The best darned sermon

By Fr. Joseph Curcio, S.F.M.
June 2007

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You may have heard the story about an old pastor who forgot to end his homily. Eventually he realized he had talked at great length. He searched for his pocket watch but to no avail. He quietly asked the altar servers for the time. With simplicity, the smallest one responded, “There is a calendar in the sacristy, Father!”

Fr. Joe Curcio visits with peasant farmers in Nicaragua. Fr. Curcio also served in the Dominican Republic and among Native peoples in Canada. Fr. Joe Curcio visits with peasant farmers in Nicaragua. Fr. Curcio also served in the Dominican Republic and among Native peoples in Canada.

Well, let me tell you about a sermon without words. This sermon was given in 1987 by a lay missionary from Brazil. He was visiting Nicaragua when I was missioned there. I had invited him to come to our large parish to talk to the members of our first farm cooperative. He stayed a couple of days. While I was driving him back to Managua, we travelled on a rough section of road that passed through farmland. The day was dull, misty, windy and cold. It was winter, shortly after Christmas.

As we bumped along and chatted, my friend caught a glimpse of something in the distance. He interrupted the conversation with “Stop! Stop! Please!”

I stopped the vehicle suddenly. He began to rustle through his backpack and out came a pair of socks. Next he removed his knee-high rubber boots and put on running shoes all in about a minute. Then he jumped out of the old Land Rover and ran into the woods following a footpath.

About 100 metres along he reached a man crouched under a tree. Watching closely, I noticed that the man wore neither hat nor shoes. The legs of his tattered pants were rolled up and soaked with dew. He looked cold. My friend embraced him and spoke. I don’t know what was said, but I had no need of words to hear. He pulled out a large red handkerchief, lifted the farmer’s foot, wiped it and quickly put on a sock, then a rubber boot, making sure the man’s pant leg went over the boot. Then he followed the same procedure with the other foot.

The farmer slackened his jaw in surprise as my friend hurriedly embraced him again and turned to go. Then he stopped and removed his denim baseball hat, placing it on the farmer’s head. This caused them both to laugh heartily.

In a moment my lay missionary friend was back in the Land Rover. His only reply to my smile was a firm thumbs-up for Jesus. He had spotted Him in the cold and had clothed Him.

A Canadian priest, a Brazilian lay missionary, a Nicaraguan farmer. One faith, one Lord. My friend sure knew how to spread the Good News. It was the best darn sermon I’d ever seen.

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