Fr. Brian Soliven Sermons

Whenever I look at the photograph on the cover of this Sunday’s bulletin, I am filled with many emotions at once—happiness, gratitude, nostalgia, and also a deep sadness. It was taken in the fall of 2009 in Rome. We had gathered at a restaurant to celebrate the ordination of a friend. There was good wine, wonderful Italian food, and the easy laughter. The joy on our faces tells the story better than words.At the time, everyone in the picture was still a seminarian, studying together for the priesthood. One of the great gifts of living in Rome, at the heart of the Catholic Church, is that you begin to see with your own eyes how truly universal the Church is. Men come from every corner of the world. In that photograph alone are seminarians from different parts of the United States, along with brothers from Iraq and Syria. Around that table, we were many nations, but one family.And this is where the memory makes me sad. In the upper left-hand corner, with the circle around his face, is Mikele, then a seminarian from Syria. We became friends through our classes and over many conversations shared with cappuccinos during breaks. From time to time, he would come to the American seminary where we lived and join us for lunch. After our years of study, we all returned to our own countries to serve Christ and His Church as priests. For a long time I heard nothing of Fr. Mikele. Then one day, quite unexpectedly, a mutual friend called me. “I have terrible news,” he said. “Do you remember Fr. Mikele from seminary? He has been kidnapped by terrorists.”I was stunned. Such things seem very far removed from our lives here in America, thanks be to God. Yet for many Christians throughout the world, they are terrible realities.Fr. Mikele had been delivering supplies to one of our Catholic schools in Damascus, the capital of Syria, where the Islamic terrorist group Hezbollah was active. Though the danger was well known, he and other Catholics boarded a bus bound for the city. Along the way, armed men stopped the vehicle. They climbed aboard with rifles in their hands and slowly made their way down the aisle. Looking upon the frightened faces of the passengers, they pointed to the two Catholic priests, Fr. Mikele being one of them, and dragged them off the bus.Not long afterward, the Archbishop of Damascus received a call demanding a ransom for the release of his priests. With great sorrow, he refused, knowing that yielding to such demands would only encourage further kidnappings. Fr. Mikele’s mother pleaded for her son’s freedom, but there was nothing she could do. The kidnappers wanted money—more money than anyone possessed.Then, one day, the calls ceased. There was only silence. It has now been more than a decade since anyone has heard from Fr. Mikele. No letters. No messages. No word at all. Sadly, we must presume the worst.I tell this story because my friend’s name will never appear in the headlines. He was not a famous man. He was a simple Catholic priest trying to serve his people in a dangerous part of the Lord’s vineyard. He was a good man, a prayerful man, and a man who loved Our Lord with his whole heart. Fr. Mikele reminds me of the words of Our Lord in this Sunday’s Gospel:“Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul.… Are not two sparrows sold for a small coin? Yet not one of them falls to the ground without your Father’s knowledge.… So do not be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows. Everyone who acknowledges me before others I will acknowledge before my heavenly Father.”The world may forget such men. Newspapers may never print their names. But Heaven does not forget them. The Father who counts the hairs on our heads has surely not forgotten one of His faithful servants. And whether Fr. Mikele died at the hands of his captors or still lives in some hidden place known only to God, we may be certain of this: no act of love offered to Christ is ever lost, and no servant who acknowledges Him before men will be forgotten by the Master whom he served. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

It is one of the curious habits of God that He delights in beginning immense things with what appear to us very small beginnings. When Our Lord walked beside the Sea of Galilee and summoned twelve ordinary men to follow Him, Heaven itself was not improvising. This was no afterthought. The calling of the Twelve was the unfolding of a design hidden in the heart of God from the foundation of the world.For the Lord who chose twelve disciples was the same God who had once chosen twelve tribes through the sons of Jacob. Israel had been called to gather the nations to the worship of the true God, yet now, in Christ, a new and greater Israel was being formed. The number itself was no accident. Jesus was gathering around Himself the beginnings of the Church, the family through whom the Father intended to bring salvation to the ends of the earth.What is particularly astonishing is not merely that He called twelve men, but that He called such men. Fishermen, tax collectors, and zealots are hardly the material from which one would expect a kingdom to be built. Yet God has always preferred to display His strength through human weakness, so that the glory might be seen to belong to Him and not to His instruments.The Twelve would become apostles, the first bishops of the Catholic Church, entrusted with teaching, sanctifying, and guiding the people of God. Through their ministry, and through those who succeeded them, the voice of Christ would continue to echo across the centuries. Thus, the Church is not an invention of men but the continuation of the Lord's own work in human history.And perhaps there is a lesson here for each of us. Christ did not merely call twelve men long ago; He continues to call souls today. The same divine voice that summoned Peter from his nets summons us from our distractions and our little kingdoms. For God's great purpose has always been the same: to gather His scattered children into communion with Himself, until the whole world becomes, at last, one family in the household of the Father.Such is the strange and marvelous way of God. He begins with twelve, and intends nothing less than the redemption of the world.  --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY! What a radiant and holy custom it is that, here in the United States, we set aside a day in honor of our mothers. And rightly so.Consider what she endures for the sake of her child. Long before we first behold the light of the sun, we are carried beneath her heart, hidden within her very being for those mysterious nine months in which life itself is woven together in secret. And then comes the hour of birth — that fearful and glorious threshold where she willingly passes through suffering, and even the shadow of death, so that another life may enter the world.Nor does her giving cease when the travail is ended. Having poured out her strength, she continues to sustain the child from the substance of her own body, feeding the helpless little one with nourishment only she can give. It is a love so profound and sacrificial that one is almost compelled to hear, echoing faintly through it, the words: “This is my body, given for you.” The cover of this Sunday’s bulletin recalls the radiant joy of last Sunday’s First Holy Communion. The young girls, clothed in garments of brilliant white, and the boys, with ties neatly fastened and collars straightened, came not merely to a ceremony, but to a profound divine encounter. For what greater marvel can be given to mankind than this: that God should feed His children with His very life? Not symbol alone, nor distant memory, but His Body offered for the life of the world. Yes — His flesh; His Body.First Holy Communion ought therefore to be celebrated with trembling gladness and with majesty befitting heaven itself. The child approaching the altar steps nearer to the heart of the universe than kings upon their thrones or conquerors in their triumphs. Here is Love made tangible. Here is Eternity stooping low to nourish the weary children of earth.And so we celebrate this sacred feast much as we celebrate Mother’s Day because both bear witness to self-giving love. Every Mass is another encounter with that divine charity which spends itself entirely for the beloved. Christ desires nothing less than union with each soul. At every reception of Holy Communion, He whispers again the words that shattered history and remade the world: “This is my body, given for you.”That is why we Catholics genuflect. The bending of the knee is not mere habit, nor empty ritual, but a holy reminder to distracted minds and wandering hearts: Love Himself is here. In the Holy Eucharist we stand in the presence of the living God, who still gives Himself away for the life of His people: “This is my body, given for you.”    --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give