The Homily and the Homilist

Like many people, I have serious and complicated flaws. Don’t get too excited, this is not an open confession. Just take my word for it, I have flaws.

I am the homilist at two parishes. I preach once a month at each. Although I prepare for many hours to speak the truths of the Word, I admit that I do not write out my homilies as many of my fellow deacons do. I’ve tried writing them, but to no avail.

When I was in formation, in order to receive preaching credentials, I was compelled to write out homilies for my mentor-priest. He would read them and then give feedback. At one point he told me that I write homilies exactly as I speak. I took it as a compliment because it made sense to write the way I speak.

My Preaching Goal

My goal is to communicate with people, to pour my heart into theirs, or at least give them something to think about. I was never interested in showing people how brilliant I was. I wanted to reach souls and hearts. In my earlier preaching, a person close to me commented that I never gave them something to think about during the week. My preaching was quite forgettable.

That was an eye-opener. I needed to offer listeners the opportunity to grab onto something in the Scriptures that they could use throughout the week to draw them to prayer, to seek God, to receive the Eucharist as the true Body and Blood of Christ. Lofty goals for anyone!

I’ve learned over the years that when one pours out his heart to others, it will be received. What is said becomes important to the hearer because it was important to the speaker. My goal as homilist is to reach as many people as possible with the message of faith, hope, and love, in five minutes or less. I want people to leave Mass with a renewed belief that they can do what God directs; they can love others; they can stop doing the things that draw them away from Christ’s Presence.

The Need for Metanoia

My personal goal is to offer opportunities for people to change their life’s trajectory, to change what they believe on the inside, in their soul and spirit. The Church calls that dynamic “metanoia” and encourages the faithful to live with the attitude of turning toward God at every opportunity. I can’t read that to others. It must come from my heart, from what I’ve experienced and what I battle with on a daily basis.

To attempt to speak from a lofty position, looking down on the congregation from the high pulpit, my preaching would become nothing more than an opportunity for people to study their “to do” list for the day.

No Canned Messages

Someone asked recently if I used the canned homilies that are readily available in many places. When I was first ordained, I received free samples of homilies for deacons who were too busy to develop their own. I was stunned.

I cannot imagine using someone else’s homily! The writers’ attempts to include everything imaginable in their canned messages felt like dry sand in my mouth when I read them. I’ve learned over the years that people may remember the last point made in any homily. They remember the jokes that some tell. They do remember the part that touches their lives at the soul level. The homily books tell the preacher to use any part he wants in order to build a homily that will reach the parishioners.

I took the sample helps and compared them to the Scriptures for that particular Sunday. The homily helps were generally well-written. They often cross-referenced other Scriptures to solidify the point being made. Sometimes they referred to writings of saints to justify the main and subsidiary points, and they seemed to cover all the readings in a well formatted style that could be used by anyone.

I thought it would be a benefit to make copies of the whole homily and use them as handouts for the parishioners. Once I had read the Gospel, I could say, “Here’s the best homily you’ll ever get. Read it at home. Amen!” then sit down and continue with the Liturgy of the Eucharist.

It may be wrong not to read the homilies of others. One thing is for sure, you can’t make a mistake reading those perfect homilies. But that just didn’t sit well with me.

Preaching Mishaps

Preaching a recent homily regarding the Pharisee and Tax Collector at prayer, I made the mistake of voicing the thought: “I wonder if the Tax Collector quit his job. Or did he go back to it the next day?”

If you’re not reading a canned homily, it is not easy to know when to quit. I made a similar mistake last year regarding Bartimaeus, the blind man who made his living sitting at the curb and begging for money. I pondered out loud: “I wonder what Bartimaeus did for a living the day after his cure? He followed Jesus on the way, Scripture assures us, but what did he do for income?” What happens after being touched by God? This is a serious question for me.

Apparently, my comment about Bartimaeus was a stupid thing to say because, like the comment about the Tax Collector, it was “wrong theology”, at least according to the presider of the Mass that day. I did not try to defend myself. I’ve learned to never argue with a man who studied in Rome.

As a prison chaplain, I once ministered to a Polish man who was confirmed by Bishop Karol Józef Wojtyła, before he became Saint Pope John Paul II. This man, confirmed in the Spirit by a future saint, wound up in state prison.

When God radically changes one’s life – from the darkness of being blind, to the light of seeing – what responsibility does the healed, changed, radicalized individual have after that? This, unfortunately, is always in the back of my mind when I preach the homily. Secretly, I ask the same about myself: I beat my breast; I am not worthy to receive Him; the scales are removed from my eyes and I see. Now what? What does the change entail, after all?

Grace to Change

Early in my service to the Church I discovered that reading anything other than Scripture distances me from the listeners. I lose my place most of the time. The reason is simple: when preaching the homily, I make eye contact with each person. Each person is unique, loved by God in a special way. I treat each person as if they were the only one in the building. I speak to them, from my heart to theirs.

And, as if in personal conversation with each one, I look to see how they are receiving what I’m saying. I feel as though I am speaking the Word of God to the weak, the infirm, the poor, and the needy. Even if one comes to church wearing fine clothes, teeth brushed, and hair combed, that one is poor and needy, weak and infirm. We all are, as we stand and kneel before the Lamb, seeking grace to change.