Jim Mayzik SJ                   Everything Matters
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Current homilies

We have lost our way.

I got home Wednesday night from a short vacation with my sister and her family in a remote mountain lodge in Vermont.  We were blessed--and I do mean blessed-- to be without any phone or internet service. 

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Love is the boss.

The other day I turned on my phone and started to dial and didn’t realize that I had actually answered an incoming call—which I don’t usually do if I don’t recognize the number.

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Sky full of glittering lights.

I was alone on July 4th—the pastor was away, the staff was on vacation. It was the first time I was king of the rectory and the church, reigning over the whole empty building. But that wasn’t much fun, so I decided to take a walk over to the west side of the island, to the mighty Hudson river.

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The wild man.

You have seen him in layers of rags, his face creased and darkened by dirt and beating sun. You have seen him walking the streets at all hours, in all weather. You have heard him howling like thunder on street corners and public squares.

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Table for one.

On Memorial Day I was walking in the city all by my lonesome.  It was a beautiful day and everyone was out—the streets were crowded, the parks were filled, café tables on the sidewalks were all occupied. 

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The crack in my window.

There is one window in the room where I write my homilies and screenplays on my computer, and where I read and pray and reflect. Pigeons alight upon the sill outside the window, and when they purr and coo it’s a soothing sound. 

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Abraham's angel mother.

Years ago I used to visit someone in a nursing home, a young man who was 102 years old.  His body was only then beginning to break down—he had finally required a wheel chair to get around---but his mind survived a century of wear and tear.

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Smelling like popcorn and honey.

For you dog owners out there, I read about a recent scientific discovery that your personal smelly scent activates the pleasure centers in your dog’s brain, in the same way that the human brain responds to the perfume or cologne of someone you love.

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We believe in the unbelievable.

Yesterday a woman came up to me at the end of Mass and gave me three one dollar bills.  When I responded with a quizzical look on my face, she told me it was a donation for the Holy Water bottles that we have up here on the altar.  I told her she could just throw the money into the basket with the bottles, and she said that she wouldn’t risk leaving the money there. “Even in a church?!” I exclaimed with feigned shock.  “Listen, Father, I’ve worked in churches for 10 years, and I’m no fool!”. 

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James Mayzik Comments
There is conception here.

Sometimes I come into this church late at night. It is dark, very dark. I feel with my feet for the steps of the sanctuary, with my hands for the nearest pew in which to sit. Out there, behind the glass stained blue and red: the sounds of cars rushing by, a siren, an occasional laugh.

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