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Delaware Koinonia, 901 N. Dupont Street, Wilmington, DE (2026)

10/25/2026

30th Sunday of Ordinary Time

Last year, I read this beautiful book titled The Book of Unknown Americans by Cristina Henriquez.

It was set in Delaware and followed an apartment complex of different individuals and families who had migrated to the United States from throughout Central and South America.

In the pages, I found myself reading about actual intersections, shopping complexes and landmarks that I interact with daily intermingled with fictional characters who felt so familiar to me.

Because for me, it has been my time in Delaware where I have encountered the immigrant in our midst.

It is in Delaware that I have enjoyed homemade tamales, mole, and empanadas around dining room tables in crowded apartments.

It is in Delaware where I have presided at mass in Spanish, listening to the prayers and confessions of a community gathered in faith.

It is in Delaware where I learned about immigration law. Where I sat with families whose loved one was apprehended by ICE. Where former students were deported to countries they left as a toddler.

It is in Delaware where I heard stories of crossing the border and the incredible levels of violence that people endured to reach these shores.

It is in Delaware where I watched the citizen children of undocumented parents graduate, go to college, get married, build careers.

It is in Delaware where I met Dreamers and listened to their fears, their hopes, their dreams, and their pain.

And in these stories. These relationships.

I have been changed.

No longer is my heart able to remain bounded by borders or nations.

For in the resident alien in my midst, I have encountered the face of God.

Maybe this is why the God of the Old Testament is so clear about the expectations He has for His people.

Because all people are His people.

Those aliens. Those widows and orphans. The poor in their midst.

They were equally God’s beloved.

They were equally God’s chosen ones.

And that has not changed.

When I look at our country in 2026, I am appalled by the ways in which we have utterly failed in God’s clear vision for the flourishing of all of his people.

The ways we have exploited the labor of the undocumented. The way we have built our entire economic system on paying them less, under horrendous working conditions so that we get our produce cheaper, so that we save on the costs of building construction.

The ways we have othered the immigrants in our midst. Profiling based on skin color and language fluency. The way we have allowed a climate of fear to become the default setting for millions of people dwelling in our land.

The ways in which we have normalized state-sanctioned violence in enforcement of a broken immigration system. The ways we have looked the other way as our fellow sisters and brothers, as children are detained in centers deprived of food, medical care.
The ways in which we have deported individuals to countries not their own.
The ways in which we have assaulted, fired upon, and murdered dozens of individuals for the sole crime of not being born here.

What have we done? What are we doing?

Have we completely lost our way?

Because I hear this Gospel and I hear this call to love God and to love neighbor.

And I know that we are failing to do so.

We are failing to love the neighbor that God so clearly cherishes.

The immigrant neighbor.

The orphaned neighbor.

The poor neighbor.

And in so doing, we fail to love the God in whose image each of our neighbors was made.

But this does not need to be the end of the story.

We can begin to write a different chapter.

One in which we live up to our call as Christian disciples.

We become the love of God incarnate.

We become the voice for the voiceless.

We become the strength for those who are despairing.

We become the courage for those who are fearful.

We become the face of Christ, el rostro de Cristo to the world that awaits us.

We can start today. This moment.

We can love as our God loves us.

May God be Praised.

10/11/2026

28th Sunday of Ordinary Time

I’m just going to put it out there.

Attending big social gatherings is a lot of work.

Sure, for the extroverts among us, like myself, we get energy from the crowds of people, the small talk, the excitement of the gathering.

But it is still so much work.

For you don’t really know the majority of the people. You don’t know their story. You don’t know what buttons are going to set them off. You don’t know if you have anything in common.

You spend most of the conversation trying to stay in safe waters. And when inevitably someone deviates into politics or religion or value systems. Then everyone gets awkward and tries to shift the conversation. Or they excuse themselves to go to the bathroom or bar as quickly as possible.

Now when it is a social gathering we plan. Totally different story isn’t it.

Because we are in control.

We get to set the guest list.

And we know exactly who we want to be surrounded with.

The family and friends that get us.

We know that the conversation can flow however it wishes, because we know where it will lead. And we already know the thoughts of everyone in the group. No surprises at this dinner.

Which is why this parable is always so challenging to me.

Because it is very clear who is calling the feast.

And it is not us.

And when the feast is full of all those invited, it is an eclectic bunch to say the least.

All thrust together and invited to enjoy themselves.

Because the master of the feast is delighted that each one is there.

Even if the invited guests aren’t always totally excited about who else got invited.

Because it isn’t their feast.

They are just lucky enough to be guests.

My friends, I wonder if one of the fundamental problems facing us today is that we as Christians have forgotten the lesson of this parable.

We seem to believe that it is we who are masters of the feast.

That our church, our nation are ours to control.

That we get to decide who is worthy to be invited. That the more wealth we have, the whiter our skin, the longer our family tree goes back, the better one’s English the higher one goes on the guest list.

But my friends, there is one God. And we are not it.

There is one kingdom and it has no borders.

There is one guest list. And we are all on it.

And if we have one job at this feast, it is to learn how to delight in each guest that our God delights in.

It is to listen to the stories and let them become interwoven with our own.

It is to let our hearts break with what another carries.

It is to gaze into the eyes of the stranger across the room and revel in the mystery that I have the privilege of encountering God this day.

It is to fight for our fellow guests. For their right to live and love, to grow and learn. For their safety, their peace, their future.

Every one of our fellow guests.

Our Spanish speaking. Undocumented. Haitian. Refugee guests.

Our gay. Trans. Non-binary. Divorced. Guests

Our unemployed. Union member. Incarcerated. Guests.

Our unvaccinated. Sexually assaulted. Pregnant. Grieving. Guests

Our addicted. Isolated. Aging. Guests.

Our rural. Homeless. Foster care. Guests.

Our portfolio managing, overachieving, hijab wearing. Guests.

Every one.

Come to the feast my friends. The table is prepared. The world is waiting to break bread with you this day.

May God be Praised.

09/27/2026

26th Sunday of Ordinary Time

As an educator, a lot of students promise me things throughout the course of a given year.

Yo, Fr. Brian I will definitely have that homework in by tomorrow.

I got you Fr. Brian. I will check my email and respond.

Absolutely Fr. Brian. I will be at that meeting on time.

Fr. Brian. You know me. You know I will show up.

Fr. Brian, I promise I will not crash out.

Yes Fr. Brian. I will not antagonize my teacher today.

But you know what’s truly shocking.

Somehow, a bunch of these promises get broken.

The assignment never gets submitted.

I’m sitting in my office waiting for the student who never shows.

The detention shows up in my email.

My colleague stops by and goes, did you hear what so and so said to me.

It is so easy to say the words, isn’t it?

It is so much harder to follow through.

Which is why I always chuckle when I read this parable.

Because man does Jesus always seem to get us.

Because though it is easy for me to look with skepticism upon the earnest promises of high school adolescents.

I know that I am just as bad.

How often do I make promises to a colleague, a family member, a student, a grad that I do not follow through with?

I will definitely call you back.

I’ll respond to that right away.

Any time you need me, I’ll be right there.

Sure. I can do that. I think I’m free.

I just want to make everyone happy. I don’t want to let anyone down.

And so I make promises that in my humanity I know I will not always be able to keep.

That second brother.

We are kindred spirits.

Because I have spent my entire life trying to learn how to say no. And haven’t quite grasped it yet.

But that’s why this parable gives me hope.

Because the 2nd brother.

His Father doesn’t disown him. He does not punish him. He does not shame him.

He just waits.

Waits for him to eventually follow through.

To make his yes mean yes.

To make sure the words he proclaims actually match the life that he chooses to live.

My friends, is this not all of our lifelong challenge?

To make our words and our actions match.

For if we declare ourselves to be children of God, sisters and brothers in Christ.

Then our lifelong work will be to make sure that our lives actually reflect that reality.

That we will be of one mind and one heart.

That we will put the interests of others before ourselves.

That we will build the kingdom.
And though it may take a lifetime. I am confident this is the one promise that we can all ultimately keep.

With God’s grace.

May it be done to us according to God’s will.

May God be Praised.

09/13/2026

24th Sunday of Ordinary Time

I’m not sure when anger became such a dominant force in my life.

I didn’t used to be this way.

In fact, I would have considered myself someone who was rarely if ever angry.

Emotional, absolutely.

But angry not so much.

But somehow over the decades I have changed.

And I find myself angry today at so many things . . .

I’m angry at the absolute mess that is our immigration system. As I hold a student whose dad is in custody. As I talk to classmates of a 12 year old forcibly removed to a country he has never known. As I wade into the palpable fear that has gripped communities where I have for years found a home.

I’m angry at the ways in which those in power use falsehoods to drive narratives that do real harm. I’m disgusted by the recklessness with which we approach war and peace, public health, and stewardship of the planet and its precious resources of water, air and earth. I’m infuriated at the corruption. The grift. The ways in which those with wealth and power are trampling on the rights of those without either.

And this anger at the big injustices. . . . It is filtering down. Poisoning my day to day reality.

I’m angry when I am not appreciated for all the work that I am doing.

I’m angry at parents whose demands seem unreasonable.

I’m angry at students for failing to reach my expectations.

I’m angry at what I perceive as intrusions on my time.

I’m angry at comments made on social media posts, most of which are not even real people but bots designed to make me angry.

It is a lot.

Ohhh I’ve learned to hide it well. And I certainly have plenty of good reasons for my anger. At least that is what I tell myself.

But then I read this 1st reading.

Wrath and anger are hateful things, yet the sinner hugs them tight.

Could anyone nourish anger against another and expect healing from the Lord?

If one who is but flesh cherishes wrath, who will forgive his sins?

Think of the commandments hate not your neighbor.

Ooof. What do I do with that?

Because I know that this reading is right.

My anger is only calcifying my heart.

And it is getting harder and harder to break it open again.

Instead of compassion for the pain another carries. Instead of empathy for the fear driving so many of our decisions. Instead of sitting in the discomfort of the brokenness that I find in myself and in the world around me.

My anger is my shield. Protecting my heart from breaking in the face of those things that continue to break our Lord’s heart.

But maybe this weekend is the invitation to begin to set it down.

To let go of the power that anger gives me to enter into the vulnerability that our Lord invites us to share in.

My friends, I do not believe I am alone in my anger.

We seem to be drowning in it.

And it is literally killing us.

The anger of young men whose bullets continue to desecrate our homes, our places of worship, our schools, our street corners. Endling lives with a reckless abandon. Enraged at the world that has seemingly abandoned them.

The anger of a digital landscape that capitalizes on our fury. Driving engagement through algorithms that pit us against one another. Often with content that is not even real.

The anger that explodes in road rage and domestic violence, brawls in student sections and public humiliation in board meetings.

But what if we chose another path?

What if we chose to heed the words of Scripture and surrender our anger. Surrender our shields. And allow ourselves to feel all that lies beneath.

Our fear.

Our pain.

Our sorrow.

Our anxiety.

Trusting that our God who knew fear and pain, sorrow and anxiety will sit with us in them. Gently healing our weary, wounded hearts. Gently knitting back his people into one seamless garment.

What will we cling to my friends? The hand of our God extended to us this day? Or the anger that shields our hearts?

Help me Lord to choose. Help me Lord. Help me.

May God be Praised.

08/30/2026

22nd Sunday of Ordinary Time

So years ago, I read a book that has had a profound impact on the way I see the world.

It was titled Adam’s Return by Fr. Richard Rohr.

The book looks at how societies and cultures assist their boys into becoming young men.

And how there are several universal truths that a society communicates to its boys before they take on the mantle of adulthood.

You are not that important.

Life is not about you.

Life is hard.

You are not in control.

You are going to die.

Not exactly the most uplifting of messages, but essential ones. Essential for helping a child to leave behind their childhood and embrace the truth of what it means to be an adult.

But Fr. Rohr goes on to say that in the United States in our contemporary era, we fail to share these truths with our young people.

There are no rituals. No ceremonies. No quests that ensure we get these lessons.

And so we have a society that lives in perpetual denial of all five of these truths.

We have become an immensely self-centered people.

Fixated on our own futures. Our own achievements. Our own success.

Convinced that it is our rights that must take precedence. Regardless of the consequence of our decisions on the lives of others.

Ignorant of the suffering right outside our doors. Or worse, celebrating the pain experienced by another.

We have failed to see that we have a purpose, a responsibility to the community that surrounds us. That we belong to each other.

We assume that if life is hard we are doing something wrong. That our technological prowess should ensure a level of comfort and ease that we believe is our birthright.
We have been fed the lie that we are self-made women and men. That we and we alone are the determiners of our own destiny.

And worst of all, we are a society terrified of death. And so we deny it. Refuse to talk about. Demand that grief be hidden away. And become deeply uncomfortable in the presence of those whose pain is too close to the surface.

And yet, all of these lies we tell ourselves. All of these falsehoods that we cling to as a society. They all completely fall apart at the foot of the cross.

The cross that we are each asked to take up this day.

For Jesus knew that any life of true discipleship would inherently be a life defined by the crosses we choose to carry.

Jesus knew that life was hard. And that each of us is going to be nailed to plenty of crosses throughout our life.

And we can approach those crosses kicking and screaming. Like our dear prophet Jeremiah, railing against the God who has duped us.

Or we can choose to carry them.

To take them upon our shoulders.

Knowing that the promise of our faith is not one of false assurance. We are never told the lie that there is no cross.

What we are told is that Christ is carrying the other side beside us. Walking each painful step by our side.

My friends, this weekend is a challenging reminder that our society and our faith are not always aligned.

For we are a people defined by the cross.

The cross that our society tries so very hard to deny exists.

And so we are given a choice.

Do we take up the crosses that our lives have given us?

Do we shoulder the daily hardships that come with our chosen lives?

The small disappointments. The stressors and lack of sleep. The arguments and conflicts.

Do we hoist upon our shoulders the failures, the violence, the brokenness of which our world is capable?

Do we gaze upon the cross precariously perched on another’s back and lay it across our own?

As they languish in our prisons. As they swelter in our detention centers cut off from their children in the next cell. As they writhe in pain in a hospital bed from a disease that we once contained. As they skip another meal to pay the rent.

Or do we try to flee before the cross’s shadow? Refusing to accept the yoke?

The choice is ours, my friends. It is always ours.

May we choose in imitation of the one who shouldered a cross for the sake of us all.

May God be Praised.

08/17/2026

20th Sunday of Ordinary Time

Each year in my class, I do an exercise that never fails to generate some good conversation.

I have the guys make two tallies: same as me, different from me. Each time I mention a person, they simply identify if they share the same race as that person or not.

Parent.

Best friend.

Last friend they invited home.

Their coach. Teacher

Grade school principal. Travel team coach.

Mayor. Governor. Senator. President.

Last author they read. Music artist they listened to. Movie director they watched.

Then we add up the totals.

As you can imagine, the totals look quite different depending on the student. For the students of color, their tallies are often quite split. Their family, friends, and neighbors tend to share their same racial background. But the institutions they interact with, not so much.

For my white students, their tally is frequently lopsided. Almost everyone on their list is the same racial background as they are.

Students often begin discussing how this happens. How do we end up moving through such separate worlds? How do our circles become so limited?

And maybe more importantly, why are we never taught that this is a loss? That our small circles are missing the broadest spectrum of humanity and all it holds for each of us.

And then I read this Gospel and I am reminded, this is not a new phenomenon.

From the very beginning, we have sought out those who we perceive as similar to us.

Our tribe. Those we are loyal to.

And if we are forced to deal with other tribes, we do so from a position of fear. Of resentment.

Cognizant of who has power. Of who has the ability to make our lives harder.

Trust. Friendship. Love.

These are reserved for the tribe. For those we know. For those who are like us.

And the truth is, this Gospel is steeped in these dynamics. Canaanites and Jews. Two very different tribes. Tribes that had been socialized for generations to distrust, fear, and despise the other.

Both under the heel of Roman authorities. Who held ultimate power.

And so both Canaanites and Jews fought for the scraps of power that fell from the proverbial table.

And there frequently was not enough to go around.

Jesus, as a fully human being, was not immune to the culture that shaped him. The perspectives given to him. The circle he grew up in. A circle that would have rarely intersected with Canaanites and their pagan practices. A circle that only engaged with Roman authority under duress.

But into these dynamics, steps a woman unafraid to crack the circle.

To extend trust towards the proverbial stranger in hope of the transformation that could occur.

And in doing so, a relationship is forged. Across tribes. Mutually enriching both Jesus and the Canaanite woman. Leaving them both permanently changed by the encounter.

Here we are my friends, in 2026, still living in our tribes.

Our circles that are still so deeply segregated. By race and class. By political ideology and education level. By religion and sexual orientation and immigration status.

Our worldviews that are still so deeply limited. Viewing power as a zero-sum game, where there are winners and losers. And we ultimately must end up at the top.

But that does not need to be the path we walk going forward.

For we have a guiding light in a Canaanite woman who saw possibility where others saw only danger and threat.

Who saw hope where others were caught in suspicion and derision.

Who saw healing where others were stuck in the status quo that nothing would ever change.

Who saw the potential of a relationship that would transform them both. A love that would enlarge her heart and her circle. Even when others only saw strangers. Rivals. Enemies.

Can we dare to do the same? To crack open our circles. To enter into relationships with those whose lives, beliefs, values, vision are so radically different from our own.

Trusting that they too are full of possibility and potential.

To transform us ever more into the imago dei. The divine image from which each of us was made.

May God be Praised.

07/20/2026

16th Sunday of Ordinary Time

So several weeks ago, I finally got the chance to take my parents to see Come From Away, after several failed attempts over the last few years.

That show is something else.

For those unfamiliar with the plot, it recounts the true story of how over 7,000 airline passengers were diverted to a small airport in Newfoundland when US airspace closed after 9/11

7,000 people arrived with no warning. No timeline of when they would be able to return.

And the people of Newfoundland figured it out.

Demonstrating a level of hospitality and generosity that still feels surreal. For 5 days they fed them, sheltered them, sat with them in their fears, their grief.

They figured out a way to communicate across dozens of different languages.

They waited with them as they sat by a phone for news of a loved one who was unaccounted for.

They even figured out how to entertain a plane full of children who were heading to Disney as part of a Make-a-wish opportunity.

The show ends 10 years after that moment. As thousands of the former passengers returned to Newfoundland to mark the anniversary.

And in the final song, there is a line that has stuck with me. . .

Tonight we honor what we lost but we also commemorate what we found.

It is the universal tension of the human experience is it not. The way in which grief and loss is intimately intertwined with joy and connection.

How out of the darkest moments that we endure we find light breaking through.

How in the moments when we feel utterly hollowed out something begins to fill us anew.

How the moments that break us also become the path by which we fashion ourselves into something new.

How in the moments when we feel so acutely alone we suddenly look around to witness that a community has encompassed us in their steadying embrace.
W**d and wheat. Growing up beside one another. Often indistinguishable in the moment.

And yes, who wouldn’t want a field, a life without the w**ds.

A life in which we could uproot every source of our pain

All the rejection and heartbreak

All of the violence and cruelty

All of the failures and defeats and losses.

All of the death.

And cast it into the fiery furnace.

But that is not the field in which our lives unfold.

For those w**ds are intimately part of the ecosystem that is how we become who each of us is called to be.

Those w**ds that steal our sunshine. That siphon off our energy. That restrict our ability to survive.

They also force us to grow. To stretch higher and break free of the w**d’s grasp. To seek the comfort of fellow wheat. To heal in the shelter of other stalks who too are bent but not broken.

Until our lives have become a rich harvest. Of grace and mercy. Of love that we pour forth across the earth.

Friends, we each gather here tonight with lives marked by the w**ds that have grown up within us and around us. The grief of losing Colin 5 years ago.

But we also gather here as wheat. Wheat that is still growing. For the harvest is not yet here.

But wheat nonetheless.

Gift. Precious gift. Each of us. And this community we have forged.

And so tonight may we too honor what we’ve lost. Who we’ve lost.

Even as we also commemorate what we found. Who we found along the way.

May God be Praised.

07/12/2026

15th Sunday of Ordinary Time

This past weekend, I was in Toledo, Ohio to celebrate the final vows of one of our guys, Matt Trovato.

And the night before, we all gathered at Saint Francis de Sales High School to spend some time enjoying one another’s company.

As I was wandering around, making small talk with different Oblates and other guests, one of them goes. You really need to check out Joe’s garden.

Now, I have heard about this garden for years. And I had seen it in various stages. But nothing prepared me for what my classmate Joe had created.

It was absolutely huge. We are talking dozens of planters. Multiple landscaped patios. A gazebo with hanging fines. Vegetables. Herbs. And flowers of every type imaginable.

It was absolutely beautiful.

And I could not fathom how much work it had taken.

For this garden was not a one and done moment. He didn’t just cast some seeds and hope that it would all work out.

No, Joe had spent years cultivating this garden.

He had w**ded and watered. He had dealt with the plants cut down by an early frost or a brutal drought.

He had worked to fend off the animals scavenging for food and the bugs that infested a particular type of plant.

And even now, with a bountiful harvest, he knew that tomorrow he would still be out there caring for the garden if he wanted it to continue.

It seemed so fitting that I got to walk through this garden as I listened to this famous parable of the Sower and the seeds.

Because at one level, the parable makes it seem like the Sower has just one job.

Toss that seed and then sit back and watch what happens.

But it fails to capture the truth that the Sower is returning again and again to the fields. To see the progress of his seeds. To note the moments when he lost some. And to rejoice when others blossomed into their fullness.

This is not a one and done moment.

No, it is a lifetime commitment to sowing and reaping.

To tending and waiting.

To grieving and rejoicing.

My friends, I am convinced that each of us is both Sower and seed. And the process of bearing fruit is always going to be a lifelong process.

It is so easy to lose hope.

That the circumstances of our lives will ever change.

That we will ever reach the heights we envision for ourselves.

That our nation. That our world will actually reflect the values of the kingdom that we pray for each and every day.

It is so easy to get stuck.

It is so easy to settle.

But this Gospel is this poignant reminder to keep doing the work.

To spread the seeds and water the soil.

To w**d and till and nourish.

To prune and shelter and harvest.

In season and out of season. Through sun and clouds, rain and frost, wind and hail.

Never losing sight of the goal.

That harvest of a 100 fold.

When justice shall roll down upon the land like a mighty river and peace shall flourish in our time.

When every sword will be beat into a plowshare and there will be no harm or ruin anywhere on God’s holy mountain.

When each tyrant shall be unseated from their throne. And the least among us lifted up to their rightful place.

When each shall have their fill of their daily bread. When every weary traveller finds welcome. When each tear is wiped away and each wound healed.

Where the light of Christ within us shines forth, unobscured by any wicker basket.

Where our neighbors are loved as ourselves.

So go forth my friends. For our gardens await.

And heaven knows we’ve got work to do for that harvest.

May God be Praised.

07/05/2026

14th Sunday of Ordinary Time

We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights, that among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.

250 years ago, our country’s founders signed their names to these words. Words contained within a document that would ultimately result in the creation of a new nation. A nation born from the scourge of war. A nation established on land that already belonged to peoples who predated each wave of European immigrants. A nation whose primary labor force was enslaved.

From the very beginning, our nation was a mess of contradictions. Lofty ideals and painful realities.

And over the centuries, our nation has continued to wrestle with this founding text and its implications for all of us.

As we have worked to expand who is a recipient of these rights.

As we have worked to define what a right to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness looks like each and every day.

We have continued to fight wars over these founding lines. We have battled in the courts, at the ballot box and in the realm of public opinion.

Who belongs. Who doesn’t. Whose country is this?

What does it mean to be an American?

250 years later and we are still here. Still trying to figure out who we are and who we are called to be.

And then we hear this Gospel.

A Gospel that predates our country by thousands of years

And I realize that our founding document may be missing a crucial component contained in this Gospel text. That all of our debates around our individual identity as Americans may have been too narrow in their scope.

For they all fail to wrestle with the concept of a yoke. Something that binds us together.

It is such a foreign concept to us as Americans.

We are the rugged individualists.

We are the proverbial sons and daughters of cowboys and pioneers, who struck out into the wilderness on their own and carved out a life for themselves.

We are the proverbial children of immigrants who pulled themselves up by their bootstraps and made it. The quintessential American story of success.

But Jesus never saw himself in this light.

He was always yoked to the various communities that defined his identity.

He was a child of the one true God.

A Jew living under occupation in the Promised Land.

A member of the House of David. A son of Mary. Claimed by Joseph and his kin.

And his work. His preaching. His healing. His life. His death.

It was all for those he willingly yoked himself to. His Chosen People. The poor. The Samaritans. The tax collectors and prostitutes. The blind, deaf and lame. The possessed and the outcast. The oppressors and the oppressed.

Jesus was not concerned about his own place in the world. His rights. His life, liberty, or pursuit of happiness.

He was concerned about His people. Their rights. Their lives. Their liberty. Their collective pursuit of happiness, both here and now and in the kingdom that was to come.

And in his life, we too are given a model to follow.

Are we able to see the yokes that we already possess by virtue of who we are?

How we are yoked to family and neighborhood, to our faith communities and our cultural heritage, to our nation with all its potential, its promises, and its failures.

How we are bound to them in ways that cannot be lightly ignored or severed.

Are we able to embrace the yokes that Christ offers to us? The yokes that bind us to communities that are united to us simply due to our shared identity as children of God.

The poor who remain constantly present to us. The undocumented. The unhoused. The incarcerated and the addicted.

The migrants and the shut-ins. The disabled and the dying. The partisans and the protesters. The indigenous and the refugee.

We hold these truths to be self-evident. That all are endowed with certain unalienable rights.

But maybe too, we are also endowed with certain yokes. Certain bonds that define our lives, our labor, our joys and our sorrows.

And maybe in embracing those we may discover the life, liberty and happiness that we seek.

May God be Praised.

Delaware Koinonia

10/25/2026

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