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English Homily - 2nd Sunday of Moses 2026- Fr. Peter Patros A man in today's Gospel says one sentence and disappears: "Do not trouble the Teacher any more." He isn't cruel — he's reasonable. And that's exactly the danger. Fr. Peter looks at the prayers we quietly stopped praying, and at the woman who refused to stop asking.

English Homily- Seventh Sunday of Elijah- Fr. Mark Owdeesh The apostles were debating greatness — status, money, worth — and Jesus answered by putting a child in front of them. Not as a cute illustration, but as a direct contrast to everything they were chasing. There is an important difference between childish and childlike: childish is reacting without thought, living by emotion, ignoring consequences; childlike is knowing your worth as a son or daughter of God and approaching him daily with simplicity, openness, and total dependence. We came into this world with nothing and will leave the same way — Christ wants that posture to be the flame that burns throughout everything in between. And our lives have more impact on those around us than we think — leading others toward or away from that same childlike posture, whether we intend to or not.

English Homily- Sixth Sunday of Elijah- Fr. Mark Owdeesh The Canaanite woman had every reason to shrink she was an outsider, dismissed by the apostles, and met with apparent indifference even from Jesus. Instead she stood her ground, cried out, and refused to let anyone else's judgment determine her worth before God. Jesus was not rejecting her; he was using her to embarrass the people around her with the quality of her faith. Mother Teresa did the same when she was spat on — responding not with anger but with quiet confidence in who she was. Both women knew their worth not because the world confirmed it, but because God already had. The temptation we all face daily is to let judgments, gossip, and dismissal make us shrink from our own dignity. The call is to do what she did step into the light anyway and cry out.

English Homily- Fifth Sunday of Elijah- Fr. Mark Owdeesh An upside-down turtle cannot right itself without outside help — and neither can we. The father in the gospel could not heal his son alone, and even the apostles, extensions of Christ's own authority, fell short because they had not stayed close enough to the source. We live in the same irony today: sharing everything on social media yet more isolated than ever, absorbing content about self-improvement while refusing to open up to anyone about what is actually wrong. The healing begins the moment we step outside ourselves and say we cannot process this alone. Practically, that means two things: sitting before God with a journal and laying everything out honestly in the light, and seeking guidance from trusted people. We are not passive canvases — we must cooperate. But the first step is simply admitting we are stuck.

English Homily- Fourth Sunday of Elijah- Fr. Peter Patros We spend our entire lives trying to be valuable — through education, careers, appearance, and social standing — running a race that never ends and is riddled with more failure than success. So when Jesus says "good for nothing," it lands like a gut punch. But he says it only after calling us salt of the earth and light of the world. The salt that loses its flavor is not worthless by nature — it has simply forgotten its purpose. When we chase the world's standards of value, the world will use us, step on us, and forget about us. God never does that. He called us very good before we accomplished anything and after we did the worst we could imagine. We do not have to earn anything before God — but he does ask us to become what he has already called us to be.

English Homily- Third Sunday of Elijah- Fr. Peter Patros The two disciples walking to Emmaus were not just sad — they were walking away, in the wrong direction, with hope in the past tense. They had expected a king on a throne and got a man on a cross, and they could not see how those two things fit together. Jesus does not abandon them for going the wrong way. He walks the entire road with them, calls them foolish not for lack of knowledge but for not yet putting the pieces together, and patient with their slow hearts. The cross did not remove suffering — it put the resurrection on the other side of it, giving suffering a meaning it never had before. And it is only at the breaking of the bread that their eyes open. The same Jesus who walked beside crushed hope on the road to Emmaus is the one who breaks bread on this altar — and he is capable of turning a heart from slow and foolish to burning.

English Homily- Second Sunday of Elijah- Fr. Mark Owdeesh The saguaro cactus holds up to a thousand pounds of water, provides fruit, shelters birds, and nourishes the ecosystem around it — all while standing in one of the driest places on earth. We assume the desert has nothing to offer, and we assume the same about ourselves when we feel empty, wounded, and stretched thin. But it is precisely when we feel most dry that God uses us most. The parable of the seed is not just about soil — it is about the fact that Christ himself is now present, nourishing us with what our souls require at every Mass. We do not need to feel full to be fruitful. We only need to bring what little we think we have, and ask God to make use of it.

English Homily- First Sunday of Elijah- Fr. Mark Owdeesh Zacchaeus had every reason to stay hidden — hated by his community, weighed down by guilt, small in stature, and surrounded by a crowd that despised him. Every instinct would have told him to turn back. Instead he climbed a tree, pushed through the shame, and brought himself into the light. Our insecurities work the same way — they feel like real obstacles but are often monsters made of fog, and the simple act of bringing them into the open deflates them. Jesus did not put Zacchaeus on a waiting list or review his application. He called him by name and invited himself over. That is still how Christ operates: not with conditions or probation, but with immediate, personal invitation. The battle is daily — fighting the thoughts that tell us to hide — and the antidote is the same as Zacchaeus: go to the face of Jesus and say, here I am.

English Homily- Seventh Sunday of Summer- Fr. Peter Patros To judge someone as the worst sinner, you would need to know their intentions, their circumstances, and their culpability — three things we rarely have access to even about ourselves. The Pharisee in the temple was generous, disciplined, and devout, but he made his goodness relative by standing next to someone else and measuring down. The tax collector could not even lift his eyes, but prayed not as one sinner among many — in the Greek, he said the sinner, as if he were the only one in the world. That is the only honest answer any of us can give. We are the one soul whose intentions we know, whose excuses we remember, whose graces we know we wasted. St. Paul called himself the foremost of sinners — not out of false humility, but because he stopped comparing. The question is not who is the worst sinner in the world. It is who is the one sinner you are actually responsible for.

English Homily- Sixth Sunday of Summer- Fr. Peter Patros Repentance is not an emotion — it is a direction. The question it asks is not how bad you feel, but which way you are walking. The hardest part is not being told to change, but being told to slow down, because momentum feels like progress even when it is heading somewhere destructive. The ten lepers were healed as they walked, but only one stopped, turned all the way back, and fell at Jesus’ feet in gratitude. That reversal cost him the distance he had already covered. Repentance always costs something — the progress we thought we had, the momentum we built up, the destination we were almost at. Gratitude is what fuels the U-turn. And the point of the story is not that Jesus healed what was unhealable — it is that one man turned back, and that turning back kept him alive inside.

English Homily- Fifth Sunday of Summer- Fr. Mark Owdeesh The Trojan horse was not a weapon — it was a gift, a proposal, something that looked harmless until it was already inside the walls. Our thoughts work the same way. The Greek church fathers called it the nous — the intellectual part of the soul that receives what enters from the outside world and passes it into the heart. Every sin and habit begins there, nesting and spreading long before we notice. The desert fathers called our task watchfulness: being a custodian over what we allow into the mind before it metastasizes. St. Dorotheus puts it plainly — stop anger at the first movement, blame yourself, and it dies; add wood to it, and it becomes an uncontrollable blaze. Do your part to guard the gate, then hand the rest to Christ.

English Homily- Third Sunday of Summer- Fr. Mark Owdeesh All of us carry quirks, wounds, and blemishes — things we wish God would simply take away. The apostles asked the same question about the man born blind: who sinned to cause this? Jesus answers that the blindness was never a punishment, but an occasion to reveal God’s power and presence. Christ did not wait for the man to beg at his feet — he took the initiative, as he always does with our brokenness. The real blindness is not our deficiencies or setbacks, but our inability to see how God is working through them. The challenge is to sit before Jesus daily, lay out honestly what feels broken or lacking, and remain open to how he wants to work with exactly what we have.

English Homily- Third Sunday of Summer- Fr. Peter Patros When a toothache disappears on its own, it is not healing — the nerve has died. The same happens to the soul: when sin stops hurting, something inside may have gone numb, not recovered. Isaiah’s vineyard produced rotten fruit despite everything the owner gave it — and the vineyard could not smell itself. Sin rarely looks like the opposite of virtue; it rhymes with it, one letter off. Two things kill the conscience: repetition, which builds a callus exactly where we keep touching the same thing, and presumption, which uses God’s mercy as a bank account — scheduling confession the way you change the oil in a car. Godly grief moves; worldly grief sits and looks at itself and calls that repentance. The man born blind had mud placed on his eyes before he could see — and he still had to get up and walk to the pool. Some of us have been touched. Very few of us have gone to wash.

English Homily- Second Sunday of Summer- Fr. Peter Patros The parable of the prodigal son is not just a story about the son who left — it is equally a story about the son who stayed. The father runs, embraces, and throws a banquet the moment his lost child returns, and heaven itself rejoices with the angels and saints over one sinner who repents. But the older son refuses to go in. He is physically at the door of the party, yet cannot bring himself to enter because bitterness and resentment have made him the arbiter of who deserves God’s blessing. The warning is sharp: if we cannot rejoice when God blesses someone we resent, we may not be able to enjoy heaven either — because heaven could be full of people we cannot stand. The Father comes out and invites the older son in just as tenderly. The question is whether we will go.

English Homily- First Sunday of Summer- Fr. Peter Patros Summer is a season of freedom that quietly becomes a season of forgetting — forgetting prayer, priorities, and God in the middle of busyness. Jesus at the wedding banquet gives a simple command: take the lowest seat. Applied to daily life, there are three high seats we constantly reach for: the need to always be right, even at the cost of hurting others and disobeying God; the need to always be seen, chasing an applause that will never be enough; and the constant irritation at what everyone else does, which is just pride hiding in small things. Water always finds the lowest place — and so did Jesus, who left heaven not just to meet us where we are, but to take us where he is.