Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica 2025

 I took this picture of the interior of St. John Lateran Basilica in Rome last month while on pilgrimage.  Pictured here is the Cathedra or the "Bishop's Chair".  The Bishop of Rome is Pope Leo XIV.

Last month, during our Jubilee Year of Hope pilgrimage to Rome, I had the chance to visit one of the most important — but often overlooked — churches in the world: the Basilica of St. John Lateran.

Many people think St. Peter’s Basilica is the Pope’s church because that is where you see the pope often on TV. 

But it’s actually St. John Lateran that holds that title. It’s the cathedral of the Bishop of Rome — the mother church of all churches in the world.

 

Over the door, carved in Latin, are the words:

“Omnium urbis et orbis ecclesiarum mater et caput” —

 “The mother and head of all the churches of the city and of the world.”

Standing there in that ancient basilica, I couldn’t help but think: this building has seen everything. 

It’s been destroyed and rebuilt several times — by fire, by war, by neglect — and yet it still stands as a witness that the Church endures. 

Not because of marble or stone, but because Christ Himself is the foundation.

That’s the message behind today’s feast. 

We’re not celebrating a building made of stone; we’re celebrating the living temple of God — the Church — and each one of us who make up its living stones.

In our first reading from Ezekiel, we hear of a mysterious river flowing from the temple. 

Wherever this water goes, life springs up — the salty sea becomes fresh, trees bear fruit every month, and their leaves bring healing.

That image of water flowing from the temple is powerful. It’s a symbol of grace — of God’s life and mercy pouring out into the world.

Every parish church is a tributary of that great river. 

From the “mother church” in Rome to our churches here in Morrisonville, Cadyville, and Peru, the life of God flows out to renew hearts, strengthen the weary, and heal what is broken.

The waters from the sanctuary still flow today — in baptismal fonts, in holy water, in tears of repentance, in the grace of the sacraments. 

Wherever that living water flows, God brings life.

St. Paul, in his letter to the Corinthians, makes it even more personal:

“Do you not know that you are the temple of God,

 and that the Spirit of God dwells in you?”

You and I are God’s temple. 

This building — beautiful as it is — is only sacred because of what happens inside it, because you are here. 

The Spirit of God dwells in His people. 

When we gather for worship, we don’t just come into a church; we become the Church — the living Body of Christ.

Then we come to the Gospel, where Jesus drives out the money changers and says, “Stop making my Father’s house a marketplace.”

At first, that might sound like righteous anger, but at its heart, it’s about purification. 

Jesus is cleansing the temple to restore it to what it was meant to be — a house of prayer, a dwelling for God’s glory.

And when He says, “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up,” He’s pointing to the true temple — His Body. 

Through His death and resurrection, Jesus becomes the living temple where God and humanity meet.

And because we are part of His Body, we share in that holiness. 

The temple of God is no longer made of stone — it’s made of living hearts.

So what does that mean for us today?

It means that our parish churches — St. Alexander’s, St. James, and St. Augustine’s — are not just buildings. 

They’re sacred spaces where heaven touches earth. 

But even more than that, they are signs of something greater: that God dwells among His people.

Every time we gather here for Mass, we renew that reality. 

We receive the Body of Christ so that we might become His Body in the world — carrying His presence into our homes, our workplaces, our schools, our community.

As we celebrate this feast, let’s remember that we, too, are “dedicated” — set apart for God’s presence and purpose.

The river that began in Ezekiel’s vision still flows — from the temple in Jerusalem, to St. John Lateran in Rome, and right here to the North Country. 

Wherever that river flows, there is life.

May the waters of grace that flow from this altar refresh our hearts, heal our wounds, and make us a people through whom others encounter the living God.