it’s not a cashier’s check. The Eucharist has a presence in it, and it’s something more than bread. The people around us are children of God. They have a spark of the divine within them. We were born to look, but we have to learn how to see.

Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026

By Charlene Currie • April 25, 2026
Will You Still Need Me? Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter April 12, 2026 One hot summer afternoon a woman was working strenuously, weeding her flower beds and pruning the plants. The flowers were especially magnificent. A passerby asked, “I really like those flowers—do you?” As she wiped perspiration from her face with a dirty hand, the woman’s weary response was, “Only when they bloom.” The passerby thought how many folks have a similar attitude toward church, family, work, or life in general—“I only like it when it is in full bloom and beautiful.” The passerby thought of those necessary times of hard work—mulching, weeding, cultivating, pruning and transplanting—as well as seasonal dormancy, which are all necessary to bring about the blooms which precede the bearing of seeds and fruit. --------------------------------- I mentioned during one of my homilies during Holy Week that I was always bothered that the risen Jesus, with his risen body, still had the wounds. I compared it to buying a shiny, brand-new car, and insisting that there be dents on the fenders and leaks in the engine. As I thought about it more and more, however, I came to understand that the wounds were there for a purpose. In the case of Thomas, the wounds were the evidence he needed. But, beyond that, the wounds serve as a reminder that Jesus’ love for us is total, down to the last drop of blood. The wounds help preserve the memory of how painful true love can be. It’s easy to love that which is perfect and beautiful, is it not? But Jesus chose to show us a love of that which is less than perfect, and clearly not beautiful. Perhaps the clearest example of that is that he was there for the lepers of his day, those who had a contagious disease that rotted their flesh and forced them to live in isolation. But it was true of others, as well. Jesus went out of his way to embrace public sinners, foreigners, enemies, even those who were involved in putting him to death. From the cross he prayed, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.” The risen body of Jesus, still bearing the wounds, means that our Lord is present in a special way to those who are wounded: those with cancer or another life-threatening disease, those who have lost a loved one, those who have been bullied, those carrying the wounds of a failed relationship, those who feel they cannot be forgiven, those who know they are less than perfect. Jesus is there for those living with the daily threat of war, terrorism, violence, domestic abuse, betrayal. In short, the less than perfect resurrected body of Jesus means that now, as then, he is present in a special way to those who are less than perfect. ------------------------------------------------ I was reminded of an early hit by the Beatles. Do you remember a song entitled When I’m Sixty-Four, released in June 1967? Here are some of the lyrics: When I get older, losing my hair Many years from now, Will you still be sending me a valentine, birthday greetings, bottle of wine? If I'd been out till quarter to three, Would you lock the door? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? Ooh … I could be handy mending a fuse When your lights have gone. You can knit a sweater by the fireside, Sunday mornings, go for a ride. Doing the garden, digging the weeds, Who could ask for more? Will you still need me, will you still feed me, When I'm sixty-four? -------------------------------------------------- In a similar way, Jesus’ wounds remind us that he’s not a fair-weather friend, only there for the good times. He’s there, always, and especially when we’re wounded. So, if you’re struggling, if you’re dealing with something painful, don’t run away. Don’t make the mistake of thinking the Lord doesn’t understand, or care. Instead, go to the wounds. Allow yourself to feel what true love is like when you need it the most.