From the Parochial Vicar - 13th Sunday in Ordinary Time

June 30, 2019

From the Parochial Vicar - 13th Sunday in Ordinary Time

After the joy of Easter, Pentecost, and the last two Sunday’s feasts of the Trinity and Eucharist, today we have returned to “Ordinary” Sundays. Instead of thinking about Ordinary Time as a “not-so-special” time of year, we should think of it as “ordinal” Sundays. We count the Sundays throughout the year as we journey with Christ throughout his three years of public ministry. These are the “ordinary” moments of Christ’s life in which his disciples followed him and learned from him as he journeyed and taught.

In today’s Gospel, Christ responds in a puzzling way to someone who wants to be his disciple: “Foxes have dens and birds of the sky have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to rest his head.” Foxes and birds build their homes simply by making use of what they find daily. They don’t employ an architect or a contractor. They scrounge up little bits of lint, find some twigs, and pick up some pine needles they come across. They make the most of the daily things that creation provides.

We can learn from the foxes and birds by making the most of the daily blessings our Creator provides. Our Lord doesn’t have a place to rest his head in our hearts because we make our hearts about many things. We try to compartmentalize our relationship with him to a certain part of the day or a certain place (“I already had my prayer time today, and I can’t bother to stop right now and praise him or ask him for what I need” or “I’ll grow in my love of Jesus on Sunday when I’m at church”). Throughout the day as we go from activity to activity, we should try to practice a greater recollection in order to identify the gifts, blessings, and graces that the Lord shares with us during our ordinary activity. That way, “ordinary” becomes extraordinary as we see how cooperating with his will orders our heart towards his glory. Then Our Lord can say, the heart of that Christian is a place where I may make my home and rest my head.

Thank You

The process of a priest’s transfer can seem very shrouded in the eyes of the lay faithful. One week a priest is talking about the future of some program or apostolate and the next week he is announcing his departure. Each year in the Diocese of Charlotte, the bishop requests input from his priests about their assignments. We have a chance to let him know how our current assignment is going and make certain requests if we are seeking a transfer. A priest’s obedience to his bishop is not a military-style, blind obedience. It is a filial obedience that implies trust and detachment. Two years ago, upon returning from my studies in Rome, I received a phone call, “If you are offered the position of pastor at __________, will you accept it?” I was never offered that parish and was assigned to St. Mark. And for these past two years, I am incredibly grateful. I could have been made a pastor two years ago, but I see how God in his good providence wanted me to experience for my own sanctification and maturation this wonderful parish community.

Serving with Fr. John and Fr. Becker has been a blessing to my priesthood and growth. They are wonderfully kind, cheerful, and very patient with me. Fr. John and I had a feeling that I would be transferred this year, and he said to me at one-point last fall, “You need your own parish. You are wasting your gifts here.” He didn’t mean that as a put-down or that I wasn’t making a difference. In fact, I was very humbled by that. I would very much be delighted to stay at St. Mark, but that would be a selfish request. A priest of 25+ years and a man who had known me since I was in middle school was telling me that I was ready to be a pastor. That instills great confidence, certainly. Fr. Becker also has been very supportive in this transition. His words were, “Gooder. It’s about time.” Granted, his reaction is biased because he will no longer be the “junior vicar,” he gets my car space in the garage, and he will no longer have the “on-call” line 90% of the week. In all honesty, though, I hope that his experience accompanying a newly ordained priest in his first assignment is as inspirational and rewarding as it was for me to walk with him in his first two years of priesthood.

To each and every household at St. Mark, I want to say thank you. You have been a great blessing to my priesthood. Fr. Becker quoted, I think, St. Augustine in one of his first homilies at St. Mark: “For you I am a priest, with you I am a Christian.” Yes, I have given my life to minister at the altar of God and be a priest for the Church and the salvation of souls, but alongside you I am a fellow Christian man in need of salvation. I have been humbled and inspired by those of you who have invited me to share in your lives and welcomed me into your homes. I am energized by the families and individuals who take their faith to the streets, their jobs, their schools, and their friendships in a way that draws others to love Jesus more. I am grateful for the hundreds of people who have been saying, “We’re gonna miss you.” In reality, I’m going to miss you. I’m going to miss St. Mark Church. There is the excitement of becoming a pastor for the first time, but I would be lying if I said that there isn’t a profound grief in my heart as I face the reality of leaving such a vibrant community of faith.

I want you to remember one thing: a parish is not a vibrant community of faith because of its priests. A parish truly is alive when each individual chooses to live in Christ and for Christ. That is why I do not worry about you as I leave; I know each of you will continue choosing Christ and seeking to dwell in a deeper communion with him. Yes, priests at St. Mark come and go. Don’t forget, however, that they are living instruments in the hand of God for your sanctification. But you are the parish and, by living freely as sons and daughters of the living God, the parish becomes what God intends it to be: a city set on a hill and toward which all come for life-giving water.

From the Pastor

From the Pastor - Feast of St. Francis of Assisi

By John Putnam • October 2, 2026
This reflection pertains to the regular readings for the 27th Sunday in Ordinary Time. We have been given so many gifts and blessings by our Heavenly Father. Yet, in our fallen state it is all too easy to take them for granted. Our readings today teach us that we must live with an intentional awareness of our many blessings and use them gratefully to glorify God. In our Gospel passage from Matthew, Jesus uses the image of a vineyard to teach the importance of using our blessings well. He tells the story of a landowner who plants a vineyard and leases it to tenants before he goes on a journey. Instead of tending the vineyard, the tenants mistreat the servants in the vineyard and even the son of the landowner, whom they kill. When the landowner realizes what the tenants have done, he puts them to death and leases his vineyard to tenants who “will give him the produce at the proper times.” By Baptism, we have received the gift of salvation and membership in the Kingdom of God — we are now “tenants” called to work in the “vineyard” and produce fruit for its owner, our Heavenly Father. Jesus makes it clear that if we squander the gift of salvation, we will lose it. It is a sobering truth. So, let us use our intellect to think on these gifts throughout the day and resolve to use all our gifts for God’s glory. ©Catholic Stewardship Consultants, 2026 Pastoral Pondering Why St. Francis still matters to the Church On October 4 the Church honors St. Francis of Assisi, one of the most beloved and most demanding saints in our history. He is not merely a garden statue or a gentle friend of animals. Francis is a living reminder of what the Gospel looks like when it is taken at its word. Born Giovanni di Pietro di Bernardone around 1181 in Assisi, he was the son of a wealthy cloth merchant. After a brief taste of knighthood and a season of pleasure, he heard Christ speak from the crucifix of San Damiano: “Francis, go and rebuild my house, which, as you see, is falling into ruin.” He took those words first as a command to repair a crumbling chapel. The Lord meant something larger: the renewal of the Church herself. What Francis restored in the Church Poverty as freedom. Francis stripped himself of inheritance, status, and even the clothes on his back. He called Lady Poverty his bride. That was not a romantic gesture. It was a protest against a Church and a society grown comfortable. Every generation of Catholics needs that protest. When we confuse the Gospel with respectability, Francis stands at the door of the Church and asks whether we still believe that Christ is enough. The crucified Christ at the center. In 1224, two years before his death, Francis received the stigmata on Mount La Verna—the wounds of Christ marked in his own flesh. The Church has always taught that holiness is configuration to Jesus crucified and risen. Francis made that teaching visible. He did not invent devotion to the Passion; he embodied it so completely that the Church could not look away. A family of religious life. From one poor man came the Friars Minor, the Poor Clares with St. Clare, and the Secular Franciscans for men and women living in the world. That threefold family still serves the Church on every continent: preaching, serving the poor, praying, and keeping the memory of the Gospel simple. When we speak of “Franciscan” today—whether a friar, a sister, or a parishioner in the Secular Order—we are naming a way of belonging to Christ that the Church has never outgrown. Creation as gift, not possession. The Canticle of the Creatures—“Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Mother Earth”—is not nature poetry. It is theology. Francis saw every creature as a brother or sister because all things come from the same Father. Pope Francis took that insight into Laudato Si’. Care for our common home is not an optional hobby for Catholics. It is part of the same conversion that led Francis to kiss the leper and to call the wolf of Gubbio his brother. Peace that costs something. In 1219 Francis crossed battle lines during the Fifth Crusade and stood before Sultan al-Kamil. He did not win a treaty. He witnessed to a Lord who is Peace. The Church still needs disciples willing to speak of Christ without hatred and without watering Him down. Francis did both. Why this matters here St. Francis matters to the life of the Church because he keeps returning us to the essentials: Christ poor and crucified, the Church always in need of reform, the poor as our brothers and sisters, creation as a hymn of praise, and joy that does not depend on having more. He is not a saint for specialists. He is a saint for anyone who has grown tired of a faith that costs nothing. As we keep his memorial, I invite you to do one Franciscan thing that is within reach: give something away that you do not need; speak peace where there is friction in your home; spend a few minutes outdoors thanking God for what you did not make; or pray before the crucifix and ask, as Francis did, to know Jesus and to make Him known.  The little poor man of Assisi still rebuilds the Church—one converted heart at a time. May he rebuild ours.

From the Pastor - 26th Sunday in Ordinary Time

By John Putnam • September 25, 2026
As Christian stewards, we are called to a high and holy standard — living as Christ’s disciples every day and with every person the Lord places in our path. But we can move towards this goal in “baby steps.” Jesus demonstrates this comforting truth through the parable He tells in today’s Gospel from Matthew. It is the story of two sons whose father instructs them to go out and work in his vineyard that day. While the second son agrees to his father’s request, he does not follow through — he fails to obey the father’s will. The first son tells his father, “no.” At least he is honest! And in the end, he reconsiders and obeys his father. The first son’s honest, less-than-perfect response is consoling to us Christian stewards. Haven’t we all felt this way at times when God’s will for us seems to be just too hard? We can be honest with God at these times. He knows our thoughts already, after all. But when we stay engaged in a real relationship with Him, even if it’s just to say, “I don’t think I can, Lord,” He will supply us with just the grace we need to change our minds and do what He is asking us to do. We can even take a step backward from time to time because our Father is merciful and kind. What matters is that we keep baby-stepping along, assured of the grace we need to more closely imitate the actions and attitudes of Christ. This is the beauty of the stewardship way of life. ©Catholic Stewardship Consultants, 2026 Pastoral Pondering On the Feast of Our Lady of Sorrows, the other priests, seminarians, and I, had the opportunity to attend the Final Solemn Profession of Sister Mary Lucia, DVM. It was a moving experience, and I thought it a good occasion to reflect on the importance of religious life in the life of the parish and the life of the Church. Every Sunday we gather as one family: families in the pews, single adults, children, the elderly, deacons, priests, seminarians, and, often quietly among us, men and women who have given their whole lives to God by the vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience. They are not a side chapel of the Church. They stand at her heart. “The consecrated life is at the very heart of the Church as a decisive element for her mission.” — Pope St. John Paul II, Vita Consecrata What does that mean for us here at Saint Mark’s? It means that the Church is poorer—less herself—whenever we forget those who have left everything to follow Christ with an undivided heart. Baptism already consecrates every Christian. Consecrated life is a further, public, stable response to that same baptismal grace: a way of making the face of Jesus—poor, chaste, and obedient—visible in the middle of an age that is often restless, acquisitive, and self-directed. A living sign of the world to come The Catechism teaches that those who profess the evangelical counsels “signify and proclaim in the Church the glory of the world to come.” In other words, a sister who owns nothing, a brother who lives in community, a contemplative who prays through the night, a consecrated virgin living in the world, a missionary who goes where no one else will go—each of them is a living reminder that this world is not our final home. Their lives preach what our words sometimes only hint at: God is enough. That witness is not a luxury. In a culture that measures worth by productivity, possessions, and personal autonomy, consecrated men and women quietly insist that love can be total, that freedom is found in gift, and that joy does not depend on having more. They are, as one religious recently put it, a kind of medicine for the whole Body of Christ—an antidote to our easy compromises with comfort and control. Many forms, one gift Consecrated life is not one mold. From the earliest centuries there have been hermits and virgins, monks and nuns, itinerant preachers and teachers, nurses and missionaries. Today the Church recognizes religious institutes of contemplative and apostolic life, societies of apostolic life, secular institutes, consecrated virgins and widows, and the eremitic life. Some live behind cloister walls. Some staff our schools, hospitals, and missions. Some remain in ordinary workplaces while belonging entirely to Christ. All of them exist for the holiness of the whole Church. History itself testifies to this. The faith was planted and the poor were served in large part because religious families poured themselves out. That work continues. When we thank God for Catholic education, for care of the sick, for quiet hours of adoration offered for souls we will never meet, we are often thanking consecrated persons we may never see. What this asks of us First, gratitude. If a religious sister taught you the faith, if a priest of a religious order heard your confession on retreat, if a contemplative community has prayed for this parish, thank God for them—and, when you can, thank them. Second, prayer for vocations. The Lord still calls. He calls from our families, our youth groups, our college campuses, and our pews. Parents, do not be afraid if your son or daughter begins to wonder about religious life. That question is not a loss to the family; it may be one of the greatest gifts a family can offer the Church. Young people: if the thought of giving everything to Christ will not leave you alone, do not smother it. Speak with a priest or a consecrated person you trust. The Church needs the diversity and richness of these charisms. Third, our own fidelity. Consecrated life does not replace the vocation of marriage or the single life in the world. It illuminates them. The vows of poverty, chastity, and obedience are a concentrated form of what every disciple must live in some measure: detachment, purity of heart, and obedience to the Father’s will. When religious are faithful, the whole parish is strengthened. When we in the pews are faithful to our own state of life, we honor the same Lord they serve. The Church will never be without this gift, because Christ Himself is poor, chaste, and obedient, and He continues to draw men and women into that pattern of life. Let us esteem it. Let us pray for those who live it. And let us ask the Lord of the harvest to send laborers—not only priests, but sisters, brothers, and all who will make His way of life visible among us.  We thank God for the witness of the Daughters of the Virgin Mother who serve here at St. Mark and for all of the religious in the Diocese of Charlotte who give witness to the beauty of consecrated life.