Father, Make us Like Mary

 

(Solemnity of the Assumption: This homily was given on August 15, 2026 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Revelation 11:19a; 12:1-10; Psalm 45:10-16; 1 Corinthians 15:20-27; Luke 1: 39-56.)

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Assumption 2026]

Until a few years ago, there was Carmelite Monastery in Barrington, RI.  My mother used to go there quite often for Mass and for days of personal prayer.  Well one of the sisters in the monastery was very gifted musically, and at one point she wrote a very brief but beautiful song about the Blessed Mother.  And here are the words:

Father, make us like Mary;

Father fill us with grace;

make us open and empty—

To receive your word each day; to give birth to your Son—to give birth to your Jesus;

To give birth to your Son; to give him to everyone.

I would say that the meaning and the message of the feast we celebrate today—the feast of our Lady’s Assumption into Heaven are present in those few short lines. The Catholic Church teaches that when we die, our souls are separated from our bodies, and our souls go either to Heaven, Hell or Purgatory.  Only at the Final Judgment will our bodies be resurrected and reunited with our souls.  But for the Blessed Mother, the separation never occurred.  At the end of her earthly life, she was taken—soul and body—into the Lord's eternal Kingdom.  And so, her Assumption is, as the Catechism tells us, "a singular participation in her Son's Resurrection, and an anticipation of the resurrection of other Christians." (CCC, 966) That means, quite simply, that what's already happened to Mary will someday happen to us, if we are in the state of grace when we die.  So in that song, when it says, “Father make us like Mary” ultimately we’re asking the Lord to make us like Mary AS SHE NOW IS!  We’re saying, “Father, bring us to your kingdom where we will eventually live forever with Jesus, Mary and all the saints with our souls and with our bodies.  That’s our goal—as it should be the goal of every human person.”

The rest of the song points us to the path we need to travel in order to reach that ultimate goal.  At the Annunciation, when Mary said to the Lord, “Be it done unto me according to your word,” she was giving God permission to come into the world through her.  That’s really what was happening. Mary said that yes to the Lord by the power of God’s grace working in her—and not by her own power.  As the song also indicates, Mary was totally open to the Lord and empty of her own self-will.  She was sinless—she received God’s word each day and lived it in perfect obedience.  She gave birth to the Son of God and now brings to him all those who come to her seeking him.

What the Lord asked our Blessed Mother at the Annunciation he asks us (believe it or not) every single day.  Whether we realize it or not, our Lord says to each of us every day, “My son—my daughter—I came into the world 2,000 years ago through Mary.  Will you allow me today to come into the world through you?  Will you give me permission to come into the world through your love, through your holiness, through your compassion, through your charity, through your mercy and forgiveness, through your patience, through your purity, through your witness to the truth?”

And so our prayer every day should be like the words of this song:

 

Father, make me like Mary;

Father fill me with grace;

make me open and empty—

To receive your word each day; to give birth to your Son—to give birth to your Jesus;

To give birth to your Son; to give him to everyone. Amen.

One of the Roots of Fear and How to Deal With It

(Nineteenth Sunday of the Year (A): This homily was given on August 9, 2026 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Matthew 14: 22-33.)

 [For the audio version of this homily, click here: Nineteenth Sunday 2026] 

It’s a well-known fact that more people fear flying than driving (and that was the case even before September 11, 2001!).

This is because, as psychology professor David Myers has said, “We fear what we can’t control.  We fear flying more than driving because we feel we are in control of the car, but we know we’re not in control of the plane.”

In today’s well-known gospel story from Matthew 14, Peter walked on the water in faith, but then sank in fear.  And that fear was rooted in what he could not control, namely the weather!  Scripture says, “Peter got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus.  But when he saw how strong the wind was he became frightened, and, beginning to sink, he cried out, ‘Lord, save me!’”

“When he saw how strong the wind was . . .”

Before that moment he was doing just fine; in fact, he was doing a lot better than “just fine”—he was doing what was humanly impossible!  He had his eyes on Jesus—meaning that he was totally unconcerned with what he could not control—and he walked on the water.

But once he took his eyes off the Lord, the “uncontrollable” suddenly grabbed his attention—and that was the beginning of the end of his little stroll on the lake.

There are many things in life that we cannot control no matter how hard we try: certain aspects of our health, for example.  We can do our best to take care of our body through diet and exercise and yearly check-ups with our doctor, but in spite of our best efforts it’s still possible to come down with a serious disease.  We can’t control the other terrible drivers on the highway; we can’t control the price of gas; we can’t control the weather.  We can’t control what other people say about us; we can’t control what other people do to hurt us (I’m sure you parents wished you could control your children in this way, but you can’t.  They will disobey and hurt you at times in spite of all the good things you teach them, and the good example you try to give them.)

If we really stop and think about all the events and circumstances of our lives, we’ll realize that the vast majority of what we have to deal with each and every day is totally beyond our control.

But “the majority” is not “all”!  That’s good news, because it means that there are some dimensions of our lives that we can control successfully if we choose to.  And these, believe it or not, have a direct impact on how we deal with all of those uncontrollable things in life that sometimes cause us to be fearful.

Here Peter serves as a great example.  As I noted at the beginning of my homily, he could not control the weather that day on the Sea of Galilee: he couldn’t stop the wind; he couldn’t calm the waves that were tossing around the apostles’ boat.  But he did have the power to control his mind—his thoughts—in the midst of it all!  And he actually did that very well—for a brief time. 

That’s when he walked on the water.  He had his mind centered on the Lord; he had his eyes riveted on Jesus; he put his complete and total focus on his Savior—and he acted fearlessly!  Even though he was in the midst of a situation that he could not possibly control, he had no fear in his heart!

But then he chose to focus his attention somewhere else.  He made the decision to take his mind and eyes off Jesus, and allowed himself to be distracted by what was uncontrollable.

And the rest, as they say, is history.

Like Peter, we can also control our choices—especially our choices regarding Jesus Christ and our Catholic faith.   We can choose, for example, to take the teachings of the Church seriously every day and apply them in every circumstance we face; we can choose to nourish our relationship with Jesus through daily prayer and frequent reception of the Eucharist; we can choose to read at least one passage from the Bible every day so that our thoughts get in line with God’s word; we can choose to read books that will build up and not undermine our faith; we can choose to strengthen (or repair if necessary) our relationship with Jesus by going to Confession on a regular basis.

If we choose to take positive, spiritual steps like these every day (all of which are under our control), they will have a direct, positive impact on how we deal with the many things in our lives that we cannot control.  We will be spiritually stronger in the midst of those uncontrollable events, and less fearful.

Once again, look at Peter.  The man who freaked out in the midst of some bad weather on the Sea of Galilee, later went to his death fearlessly!  He obviously had changed.  He obviously had grown spiritually.  And his was no ordinary death, remember: Peter was crucified upside down near the obelisk that now stands in St. Peter’s Square in Rome.

Jesus had said to him, “When you were a young man you fastened your belt and went about as you pleased; but when you are older you will stretch out your hands, and another will tie you fast and carry you off against your will.”

Peter could not control Nero and the Romans who condemned him to death.  But he could control his inner response to their condemnation. 

This time he made the right choice—and stuck with it!  This time he chose to keep his eyes—the eyes of his soul—firmly fixed on Jesus till the end. 

So today’s lesson is simple: By controlling what we can control in life, we strengthen ourselves to face the things that we cannot control.  And this can eliminate—or at least lessen—our level of fear (perhaps even our fear of flying!). 

 

When it comes to suffering, there is very often a difference between the way things are and the way things appear to be

 

(Eighteenth Sunday of the Year (A): This homily was given on August 2, 2026 at St. Pius X Church, Westerly, R.I., by Fr. Raymond Suriani.  Read Isaiah 55:1-3; Psalm 145:8-18; Romans 8:35-39; Matthew 14:13-21.) 

[For the audio version of this homily, click here: Eighteenth Sunday 2026]

When it comes to the sufferings of this life, there is very often a difference—a very big difference—between the way things are and the way things appear to be.

Our second reading today provides us with a great illustration of this truth.

In this text from Romans 8 that we heard a few moments ago, St. Paul tells us the way things are in our relationship with God.  He tells us that no trial, or pain, or tragedy, or persecution—not even physical death—has the power in and of itself to separate us from the love of Jesus Christ.  That’s good news!  Unrepented mortal sin, of course, has the power to cause separation from the God who loves us, but none of these other realities does.  That’s the way things are; in other words, that’s the truth!  But sometimes that’s not the way things appear to be, is it?  For example, Paul indicates here that suffering does not have the power to separate us from the love of Christ.  But suffering can often appear to separate us from the love of Christ—and we all know this by experience.  We suffer and sometimes we wonder, “Where is God?”  “Why didn’t God do something to stop this?”  “Why doesn’t God take this pain away?  He must not love me anymore.”  That’s the conclusion we jump to.

We all have the tendency to think that the difficulties of life separate us from God and his love.  I’m sure, for example, that some of the relatives and friends of Cory Jacobson have had to battle that tendency in recent days.  Cory, who was an altar server here at St. Pius during my early years at the parish, had a heart attack on his way home from work a couple of weeks ago, and got into a car accident from which he never recovered.  He was only 49-years-old.  He left behind a wife and two children—and a lot of people who loved him.  That was evident at his funeral.  This church was packed for that Mass; it was a huge crowd.  I’m told his wake was also well attended.

Now God was present through it all.  This tragedy, as bad as it was, didn’t separate Cory’s family and friends from Jesus and his love, but it might have seemed that way to many of them.  And that’s understandable; that’s the tendency we have in tragic situations.

Is there a way to overcome this tendency, and get in better touch with the Lord’s love and way things truly are?  Yes, there is: by developing a deeper personal relationship with Jesus.  Which means, among other things, that Sunday Mass is not enough!  St. Paul, who suffered a great deal during his life, knew that his trials didn’t separate him from the love of Christ because he had a deep personal relationship with the Lord—a relationship which was rooted in the sacraments and Christian fellowship and a strong prayer life.

We should all desire that same type of relationship.  So should every Catholic! 

The importance of this came home to me the other day at another funeral Mass I celebrated: the funeral Mass of Jerry Lyman.  Jerry was 88-years-old; he was a good and faithful parishioner of St. Pius for many years.  I anointed him at the hospital a couple of weeks back; he had a number of ailments and wasn’t doing too well.  Well, the following day he gave me a call.  At the time I didn’t have my cell phone with me, so he had to leave me a voicemail.  Let me read to you now a few of the things Jerry said in that voicemail.  He said, “Father Ray, I think that after our get together yesterday (that was when I visited him in the hospital and anointed him) I’m ready to go.  I had some tests and things aren’t looking good.  I don’t know if I’m going to make it.  If I don’t, I’d like you to say my funeral Mass.  Amazing Grace—it’s important that that be sung through, and Here I am, Lord—I love that song.  It’s important.  And if you do give a homily, recommend that everybody stay close to God and pray for Jesus’ help.  I want to be able to see them all again in heaven.”

Those are the words of a man who knew that his suffering didn’t separate him from the Lord.  In fact, I would say that from all external indications Jerry’s suffering in recent years actually led him closer to God.  So his attitude was, “If this is my time to go home to the Lord, I’m ready.”  He clearly knew Jesus; he didn’t just know about Jesus.  And he had his eyes (the eyes of his soul) on the prize of eternal life that Jesus won for us by his passion, death and resurrection.

This should help us to understand the key line in the middle of this text from Romans 8.  After mentioning all these negative experiences of life (anguish, distress, persecution, famine, nakedness, peril and the sword), St. Paul says to us, “In all these things we conquer overwhelmingly through him who loved us.”  Physically Jerry Lyman was conquered by age and by illness, but spiritually he was not.  Spiritually he actually conquered his ailments—and whatever fear might have been present in his heart because of those ailments—by faith: a faith that was rooted in the love of the Christ he knew personally.  That’s why, I believe, he had a measure of peace at the end of his life, and why he looked forward to heaven.

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of the living God, help us to deepen our relationship with you each and every day of our lives, so that we will know this same type of victory in the midst of our daily crosses.  Amen.