I hope you’ll acknowledge with me a simple fact: it’s not normal to have tongues of fire “part and come to rest” on people. It is actually pretty strange. Yet that is precisely what we celebrate in this feast of Pentecost. How can this mean something to us in our daily lives?

Jews had a tradition that heaven is a temple made of bricks of fire. So, through the apostles, the heavenly temple is coming to earth. But this fire looks like tongues, not bricks. That means that heavenly speech will be crucial to building a dwelling place for God on earth among men and women.

Traditionally, the four writers of the Gospels are symbolized by four creatures that make their way into Church art and architecture: Matthew, an angel; Mark, a lion; Luke, an ox; and John, an eagle. These images can be found in churches across the world, a nod to those who recorded the stories of Jesus for us, thousands of years ago.

My dad was adopted as a baby. It’s a big part of my family’s story. His birth mother placed him in a Catholic orphanage not long after birth. A young couple longing for a baby strolled among the bassinets. My father, then only a few months old, looked at the husband and smiled. The man said, “That’s my son.” They took him home and the family grew. This moment of adoption was a wonderful truth they celebrated even when my dad was a young boy. They told him, “You’re even more special than the other children, because we chose you to be our son.” My dad’s eyes well up with tears of gratitude whenever he tells the story, even eighty-three years later.

My Dear Parishioners of St. Gabriel the Archangel,

“That you may have the strength to comprehend with all the holy ones what is the breadth and length and height and depth, and to know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge, so that you may be filled with all the fullness of God”. (Eph 3:18-19)

I recently rescued a dog. She’s a terrier and rather adorable. And she’s crazy about me. She could spend all day with me. But I’m a pastor at a parish and sometimes I leave her at the front desk of the church office. She constantly amazes me by her ability to distinguish between my voice and that of everyone else. If I say one word, even if I’m hidden around a corner, she’ll sprint toward me and jump up into my arms.

I always feel a little sad when someone begins to speak to me with the words, “Father, I know you’re so busy, but …” It happens a lot. And I get it. He or she is trying to be respectful of my time. But it saddens me because a priest makes Jesus present to people in a special way, and Jesus always has time for us. Don’t we all feel at times that God just doesn’t have time for us?

A young, engaged couple sat on the couch in front of me as we chatted about their upcoming marriage. The young lady was struggling to trust her future husband. She told me her father had been unfaithful to her mother. She said of her fiancé, “I want him to prove to me that he won’t cheat on me.” The young man looked at me helplessly, raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. What evidence could he possibly give to validate such a proof? Nothing. All he could do was invite her to trust him. 

“When Jesus had risen, early on the first day of the week, he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, out of whom he had driven seven demons.” (Mark 16:9)

Popular Catholic piety sometimes posits that the newly risen Jesus appears first to the Blessed Virgin Mary. It is a happy thought, but it’s simply not what the scriptures report. We are told quite directly that he appeared first to Mary Magdalene, “out of whom he had driven seven demons.”

What’s your car? Let’s say it’s a fancy silver Toyota. Now imagine you’re having lunch in a restaurant and suddenly see two men outside attempting to steal it. You run outside and confront them. They respond, “The master has need of it.” How do you respond? Would you just let them take it, and leave you without a car? I don’t think I would. 

Of all Jesus’ miracles, the most unsettling might be when he made a dead person alive. We know of three times when he did so: a girl, a young man, and Lazarus. The miracle teaches us he has the power of life and death. He anticipates his resurrection. Sin hurts us. Some sin kills us, spiritually. The three miracles reveal to us that no matter our circumstances, Jesus can give life to us. 

God asks a rhetorical and slightly sarcastic question to Samuel, the prophet: “How long will you grieve for Saul, whom I have rejected as king of Israel?” Like us, Samuel is depressed that the old king failed. It’s painful to admit that the old regime is done. But God won’t let us wallow our pity-party forever. “I am sending you to Jesse of Bethlehem,” announces the Lord, “for I have chosen my king from among his sons.” Samuel finally goes and anoints the young David as the new king. And his kingdom is glorious; it’s the golden age of Israel’s earthly history. 

When I became the pastor of a large parish, I soon found myself, for the first time in my life, riddled with anxiety, headaches, difficulty making decisions, and fatigue. I called a therapist friend and told her my symptoms and asked if she thought I needed a serious medical exam. She said, “How much water do you drink?” I told her, “I haven’t had time to drink water lately.” She responded, “You’re chronically dehydrated. Drink eighty-five ounces a day and call me in a week.” I started guzzling water and in a week all my symptoms went away. I felt great. 

As a kid I remember looking at my sister and thinking, “No man is ever going to marry her. She is way too…my sister!” I couldn’t see her as anything except my goofy, emotional, cooties-laden sister. Years later, on her wedding day, I remember seeing how her husband looked at her, he was totally in love with her, his watery eyes full of overwhelmed joy, drinking in her beauty and grace. He was the one who actually saw her. Blinded by familiarity, I had not been able to see her until now. She was glorious. I finally saw how beautiful my sister really was.