Homily for the First Mass of Father Nicholas Mwai
12th Sunday of the Year
A preliminary word is in order. It is customary for a newly ordained priest to ask another priest — a friend or a mentor —to offer the homily in his stead at his First Mass of Thanksgiving following his presbyteral ordination.
When Nicholas Mwai first came to Baltimore in 2015, Immaculate Heart of Mary, where I grew up, became his sponsoring parish. Our beloved pastor, the late-Father Michael Carrion, was known for generously opening his rectory to international seminarians and making them feel at home in the Archdiocese. His sudden passing in November 2019, months before my own ordination to the priesthood, had a profound impact upon us both. As I prepared this homily, I could not help but think about Father Mike’s absence — no, his presence, but from the other side of the great feast of the Lamb once slain who dies no more, to which we are united in our Eucharist.
Today, the veil is thin: heaven and earth rejoice together that Father Nicholas and the other seven have received the gift of the priesthood for the edification of the Church and the salvation of the world. In this and in all things may God be praised.
Homily preached June 25, 2023 at Immaculate Heart of Mary, Baynesville
Father Nicholas, my brother, you have done me a tremendous honor asking me to preach your first Mass. I am humbled by and grateful for the invitation, although I feel that I am standing in as a poor substitute for the one whose honor this should have been. Nevertheless, I pray that my meager words on this joyful day may prove fruitful in your priestly ministry which, at last, has begun.
It was providential, Father, that your ordination to the priesthood took place on the Nativity of Saint John the Baptist, the cousin and forerunner of the Lord Jesus Christ. I do not want to repeat the Archbishop's homily other than to say that if your priesthood remains grounded in John the Baptist's — that is to say, if your life from here on is a gesture that points others away from yourself and toward the Christ — you will be as fine a priest as there ever was.
The readings for your first Mass, on the other hand, seem to have little to do with the priesthood itself. Rather, as I read them, they seem to speak more directly of you. Allow me for a moment to reminisce.
As I recall, it was an evening in May of 2015. Father Mike and I had finished dinner and, if memory serves, were in the kitchen watching a rerun of Downton Abbey awaiting Father Sorra to bring you from the airport. When at last the bell rang, we met you for the first time, with all your worldly possessions fit into the suitcase in your hand. You were not new to America, having come from the Abbey of Christ in the Desert in New Mexico, but you were new to Baltimore, and that meant Father Mike and I had much to teach you. True to form for both of us, he arranged trips to Fort McHenry and to the parishes in the forgotten corners of the Archdiocese, while I introduced you to the finest delicacies of local pizza shops and to the magic of Orioles baseball. Those were happy months — and I cherished them as they were the last I'd spend at home before moving to Rome — yet I know they were not without great stress for you. The application to the seminary, the entrance exams, and the revision in your immigration status brought about by your move from religious to student all had their complications which weighed upon you immensely. While never without your calm demeanor or bright smile, the words of the prophet Jeremiah must have rung through you as you faced one adversity after the next: "I hear the whisperings of many: 'Terror on every side!'"
The proof of any vocation is in its durability under trial. One can happily romanticize what it would be like to be a priest or a monk, a husband or a father. But the realities of life, often confusing and against what we expect of God, tend to sift our desires and separate wheat from chaff. There were, from the start, any number of factors that would have been for a man of lesser faith indications that he was not called to the priesthood. Yet, through it all, your words were Jeremiah's: "But the LORD is with me." Yesterday, the Church confirmed solemnly and perpetually that, indeed, he was and forever shall he be.
Fearing I have already said too much about you for your comfort, Father, I will say no more — save for a word, a word which is not mine. Sometime in the past couple of years, I found tucked within a book the text of a homily from 1997 on the parable of the mustard seed, written as the all-caps type would only indicate by Michael Carrion. As I alluded to earlier, you and I both would have preferred him to be standing in this ambo this afternoon rather than me. His words, which I cannot think of why I found them other than to repeat on this occasion, are apt: "The beginnings [of our faith] are small like the seeds... and that seed needs cultivation by practice, example, and education. It must weather the storms of life... occasionally passing through a winter where there seems to be no growth at all, or uneven and sporadic." Father, your faith has sustained you during these long, hard years of discernment and formation; and it will be the same faith in the Lord Jesus, who called you and ordained you to this ministry, that will sustain you throughout your many years of service at his altar and to his people, which will have their share also of both joys and sorrows, springtimes and winters. Stay close to Christ, as you always have, and all will be well.
Father Nicholas, at the beginning of your service, as I'm sure you are worried and anxious about the many facets of the priesthood that are still unknown to you, the Lord Jesus opens today's Gospel with a stern command, "Fear no one", and later adds, "Do not be afraid." It is only the Lord's unfailing promise to be with his Church and, in a particular way, with his priests that leaves no room for fear within our hearts. We have every confidence that Jesus knows whom he calls and will not fail to work through us, even when our humanity would threaten to get in his way. He has called you, my brother, to a clear and definite service within his Church: to speak in the light and to proclaim on the housetops the good news of salvation that, as Saint Paul writes, his "gracious gift" would "overflow for the many." The gift of faith he has given to you has blossomed as your vocation has now been realized; and the Lord has now made you his priest that the same gift would be given and increased in those whom he entrusts to your pastoral care. We who have known you throughout these years of formation are certain that the Lord has indeed raised up a good and faithful servant to work his vineyard; and, thus, we are gathered in his presence today with you to offer this sacrifice of thanksgiving to the holy Trinity whose mercy is everlasting.
Archbishop Lori has appointed you to serve nearby at Immaculate Conception in Towson, which we here on Loch Raven Boulevard call "the other Immaculate." Again, the Lord's providence is abundantly clear. Your home parish and first priestly assignment both fall under the title and protection of Our Blessed Mother, the Immaculate "Yes" to God and to his will. Begin every day of your priesthood repeating her "Yes" and giving yourself generously and completely to the Lord and to his Church. Contemplate the mysteries of her Son with her in your heart. Call upon her in times of distress. Show her your love and devotion for all the favors you receive. And may she, who was blessed above all to bear Christ within her, pray for you, Father Nicholas, before her Son, that he may be born in faith in the people he has called you to serve.