Please Don’t Leave Jesus: A Homily for this Sunday

Dear Fathers,

Some of you have already preached on the current crisis in the Church. Thank you for that. This Sunday at least, please speak about it again. The readings are tailor-made for it.

Some of you haven’t, because you don’t know what to say or because you don’t want to offend anybody or because you’ve been waiting from some direction from a bishop who is more CEO than shepherd. I offer you this piece as a gift in thanksgiving for your priesthood. Recite the whole thing verbatim, steal sections, or just let it inspire your own writing. No attribution needed. But please, please don’t let your sons and daughters reeling in the face of betrayal by their Church sit through one more homily filled with irrelevant platitudes. We understand that you’re suffering, too, but you are a father. Your children need you to console us and to promise to protect us. Please.

The readings for this Sunday can be found here, or you can open your Bible and read them at: Joshua 24:1-2A, 15-17, 18B; Psalm 34:2-3, 16-21; Ephesians 5:21-32; John 6:60-69.

I’ve got to say, I don’t know if I could have done it—stood up with the other Israelites and promised to serve the Lord. This excerpt from Joshua makes it sound so easy: “Far be it from us to forsake the Lord for the service of other gods.” But following the Lord had never been easy for them. They had wandered through the desert, the older ones, for forty years. They had fought their way through the Promised Land. Their leaders had rebelled again and again and they had reaped the consequences.

They hadn’t been there when God worked wonders in Egypt. They hadn’t seen the Red Sea part. Oh, the older ones had eaten miraculous bread from heaven and walked through the Jordan dry-shod, but most of the Israelites still living had never seen anything miraculous. They’d heard stories; that was it.

But somehow, when given the choice, they chose God.

Maybe they were in the same boat as Peter in our Gospel today. Peter had just heard Jesus say some pretty outlandish stuff—going on and on about eating his flesh and drinking his blood. The crowds had looked at him like he was insane, talking about cannibalism like this, and he had just doubled down. He hadn’t stopped to explain the real presence in the Blessed Sacrament or pulled out Aristotle to define transubstantiation. He certainly hadn’t interrupted himself to assure them that he only wanted them to eat bread and think about him. He just said it again and again, nine times: eat my flesh and drink my blood.

So they walked away. Because this guy was nuts! How could he possibly give them his flesh to eat? Why on earth would he advocate cannibalism??

And Jesus just let them go. Because they were free to choose. But he turned to his disciples and asked them wearily, “Are you leaving, too?”

Peter always had the right answer—at least, so he thought. But this time he didn’t respond with some assurance that he totally got what Jesus was going for, that he was all about the Eucharist. He was confused and a bit disturbed. He didn’t understand it at all. But he knew Jesus. And he knew that he was nothing apart from Jesus. He didn’t understand what was going on, but he knew Jesus and he wasn’t going anywhere.

“Master, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life.”

Some of you may be feeling confused and weary the way Peter and the Israelites did. You’ve defended the Church, made sacrifices for her, proclaimed your faith at great cost, and found yourself betrayed by men who claimed the name of Jesus but were working at the command of the Enemy. Wouldn’t it be easier just to leave?

Dear ones, I am so sorry. My heart breaks with yours for the victims of these depraved men.

And I understand.

I understand if it was hard for you to come here today. I understand if you’re wondering how you could possibly remain in a Church that has so horrifically failed its most vulnerable members. I understand the fear and suspicion and anger.

So does Jesus.

He understands how hollow the Psalm may have felt to you today, proclaiming that God is close to the brokenhearted when every one of us knows that thousands of hearts were broken by men claiming God’s name. He understands that you heard it proclaimed that he confronts evildoers and wanted to cry out in pain that he doesn’t seem to be doing it now.

I’m with you. We need accountability. We need transparency. There are people who need jail time. But in all the mess and rot in this Church, God is still God. He is still good. He is the same God who sent his Son to die for you, the same God who poured out his life on the Cross, the same God who comes down to us in the Blessed Sacrament. He is close to the brokenhearted, and he does confront evildoers, whether we realize it or not. He loves you fiercely, deeply, unceasingly.

Do you want to know why I don’t leave? Because of the Eucharist. I stand with Simon Peter, confused and disturbed amid all this turmoil, and I say to the Lord, “But where else would I go? You’re here. And I want you.”

My brothers and my sisters, I am begging you: please don’t leave. Not for my sake or even for the Church’s sake. Please don’t leave Jesus. I know how hard it is for some of you to walk through those doors, knowing what you know about the sins of your leaders. I know that for some of you, just coming to Mass today was a heroic act. But I beg you to keep coming back, for the sake of the suffering heart of Jesus who is miserable enough without having to miss you on top of it.

You don’t come here for me, or for our bishop, or for the Pope. You come here for Jesus Christ who lived and died for you. You come here to be fed with the bread that gives eternal life. You come here because as bad as things can be in the Catholic Church, there’s nowhere else to go: if you’re looking for Jesus Christ present, body, blood, soul, and divinity, you don’t have a lot of options.

When Jesus offers himself in the Eucharist, he offers himself as our bridegroom. He gives us his body to cleanse us, to make us holy and without blemish, as St. Paul said. Our God doesn’t come to us as a demanding overlord or as a kindly grandfather, he comes as lover. He hands himself over for you at every Mass because he loves you too much to leave you.

Please don’t leave him.

There are two more verses in this chapter, verses that we won’t hear read at Mass. Just after Peter’s proclamation, Jesus looked at his disciples, at the ones who had distributed the loaves and fishes, the ones who had cast out demons and anointed the sick, and he said, “Did I not choose you twelve? Yet is not one of you a devil?”

He was speaking of Judas, of course. He knew what Judas would do. He knew that there would be Judases down through the ages, mixed in among his priests.

Don’t leave Jesus because of Judas. Then evil wins. Stay with us and fight. Fight for holiness, fight for justice, fight for the protection of the innocent. And pray. Pray for the survivors. Pray for those whose faith is shaken. Pray for the purification of our Church.

Joshua chose the Lord. The Israelites chose the Lord. Peter and the Apostles chose the Lord. Some with confidence, some with weak and shaking voices. You don’t have to be head cheerleader for Team Catholic right now. Just please don’t leave Jesus.