“We become like the things we contemplate,” the Rev. Hank Hilton says. In this homily for the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ (Corpus Christi), Year C, Hank draws on ancient philosophy, childhood boat rides on the Jersey Shore and his mother’s steady wisdom to reflect on the transformative power of Christ’s kindness—especially when shown to friends, enemies and strangers. The Eucharist, he insists, isn’t just something we receive. It’s something that changes who we become.
Hank is pastor of St. Joseph Parish in Hillsborough, N.J. Before becoming a priest of the Diocese of Metuchen, he spent 35 years as a Jesuit, ministering in parishes across Wisconsin, Maryland and New Jersey, as well as in schools and prisons. He holds advanced degrees in theology, philosophy, psychology and economics, including a Ph.D. in land resources from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, where his research focused on the global phaseout of leaded gasoline.
In his homily for this season two finale of “Preach,” Hank reflects on Jesus’ command to “remember” in the Eucharistic celebration—not as a passive act, but as a call to contemplate Christ and be changed by that gaze. “You become like the things you contemplate,” he says. Hilton warns that when we fixate on chaos or division, it shapes who we become: “And if you consistently contemplate hubbub and news flashes that are designed to make you feel like everybody hates everybody and they do that, well then you’re gonna become like that.” Instead, he urges a more intentional focus. “Right now it’s a time to contemplate as much as possible kindness, because we’re in short supply.”
Hank shares with host Ricardo da Silva, S.J., that he relies on a consistent three-part structure—concept, exegesis application—to guide his homilies. “People pay really close attention to homilies,” he says, “but they don’t see that every Sunday, it’s the same thing.” While the structure stays the same, the message changes week to week, shaped by the community. The time before and after Mass, he explains, is “data collection time”—a chance to hear what people are carrying. “They’ll tell you. Or they will let you know, ‘Father, could you pray for this?’”
Hank also introduces listeners to Holy Chow, the parish’s food-truck ministry that delivers hot meals—and the peace of Christ—to neighbors in need. “Every ministry is ultimately a ministry of Christ’s peace in whatever form it is,” he says. Whether it’s visiting the homebound or serving families who wonder, “How am I going to feed my kids tonight?”—he sees it all as part of the same mission. “That's an instrument of peace. That's a ministry of peace. Ultimately, that's a ministry of creating the peace that Christ wants us to have.”
For Hank, preaching comes down to one thing: helping people encounter Jesus. “My five-word job description,” he says, “Facilitate parishioners’ relationship with Jesus.”
That, he believes, is what the Eucharist is about—not just a ritual to remember, but a mystery to become.
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A word at the end of another season from host Ricardo da Silva, S.J.
As we close season two of “Preach,” I want to return to something I shared with Hank at the end of our conversation—something that has stayed with me. When we launched this podcast, my co-producer, Maggi Van Dorn, and I described it as a “ministry of accompaniment.” And that’s exactly what it has become—not just for professional preachers and thoughtful listeners, but for me. It has accompanied me in my own growth as a preacher and a priest.
I hope these conversations have accompanied you, too—in faith, in hope, in love, and in your relationship with Christ. If this episode moved you, or if any other episode from the past two seasons has helped you, I invite you to share it with someone who might be strengthened or encouraged by it.
We’ll be back in September. Until then, thank you for listening to “Preach”—and keep preaching the good news.
Scripture Readings for the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, Year C
First Reading: Gn 14:18-20
Responsorial Psalm: Ps 110:1, 2, 3, 4
Second Reading: 1 Cor 11:23-26
Gospel: Lk 9:11b-17
You can find the full text of the readings here.
A Homily for Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, Year C, by Rev. Hank Hilton
Philosophy did not come easily to me and as a college student, I struggled with it just a little bit. And as a Jesuit seminarian, I struggled a little bit more.
And then there came the moment of the great awakening, the great revelation, when we were studying ancient philosophy and the professor was making the point from Anaximander or Artaxerxes or one of them, that “we become like the things that we contemplate.” And while that raised quite a bit of concern with some of the students in the class, I thought it was the most sensible thing I’d heard since the class started—that we become like the things we contemplate.
And why did it make so much sense?
Mostly because I grew up in a swamp down at the Jersey Shore and the swamp where I lived opened into a river and the river opened into the bay and the bay took you out to the ocean. And so, as “swamp people” connected to the ocean, we did get the boat out into the ocean periodically.
And of course, as it would happen with lots of kids on a boat that maybe shouldn’t have been so far out in the ocean, you get tossed and turned a little bit. And it would be a little nerve-wracking, especially for friends of ours who weren’t used to the boat and cousins from the Midwest who were always getting unnerved by the boats.
But our mother had a constant solution to this and it was always the same thing: When the boat starts to rattle and roll and rock back and forth, do one thing—stare at the horizon until you get bored with it. Stare at the horizon.
And the reason you stare at the horizon is because you wanna look at something that’s not moving. And in staring at the horizon, you just felt yourself becoming steady, unrattled, unflustered. And you could just feel, when you’re looking at something steady like that, no matter what else is going on, you really could feel the panic morph into peace, right. And it just did make a big difference.
And so it was that when the professor in philosophy told us we’d become like the things we contemplate, it hit home right away. I get that. I get that from days on the ocean of going from a really startled place to a peaceful place.
In today’s readings, Jesus—the second reading today—Jesus makes it a big point to tell us twice, Remember me. Right? And just as contemplation doesn’t have to be a formal thing, contemplation can be a casual thing that considers the future, contemplating what might be, contemplating what is or contemplating what has been.
And it’s that contemplating what has been that I think that Jesus asks us to do when twice today, he asks us, Remember me when you do this. Remember me when you do this. And so in the remembering, I find, I think, a pretty solid invitation to contemplate him and to contemplate one aspect of him.
There are so many things we can contemplate when we contemplate Jesus and we try to become more like him in the contemplation. But one of those things that seems to stand out is the contemplation of kindness.
Remember when Paul wrote this, he wrote it—the passage from Corinthians—it all describes the night before he died. And can we find any kinder act, any act of greater kindness than what Jesus did for us in opening heaven’s doors and showing us how to live.
On the night before he died, we were first and foremost in his mind. And I think we can hear him say, When you contemplate me, contemplate many things. When you remember me, remember many things. But please, please, please, he says, on the night before he died, remember kindness.
And the readings today take us into three kinds of kindness: kindness to friends, kindness to strangers and kindness to our enemies—all three of them. And as Jesus says, Remember me. Perhaps we can hear an invitation to contemplate me, contemplate my kindness, contemplate my kindness to friends, enemies and strangers.
The first reading today from Genesis 14 has a beautiful backstory. And that’s the backstory that brings Abraham and Melchizedek together. It’s kind of an unpleasant thing but it turns out to have a beautiful interlude, a beautiful ending.
The backstory is, there’s this—let’s classify it as the good kings and the bad kings of the area. There are five bad ones and four good ones. And the bad ones are really giving the good ones a run for their money.
Abraham isn’t much involved in this until the bad guys come and kidnap his nephew Lot. And when Lot gets kidnapped, off Abraham goes. And he not only frees Lot from his captivity and brings him home, but he dishes out a pretty persuasive defeat to the bad kings.
And so he’s on his way back home and he runs into Melchizedek, and Melchizedek comes out with bread and wine to affirm the great work, to have a celebration in Abraham’s honor, to make this thing really clear that we, the people of Melchizedek’s kingdom of Salem, we really appreciate what you’ve done. And he offers him the celebration, he offers him the bread and wine, and he’s kind to his friend after a very demanding period.
Abraham in turn is kind to Melchizedek, offering him 10 percent of everything that he’s taken.
Yeah, I think when we notice Jesus being kind to his friends, as Abraham and Melchizedek were kind to each other, we find so many moments of that—when he was kind to Peter’s mother-in-law, when he was kind to the people at Cana, when he was extra kind to the disciples who seemed not to get it all the time.
Yeah. Remember me when you do this. Contemplate me when you do this. Contemplate my kindness—my kindness to my friends.
The passage from Corinthians asks us to consider kindness to enemies. Again, the backstory is so important. The backstory behind the institution narrative here—we call it the institution narrative because it describes the moment when Christ instituted the gift of the Eucharist—the backstory here is that the people of Corinth, once again, were at each other’s throats.
And the hostility did not let up even during their celebration of what we would call Mass; when they’d gather for the word and for the Eucharist. And Paul says, this is no good. You have to be kind to one another. You can’t be mistreating each other and you cannot neglect one another.
And even if these people are your enemies, you can’t neglect them. And you can’t mistreat them. What you must do when you go to celebrate Mass, as it were, you need to remember what Jesus Christ did on the night before he died, on the night before his enemies triumphed, in a sense, causing his death: He was kind.
And you people of Corinth need to get your act together, especially when you come to Mass, when you come to pray together—you have to be kind. And even if you think of them as your enemies, you really need to be kind.
And finally, in the Gospel today, we get the story of kindness to strangers. Kindness to strangers—remember in Luke 9, the people are coming back. The disciples are coming back from a great experiment in apostolic work, great ministerial adventures, great time to go out and live the mission.
And they come back and they have all the things they want to tell one another and tell Jesus and they just want to be with each other and be with Jesus. And then 5,000 people show up.
And even though you’d rather have some downtime—Jesus knows it and the disciples know it—they have to take time to be kind to these strangers. Strangers who could become disciples, strangers who could become enemies, strangers who could become friends. But whoever they are right now, we don’t know them all and we need to be kind to them.
And so they feed them.
Right. In Genesis, friends being kind to one another after the victory. In Corinthians, the invitation for enemies to be kind to one another, to get over it. And in Luke, the invitation to be kind to strangers.
In Jesus’ life, we find so much of this—again, his kindness to friends at the wedding feast at Cana and Peter’s mother-in-law and the people that he helped out and cured.
His kindness to his enemies—is there any greater example of that than “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do?” And how many times did he tell us to turn the other cheek? And he showed us what that meant.
And his kindness to strangers—over and over and over again. And off he goes, being kind to people he’d never met before. The people with leprosy. The people who are blind. The people at the edge.
Remember me when you do this. Contemplate me when you do this. Contemplate my kindness when you do this. Contemplate my kindness to friends and enemies and strangers.
Where do we go with it?
I’d ask you to consider that particularly important moment before you receive Communion. It takes me back to the conversation with one of my college roommate’s mothers when she came and the garbage was piled up to the window sill. Not exactly, but almost. And we explained that “It’s everybody’s job to take out the garbage.”
And she explained, “When it’s everybody’s job, it’s nobody’s job. Get specific.”
And so it is sometimes with our efforts in prayer—what’s a really good time for you to remember what he did for us? And remember his kindness?
Maybe it’s that moment before Communion, when you’re standing in line or when you’re getting ready to go, whatever it is—maybe that’s a particularly important chunk of your schedule’s real estate, where you want to give that over to remembering his kindness and remember his kindness to the whole universe and to all of humanity. Maybe that’s a really good time to remember.
In addition, remembering and letting your mind run over it when you’re cutting the grass, when you’re doing the laundry, when you’re fishing and nothing’s biting, when you’re on the road or stuck in traffic.
To remember not just in church—in church before and after Communion—but to make a resolution.
And I ask you: What are Jesus’s favorite moments of kindness for you? What really stands out?
And to remember why he asks us to do this—because he asks because he knows it’s the pathway to peace, because he knows better than anybody that we become like what we contemplate.
And he gives us a transformative and a beautiful option in contemplating his kindness.
And by the way, if in the next few weeks you find yourself on a very bouncy boat, remember to stare at the horizon and remember to send one up for me and anybody else who, for whatever reason, needs to contemplate something that will transform them.
