The following is a homily for the 13th Sunday of Ordinary Time, year C. The readings for this Sunday can be found here.

What would you give up to have the opportunity to follow Jesus? He walks in the door right now and says, let’s go, what would you leave behind?

Would you leave you credit card and all your money?

Maybe a bad habit, a sin you often commit? Could you stop it right now if that’s what it took?

What if… and I’m just throwing this out there hypothetically, don’t shoot the messenger… what if Jesus was actually a fan of the Florida Gators? Could you wear blue and orange to follow Christ?

Jesus’ words today might seem kind of hard to us at first. People come to him wanting to be his disciples, and he tells them that they can’t go home to say goodbye; he tells them that they can’t even bury the dead. It would seem, at first, that Jesus is being quite heartless, a bit insensitive.

But of course, he is being neither. What he is expressing, rather poignantly, is what God has asked of his people since the very beginning: he wants our utmost love. Nothing, not even our family, not even ourselves, should come before God. In order to follow after Jesus, he must be the most important thing in the world to us. We must be prepared to give everything else up. 

That’s exactly what was asked of Elisha, was it not? Sure, he said goodbye to his parents, but he still got up at a moment’s notice and left his home to go to another country. He slaughtered his oxen, burned his plow for fuel so that he could follow God untethered. It might not seem like much to us, but in those acts, he became a man with no family, no livestock, and no means of earning a living. In the ancient world, he was essentially nothing. He gave up everything to follow God.

And why does he do this? Why does Jesus make his disciples leave it all behind? Because God wants them to know that following after him means putting complete trust in him. There is no keeping a little something on the side in case things go wrong; no holding back in case we need to take care of ourselves.

Either we trust in God… or we don’t. Those who trust in God give up everything. Not just their wealth and comfort, but everything.

Jesus is rejected and the disciples want to burn the city down. No, Jesus tells them. You have to leave your anger, your need for revenge, your sense of entitlement. You have to leave it all behind. You cannot follow me and carry those things.

Someone comes up to him and say that they want to follow him. Okay, Jesus says, but just know that we are homeless. We have no comforts. You have to leave your comfy body pillow, your safety, your favorite foods. You have to leave it all behind. You cannot follow me and carry all of those things.

You have to leave behind anything that binds you, everything that gets in the way of true discipleship. Jesus is not being harsh in demanding these things. No, quite the opposite: as St. Paul writes in the letter to the Galatians, all that Jesus wants for us is that we be free, free of the things and people and situations that trap us, that keep us where we are, unable to follow him.

And so I wonder again: if Jesus were to walk through that door right now, what would you have to give up to follow him. What do you carry with you that gets in the way of true discipleship, weighing you down, wrapping so tightly around you that you are stuck where you are, trusting and believing in yourself and not him?

Maybe it’s money and creature comforts, sins and bad habits. Let them go.

But maybe it’s something else. Maybe for you it’s nothing in any of these readings. Maybe what’s holding you back, preventing you from being free, is a negative view of yourself, a distorted body image. Leave it behind, and begin to see yourself as God does.

Maybe you have an incessant need to be right, to be in control, preventing you from working well with others. Leave it behind, and let Christ be in charge.

Maybe you constantly struck by fear, overwhelmed by anxiety, always afraid that you are doing something wrong. Leave it behind, and trust that God truly loves and protects you.

Maybe you hold a grudge against another, filled with anger and refuse to let it go. Leave it behind, and learn to forgive others as Christ forgives you.

Or maybe… maybe what holds you back are the wounds you bear, the pain you shoulder each day and the memory of those who have hurt you. Leave it behind, and let Christ heal you.

I tell you, as long as you cling to these things, as long as you let them rule your lives, you will never be free, and you will never be able to follow Christ as he asks.

And what a shame that would be. As pope Francis reminds us, “The Lord asks everything of us, [but] in return he offers us true life, the happiness for which we were created. He wants us to be saints and not to settle for a bland and mediocre existence.” Don’t settle what what you have on your own. Give it up, leave it behind, and follow Christ wherever he may lead.

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So if I’m understanding this right, now that I’m a priest of the order of Melchizedek and will be offering you bread and a blessing, I believe you all owe me 1/10th of everything you own. I think that’s what the book of Genesis said. That’s how this works…right?

Of course, we know that’s not how it works; that’s not how any of this works! The reason we gather is not for a transaction, “I give you something, you give me something.” What I do does not merit a reward or payment for services rendered.

No, the reason we gather today, the reason we gather every week, is to engage in the outpouring of God’s love for us. What we receive is gift, something that we do not deserve and for which no amount of money could buy; what we receive is not the work of my hands, not due to my ability, but the complete work of Christ, the handing himself over completely to us so that we might live.

I think it’s important for us to remember that, important for me to remember that especially today, this my first mass, this my first time offering the sacrifice, blessing the meal—that this is not my sacrifice, this is not my meal—I am but a humble servant of God, asked to play my part. As fancy as I’m dressed, as many lines as I get in this “show,” I know that it is not my show, but his. I may be up here and you down there, but our experience together is fundamentally the same: we are, together, a people receiving a gift we did not earn and cannot pay for. Together, equally in need of God’s mercy and blessing, we celebrate this feast.

And yet, as I stand up here for the first time in this role, I can’t help but be overwhelmed with how different this feels. How many times in my life I must have heard the priest say “This is my body,” and yet today, on the feast of Corpus Christi no less, (how cool is that?) something is fundamentally different:

those words become my words.

For the first time, I will stand before you, saying those words, and in my hands will be the sacrifice; in my hands will be the true body of Christ. Just thinking about it I find myself going, “Wait what…? I get to… do… that? No! …Really?” I find myself in complete awe.

More than a great power, more than thinking about it as something that I can now do, all I can think about is what a responsibility I have now, a newfound call to personal holiness, a newfound call to serve others. If I truly believe Christ’s words, “this is my body,” truly believe that he is present through the sacraments and that I am able to bring that to others, my life is not my own. This gift is not mine to put limits on or withhold; this gift is not mine to change and fit to my preferences. Even when I am tired, even when I don’t feel like it, I have a call and responsibility to uphold what Christ has established.
These hands [my hands] are Christ’s hands, entrusted with the care of his body.

But of course, there’s more to it than that, right? It is on this feast of Corpus Christi, the celebration of the body and blood of Christ, that I am reminded that Jesus’ words “this is my body” have a second and no less important meaning: we are the body of Christ. As Christians, those who are baptized into Christ, we are more than just members of an organization, more than just casual associates… we are bound together in the blood of Christ, made one through the Holy Spirit. As much as we know that Christ is truly present here at this altar, we can be equally sure that Christ is truly present in you and in me.

In our Gospel today, Jesus didn’t tell his disciples to simply perform a miracle, making his presence felt and adored in some mystical way. He said, “Give them some food.” In other words, “my body out there is hungry. Feed my people.” Christ says this is my body here at the altar, and he says this is my body out in the world. The connection between the two is so intimate, so inseparable, that the great Saint John Chrysostom once proclaimed to his congregation that if they failed to see Christ in the beggar at the door, failed to care for the lost and the broken, the hungry and thirsty, then they would truly fail to see him in the chalice. Just as the species on this altar are a free gift from God, a gift of Christ’s very self, so too are we to one another; so too are the poor; so too are the lost and forgotten. It’s why he says in Matthews Gospel that when you serve the poorest of the people, you actually serve him. He is with the poor, he dwells in them.

“This is my body.” How many times in my life I must have heard this, how passionately I have believed this for years, and yet I find myself today, once again, having quite a different relationship to these words than before. Today,

those words become my words.

Today, for the first time, I find myself internalizing them, owning them, speaking them with a newfound conviction. While I may not be your pastor, there is a distinct sense in me now that, as a priest, as a shepherd—truly, as a father—I am to care for Christ’s body as if you were my children.

Again, more than a great power, more than thinking about it as some authority that I now have, all I can think about is what a responsibility it now is, a newfound call to personal holiness, a newfound call to serve others. If I truly believe Christ’s words, “this is my body,” truly believe that he is present in you, in the poor, and the lost and forgotten, then my life is not my own. I must provide for those in need through works of charity. I must devote my life to work for the justice of the kingdom, and most of all, I must be the first to lay down my life so that others may live, just as he did. These hands [my hands] are Christ’s hands, entrusted with the care of his body.

So, yeah… today is a pretty profound day for me, no doubt a day I will never forget. But lest I give the impression that today is actually about me and not about what Christ is doing through me; lest I give the impression that all of you are somehow off the hook because there’s another priest to do the work, let me remind you: we are, together, a people receiving a gift we did not earn and cannot pay for. Together, equally in need of God’s mercy and blessing, we celebrate this feast.

Even though our specific duties, our specific roles might be a bit different, our fundamental response is the same. Having been given such an amazing gift, we find ourselves with a newfound call to holiness, a newfound call to serve others. Here before us—for you and for me—is the true body of the Christ, the real presence of our living God. How can we come to this table and not be changed? Here before us—in our brothers and sisters, in the world around us—is the true body of Christ, the real presence of our living God. How can we see our Lord broken and battered and not be changed? As much as today feels different for me, as much as this seems like a tremendous change in my life, I can’t help but be reminded that, at the core of my vocation to follow Christ, today remains the same for all of us. Today, as with every day of our lives, is about the extraordinary love that Christ pours out upon us, the gift that we could never purchase, and how our lives are fundamentally changed because of it.

Which brings us back to Melchizedek and you giving me a tenth of everything you own. You can keep it, I don’t want it. This celebration is not about me—not today, not ever—and I deserve nothing in return for what Christ accomplishes. But I have to say… I do want something. Yes, there is one thing that I hope for, one thing that is worth more to me than your wealth, something that would make my life as a priest worth ever challenge and failure. That thing is this: in all that I do in my life and ministry, you may see nothing but the love and humility of Christ, that you may be overwhelmed with the love that Christ gives you and amazed at what Christ is capable of through a useless sinner like me. And that when this happens, you may not give me any credit or feel that you owe me anything, but may want nothing more than to give everything you have, not just ten percent, but everything, your whole lives, to the one who gives you everything.

This is my body.

those words have become my words

but they are your words too. And we are forever changed by them.

Well I’m not going to lie to you: I’m glad this is over. Don’t get me wrong, I love the “A Friar Life” series. I think it’s one of the most meaningful things about Breaking In The Habit, getting to show off our lives, introducing the world to the friars. What could be better?

But that’s not to say that these videos are easy. A reflection video takes about two hours of writing, one hour filming, and thirty minutes editing (3.5 hours?). A Catholicism in Focus video takes about a day or two of research and writing, an hour to film, and four hours to edit (3 days?). A video in the “A Friar Life series? Yeah, that’s a day of travel, two days filming, another day of travel, and two full days of editing (editing that, unlike the others, has no script and so requires much more energy), meaning that for the past six weeks, I have spent 12 full days editing these videos.

Yeah. They’re great… but I need a break.

And that’s just what I’ll do. Perfectly timed with the subject of this video, I will be leaving in just a few minutes to go on a silent retreat, exercising my own role as a “contemplative in action.” For seven days I’ll be at Mepkin Abbey in Charleston, SC, where I will pray, reflect, write, and sleep, taking a step back from the chaos that was this semester in order to move forward with what’s ahead.

It’s time to enter the desert. It’s time to hit the reset button, to have my own little Lent, a mini period of purification, and hopefully come out the other side anew. I probably won’t post again until after my ordination, but if you have prayer requests let me know.

Last year, I sat down and interviewed my parents. It was fun. People loved it. What a great idea, I thought.

Such a great idea, I thought, that I should recreate it this year. But instead of simply copying what I did before, coming up with new questions, I decided to expand the scope a bit and include the rest of my family: what if I did the same thing, only this time with my sisters?

What could go wrong?

Luckily… I’m the one asking the questions and editing the video, so I knew I was safe! Let’s just say that it could have been A LOT worse!

I hope you enjoy this fun glimpse into my family life. With only 17 days left until ordination, I have some time on vacation with my parents as well as a 7-day silent retreat, so don’t expect a whole lot of new content over the next few weeks, but please keep me in your prayers as the day approaches! Peace and good to you all.

One of my favorite shows of all time is the medical comedy Scrubs. On the one hand hilarious and absurd, on the other insightful and emotional. It had it all. Following the lives of a handful of new doctors struggling to make it—not only as doctors, but simply make it through the world—the show often played on themes of identity, recognizing the difference between who a character hoped they would be and who they actually are.

In one season, after years of feeling inadequate, disrespected, awkward, and unattractive, one of the characters completely changes her appearance: she cuts and dyes her hair, changes her wardrobe, redesigns her living space, and adopts a new attitude. The changes are so dramatic that every other character takes notice and she even begins to refer to herself as a different person: “The old Elliot would do that, but not the new Elliot.” In her eyes, the external changes to her life marked a new beginning, a fresh start, an opportunity to be someone she hadn’t been before.

As I wrote about many years ago, this can absolutely be the case; our appearance does not simply change the way others treat us, but can also change how we treat ourselves. Our external realities can have an effect on our internal selves.

And yet, as one can intuitively glean, and as Scrubs fans will know, more is needed for conversion to take root than a new wardrobe. Within a few episodes, the “new Elliot” finds that she is still the same insecure person, that eye-liner and short hair cannot hide who she really is inside. While offering an opportunity for change, and in some ways even achieving this in her short spurts of confidence, these changes cannot magically erase twenty-some years of becoming who she was.

I offer this as a further example of what I speak about in this week’s video reflection. Many of us will not have distinct moments of drastically changing our wardrobe and wanting to become a new person, as this fictional doctor did, but most of us will understand what it feels like to pack up everything we own and move to a new place. There is probably no more life-altering reality that we routinely face. Everything changes, our whole world is new.

And yet, we largely stay the same. At least, we often do.

Moving, like wardrobe changes, offer us an opportunity for a fresh start, to begin anew, but they do not guarantee that our lives will actually change. Changing our external realities can have an effect, but unless we are willing to acknowledge our internal selves, everything can change around us and our situations would remain the same. Different location, different look, same us.

True conversion requires more than a new address and dyed hair. It requires that we look deeply at ourselves and ask: “What about myself is preventing me from being a disciple of Christ, and how can I leave that behind?”