I often join a group of parishioners at Arby’s after Mass on Saturday nights. Though united in faith and friendship, our work backgrounds are diverse: an electrician and his wife who works at a drycleaner, another married couple who own and operate a funeral home, a retired naval officer and his daughter who drives a long-haul truck for a living.   
            The conversations over tater-tots and roast beef are casual, yet lively. They remind me of skipping stones across a creek as a boy. Topics fly through the air, skimming life’s surface. Ripples expand, intersect with others, then fade away.
 
            “Our regiment spent a year in Guam.”
            “My dog sheds hair all year long.”
            “Their daughter survived COVID.”
            “I worked as a roughneck in the oilfield.”
            “Truck stops have clean accommodations.”
 
            I keep an ear out for homily material, a phrase or image that might turn the muddy creek bank of life into a place of wonder and delight.
            Some preachers focus on doctrine and catechesis. I prefer pointing out grace in day-to-day life. If Jesus delivered discourses about livestock, cleaning house and daily wages, I’ll include pickups, cellphones and laundry detergent in mine.
            Another reason for conducting homiletic research at a fast-food restaurant is the fact that the Mass is more like a cafeteria than a classroom. The Liturgy of the Eucharist, for instance, concludes with a communion service. So too, the Liturgy of the Word concludes with a type of communion. It’s called, the homily, a word that means conversation, not conversion.
            It might not be as tangible as Bread and Wine, but a table with friends and a tray loaded with a Whopper and fries captures the feel.