Brothers and sisters in Christ,
I have come to be with you because of what you have been facing: the rainwater, the damage, the disruption, and the distress. I know that a visit from your bishop cannot undo what happened or answer every question about what comes next. But I want you to know that you are not forgotten. We are here to pray with you, to listen, and to stand beside you as you begin the work of recovery.
The rain has left its mark on this community. Some of you have seen water enter your homes, damage what you worked hard to build, and unsettle the sense of safety every family deserves. We should not pretend that this is easy, or rush to explain it away. Suffering is real. The Christian response begins by drawing near to those who suffer.
Today’s Mass readings speak of a vineyard. The prophet Isaiah sings of a vineyard carefully tended, yet yielding a bitter harvest. Jesus tells of tenants entrusted with a vineyard who refuse the owner’s claim and reject the messengers sent to them. These are sobering readings. Isaiah makes clear what God desires from his people: justice and righteousness, not violence and cries of distress.
A vineyard is something entrusted to our care. It takes patient work: clearing stones, tending what grows, and protecting life. The image invites us to ask not only what we have received, but what kind of fruit our lives are bearing.
When people are hurting, the fruit God seeks is not indifference or blame. It is compassion, justice, and concrete care.
Let us be careful, especially today, not to hear these Mass readings as though the flooding were a punishment sent by God. The Word of God does not give us grounds to say that. It does call us to examine how we respond to our neighbor’s suffering. Does anyone have to face the damage alone? Are those most affected being heard and helped? Are we willing to share what we have and work together for the good of the whole community?
The Gospel’s parable also points us toward Jesus, the Son whom the tenants reject. He knows what it is to be cast out, wounded, and killed. The stone rejected by the builders has become the cornerstone. That is the heart of Christian hope: not that pain is unreal, nor that every loss will quickly be repaired, but that suffering and death do not have the final word. Christ is the cornerstone on whom a wounded community can begin again.
Saint Francis of Assisi, whose traditional feast falls on this day, loved God’s creation and called creatures his brothers and sisters. His love was not an escape from the world’s needs. It taught him to see the world as gift, and to meet people—especially the poor—with humility and tenderness. Today, that spirit asks us to care for our neighbors and for the place we share. It also asks us to take seriously the work of protecting people and homes from future harm. Care for creation and care for the human family belong together.
Saint Paul gives us words for days like these: bring your needs to God in prayer, and the peace of God will guard your hearts and minds in Christ. He does not tell us that there is nothing to fear or grieve. He teaches us to bring our real needs before God, and then to keep our minds fixed on what is true, just, and worthy of praise. Prayer is not a substitute for practical help. It strengthens us to offer it—and gives us somewhere to bring our fear when we cannot yet see the way forward.
So let us pray for those who have lost possessions, for families still coping with damage, for those who are anxious about what tomorrow will bring, and for everyone working to help. Let us also give thanks for neighbors who have checked on one another, for those who have offered shelter, food, time, tools, or simply a listening ear. These gestures may seem small beside the scale of the damage. But love often begins with one person noticing another and saying, “You do not have to carry this alone.”
The Church must be more than words of sympathy. Our presence must continue after this Mass; our attention must not fade when the immediate crisis passes. Pope Francis reminds us that Christian hope is borne witness to, by caring for suffering people, and that Christian life is faith active in charity. That means listening, helping identify needs, and staying alongside those whose recovery will take time.
And for anyone whose home or heart is still unsettled, please do not hear Saint Paul’s words as a command to stop worrying. Bring your worries to God, and let someone trustworthy share them with you. The Church is called to listen not only to what people say, but also to their silence. Asking for help is not a failure of faith.
Dear parishioners of Rincon and the Hatch Valley, the storm has caused real damage, but it does not define who you are. You are a community entrusted to one another. Today, as we come to the Eucharist, we receive the Lord who gave himself for us. May he make us one in compassion and steady in hope. May he help us rebuild—not only damaged homes, but the bonds of trust and care that make a neighborhood a home.
Let us keep showing up for one another. Let us seek the help that is needed, offer the help we can, and pray without ceasing. The Lord is near to those who suffer, and we are called to make that nearness visible.
