A Homily for the 22nd Sunday of the Year

The majority of the judicial year is spent in the season of Lent. Tattoos branded on skinny arms, scrawny necks and shaved scalps proclaim "We are dust" better than any Ash Wednesday service.

A Homily for the Eleventh Sunday of the Year

A patron saint for bored teenagers?

My first love was a wicked twisted road. I hit the million-mile mark at seventeen years old.

What if Cleopas' companion on the road was also his wife at home?

Some peek from behind brown, brittle tumbleweeds. Others bloom blue plastic petals.

On the seminary campus stands a statue of Our Lady...with a bullet in her back.

Both my grandfathers were great cowboys, built mostly out of sinew,

The dates on the packages might be close to expiration, but not the energy of the volunteers.

A Homily for the Sixth Sunday of the Year

The storm dumped eight inches of snow. In the lower pasture, the float on the stock tank quit working,

Some preachers focus on doctrine. I prefer day-to-day life.

A dozen men stand naked in the sun, their prison uniforms lying rumpled at their feet.

"Like a desert owl, my soul groans for you." (Psalm 102)

A Homily for the Feast of the Epiphany

When her children leave the house, Mary ensures they are dressed for the weather.

Pedro and his crew wrestled sheep during the day and camped beneath the stars at night.

The alb was stuck to the seat of my pants. “What the heck?” I muttered.

I felt the first bumps on Buddy's flank last week. The condition, called rain rot, spreads quickly.