HOMILY – Pentecost 2026 – St. Kateri Tekakwitha

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Tonight we gather in the holy fire of Pentecost — a night of wind and flame, of longing and fulfillment, of the Spirit descending upon the world like living fire.

And tonight, as we celebrate the coming of the Holy Spirit, we also remember a special saint whose life became a quiet flame of holiness among the Native peoples of this land: St. Kateri Tekakwitha whose relics and icon we are honored to have in our midst.

The relic with us tonight is the same one placed by a Catholic nun on the leg of a young Lummi boy named Jake Finkbonner at Seattle Children’s Hospital in late February 2006. His body was being consumed by a flesh-eating bacteria. Doctors didn’t think the boy would live through the night. But the minute Jake was touched by a saint, the flesh-eating bacteria halted.

The miracle of his healing is the reason her canonization in 2012 came through the Archdiocese of Seattle.  

What a blessing to have her and her escorts, and former St. Anne’s parishioners Kiara and Sophea with us tonight.

St. Kateri’s life story and journey to sainthood belong especially to the Native people of this region and to the Native communities of North America.

She reminds us that the Gospel did not come to erase cultures, but to heal, purify, and fulfill what God had already planted within them.

In our first reading from Genesis, humanity gathers at Babel. Everyone speaks one language. Yet instead of glorifying God, they seek to glorify themselves:
“Let us make a name for ourselves.”

Pride always divides.

Self-centeredness always scatters.

The tragedy of Babel is not their confused language itself. Diversity was never the problem. The problem was the human heart trying to rise without God.

And does that not still happen today?

We build towers of wealth, towers of politics, towers of technology, towers of ego — believing we no longer need the Creator. Yet despite all our advancements, the human heart remains restless, wounded, divided.

But Pentecost reverses Babel.

At Babel, humanity was scattered by pride. At Pentecost, humanity is reunited by the Holy Spirit.

The Spirit does not erase differences in culture or language. Instead, the Spirit allows every people and every nation to hear the mighty works of God in their own voice.

That is why St. Kateri matters so deeply.

Kateri did not stop being Mohawk when she became Catholic.

Grace did not destroy her identity.

Grace sanctified it.

The Creator had already placed within her people reverence for creation, respect for elders, silence, endurance, and spiritual awareness. When the Gospel reached her heart, those gifts blossomed into extraordinary holiness.

She became a bridge — between Native tradition and Catholic faith, between suffering and hope, between loneliness and divine love.

Kateri’s life was marked by suffering from the beginning. As a child she lost her parents and brother to smallpox. The disease scarred her face and weakened her eyesight (not unlike Jake’s face today). She grew up an orphan in a world marked by grief, conflict, and uncertainty.

Yet suffering did not harden her heart.

It purified it.

The world often mistakes holiness for power or success. But the saints teach us something different. Holiness is allowing God to love through us.

Kateri was quiet. Hidden. Simple.

She never preached to crowds. She never traveled widely. She never held power.

And yet the Holy Spirit burned within her with astonishing strength.

Tonight’s Gospel speaks directly to her life.

Jesus stands and cries out: “Let anyone who thirsts come to me and drink.”

Kateri understood that thirst.

She thirsted for belonging. She thirsted for peace. She thirsted for God.

And when she encountered Christ, she discovered the living water that no suffering could take away.

The Gospel says:

“Rivers of living water will flow from within (those) who believes in me.”

That is exactly what happened in Kateri’s life.

Though physically frail, spiritually she became a river of grace flowing through Native America. Her witness continues to water the faith of countless Indigenous Catholics today.

And notice this: Jesus says the Spirit flows from within.

The Holy Spirit does not merely visit us occasionally. The Spirit desires to dwell within us.

Saint Paul tells us tonight that “creation itself groans.”

We know that groaning.

We hear it in wounded families.

In addiction.

In violence.

In loneliness.

In the pain carried by Native communities across generations.

In the grief of lands and waters exploited without reverence.

Creation groans because the world longs for healing.

And the Spirit groans with us.

What a beautiful truth:
even when we cannot pray,
even when words fail,
even when grief is too deep,
the Holy Spirit intercedes for us “with sighs too deep

for words.”

I think St. Kateri knew those silent prayers very well.

She spent long hours in quiet prayer before the Blessed Sacrament. She loved the Cross of Christ not because she loved suffering itself, but because she recognized in Jesus someone who understood her wounds.

And that is why her holiness still speaks today.

In a noisy world, Kateri teaches silence.

In a violent world, she teaches gentleness.

In a world obsessed with image and status, she teaches purity of heart.

In a divided world, she teaches reconciliation.

Most importantly, she teaches that sanctity is possible for every people and every culture when the Holy Spirit is welcomed.

Tonight, on this Pentecost Vigil, the Church asks us the same question posed to the first disciples:

Are we open to the Holy Spirit?

Not just occasionally.

Not only emotionally.

But truly surrendered to it?

The Spirit who transformed frightened apostles into saints …

the Spirit who strengthened martyrs …

the Spirit who guided St. Kateri through loneliness and suffering …

… is the very same Spirit given to us tonight.

Perhaps many of us feel spiritually tired.
Perhaps we carry grief, anger, fear, or disappointment.

But Pentecost reminds us:

          God has not abandoned His people.

The fire still falls. The living water still flows. The Holy

Spirit still renews the earth.

           And maybe tonight St. Kateri whispers to us from heaven what she once lived on earth:

Do not be afraid to belong completely to Christ.

For when the Spirit truly enters a human heart, even the quietest life can become holy fire.

By the way, Jake Finkbonner is currently in medical school. Another St. Kateri miracle!

St. Kateri Tekakwitha, Lily of the Mohawks, pray for us.

Homily - Jesse Garcia Funeral

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Today we gather in sorrow, but also in gratitude for the life of our friend and brother Faustino “Jessie” Garcia – known to his family at Junior. 

We commend to God a man who was known not by titles or applause, but by the steady witness of his life — a net setter for tribal fishermen, a talented artist, a father, a friend, a beloved brother, and humble soul who made his home among the Tulalip people for many years.

Though Texas first gave him breath, Tulalip became the waters where his spirit learned to belong.

And maybe that is one of the great mysteries of God’s providence: sometimes the Lord plants us far from where we began so that we may become exactly who we were meant to be.

The readings chosen today speak deeply to the life of this good man.

In the Book of Job, we hear the cry of a man acquainted with hardship:

“I know that my Redeemer lives.”

Job says these words not in comfort, but in suffering. He speaks them while standing in grief, confusion, and loss. Yet somehow faith still burns beneath the ashes.

Anyone who has worked the waters understands something about that kind of faith. A tribal fisherman knows patience. He knows uncertainty. He knows early mornings in cold weather, tides that do not cooperate, storms that come unexpectedly, and long hours when there seems to be little reward for hard labor.

Yet every fisherman returns to the water again.

Why?

Because hope is stronger than discouragement.

That same perseverance shaped the life we honor today. Jessie was not a loud man. Not someone demanding attention. He simply kept showing up — setting nets, creating beauty through his art, helping where needed, living quietly among the people he loved. And his smile was a gift to everyone he met.

There is holiness in that kind of ordinary faithfulness.

The world often celebrates power, wealth, and fame. But Jesus, in today’s Gospel, gives us a very different vision of greatness.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit.”

“Blessed are the meek.”

“Blessed are the merciful.”

“Blessed are the clean of heart.”

Those Beatitudes sound very much like the man we remember today.

The humble rarely realize their own greatness because they are too busy loving others.

Jessie knew how to work with his hands. He understood the rhythm of nature and tide. He created art because beauty lived inside him. And he lived close to the earth and water — places where God often speaks most clearly.

Artists and fish net setters actually have much in common. Both require patience. Both require vision. Both depend upon mysteries larger than themselves.

A fisherman casts nets into waters he cannot fully see.

An artist reaches for beauty that cannot fully be explained.

And both acts, in their own way, become prayers.

Psalm 23 tells us:

“The Lord is my shepherd; there is nothing I shall want.”

For a man who lived close to the waters, these words carry special meaning. The Shepherd leads us beside restful waters. He guides us through dark valleys. He prepares a table before us.

And finally, when our work is done, He brings us home.

That is what we trust today.

Not that death has won.

Not that life simply ends.

But that Christ, who died and rose again, has gone ahead of us.

Saint Paul tells us in Romans:
“If we have died with Christ, we believe that we shall also live with him.”

Through baptism, our brother Jessie was united to Jesus. The waters, poured over him long ago, became a promise — that death would never have the final word.

The nets he set throughout his life gathered fish from the sea. But now Christ, the true Fisherman, gathers him into eternal life.

And perhaps that image is fitting today.

After years of labor…
after years of tides and seasons…
after carrying burdens quietly…
after creating beauty and giving love in humble ways...

the Lord now says:

“Well done. Come and rest.”

To his family and friends: grief is real because love is real. The empty chair, the silence, the memories — these hurt because Jessie mattered deeply.

But do not forget this:
the Beatitudes promise that the gentle ones are never lost to God.

The world may overlook humble men.
God never does.

And so we entrust Jessie Garcia now to the Creator who formed him, to the Savior who redeemed him, and to the Spirit who guided him through every tide of life.

May the angels lead him into paradise.

May the saints welcome him home.

And may Christ, the risen Lord, grant him eternal rest.

Amen.

 

HOMILY- 4th Sunday of Easter - “The Door and the Voice” (English & Spanish versions)

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Have you ever answered a phone call from a number you didn’t recognize — and the moment you heard the voice, you knew exactly who it was? No introduction needed.

Something in the tone, the rhythm, the familiarity — it just clicked.

Jesus says in today’s Gospel, “The sheep hear his voice… he calls his own sheep by name and leads them.” The Christian life, at its heart, is not about mastering a rulebook — it’s about recognizing a voice.

In John’s Gospel, Jesus gives us two powerful images: He is both the Shepherd and the Gate. That means two things at once: He calls us personally, and He protects us completely.

He knows your name — not just the version of you that others see, but the real you. And He stands at the entrance of your life, guarding what comes in and what leads you out.

But here’s the tension: there are many voices in our lives. Some promise success, others comfort, others power, others approval.

And not all of them lead to life.

Jesus is blunt: “Whoever does not enter through the gate is a thief and a robber.” Not every voice deserves your trust.

So how do we recognize His voice?

Look at the first reading from Acts of the Apostles. Peter stands up, filled with the Holy Spirit, and speaks clearly: “God has made both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified.”

The people are cut to the heart.

That’s one sign of the Shepherd’s voice — it pierces, it challenges, it calls us to change. It’s not always comfortable, but it is always truthful.

And what do they do? They ask, “What are we to do?”

And Peter answers: “Repent and be baptized.” In other words: turn around and come in through the door. Three thousand people walked through that gate that day — not into a building, but into a whole new way of life.

Then we hear from 1st Peter: “By his wounds you have been healed.”

This is the second sign of the Shepherd’s voice — it heals.

Jesus does not drive us with fear; He leads us with love, even love that suffers. “When he was insulted, he returned no insult.” The Shepherd doesn’t shout us into obedience — He draws us in by example.

So here is the question for us today: Which voice are you following?

The voice that tells you that you are only as valuable as your successes?

The voice that tells you to hold onto resentment and anger?

The voice that says you must carry your burdens alone?

Or the voice that calls you by name, that tells you that you are loved, and invites you to walk through Him into life?

Jesus says, “I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.” Not just survival. Not just getting by. Abundant life.

But abundance begins with a decision: to trust the voice, and to step through the door.

Today, maybe that means repentance — letting go of something that is not leading to life.

Maybe it means listening more intentionally in prayer.

Maybe it means trusting that even in suffering, the Shepherd is still leading you.

Because here is the truth: you are not wandering alone.

You are known.
You are called.
And the gate is open.

  

Homilía – IV Domingo de Pascua–“La Voz y la Puerta

¿Alguna vez te ha llamado alguien desde un número desconocido, y en cuanto escuchas la voz sabes inmediatamente quién es? No hace falta presentación. Hay algo en la voz que se reconoce al instante.

Jesús nos dice hoy en el Evangelio: “Mis ovejas escuchan mi voz… yo las llamo por su nombre.” La vida cristiana no se trata principalmente de reglas, sino de reconocer una voz.

En el evangelio de san Juan hoy, Jesús se presenta como el Pastor y también como la Puerta. Es decir, Él nos conoce personalmente y también nos protege completamente.

Él sabe tu nombre, conoce tu historia, tus luchas, tus heridas. Y Él es la entrada segura hacia la vida verdadera.

Pero hay un problema: en nuestra vida hay muchas voces. Voces que prometen felicidad fácil, éxito rápido, placer inmediato… pero no todas llevan a la vida. Jesús lo dice claramente: los que no entran por la puerta son ladrones.

Entonces, ¿cómo reconocer la voz de Cristo?

En la primera lectura de los Hechos do los Apósteles, Pedro habla con valentía, y la gente queda “compungida de corazón”. Esa es una señal de la voz de Dios: toca el corazón, incomoda, nos invita a cambiar. No siempre es fácil, pero siempre es verdad.

Y ellos preguntan: “¿Qué debemos hacer?”

Pedro responde: “Conviértanse y bautícense.” Es decir: cambien de dirección y entren por la puerta. Ese día, miles aceptaron la invitación.

Luego, en la primera carta del apóstol san Pedro, escuchamos: “Por sus heridas ustedes han sido curados.” Esta es otra señal de la voz del Buen Pastor: sana.

Jesús no nos obliga, no nos empuja con miedo; nos atrae con amor, con un amor que llega hasta la cruz.

Hoy la pregunta es muy concreta: ¿Qué voz estás siguiendo?

¿La voz que te dice que no vales suficiente?

¿La voz que te invita al rencor o al egoísmo?

¿La voz que te hace creer que estás solo?

¿O la voz de Cristo que te llama por tu nombre, que te ama, que te guía?

Jesús dice: “Yo he venido para que tengan vida, y la tengan en abundancia.” No una vida mediocre, sino plena, verdadera.

Pero esa vida comienza con una decisión: escuchar su voz y atravesar la puerta.

Tal vez hoy necesitas convertirte de algo concreto.

Tal vez necesitas volver a la oración y aprender a escuchar.

Tal vez necesitas confiar en medio del sufrimiento.

Recuerda esto: no estás perdido.
Eres conocido.
Eres amado.
Y la puerta está abierta.