When We Forget, God Still Remembers 04-03-25
Not long ago, a woman was caring for her elderly mother, who was in the advanced stages of dementia. One morning, after a long and exhausting start to the day, the mother looked up at her daughter with confusion and asked, “Who are you again?”
The question hit like a punch to the heart. The daughter had been faithfully, lovingly by her mother’s side every day. And now—forgotten.
But instead of reacting with anger or frustration, she gently took her mother’s hand, looked into her eyes, and said, “It’s okay. I remember you.”
That simple phrase—“I remember you”—speaks volumes. It’s love that doesn’t depend on being recognized. It’s mercy that doesn’t retreat when hurt. And that, in so many ways, is the kind of love God shows us throughout salvation history.
From the Golden Calf to the Cross
In today’s first reading from Exodus, the people of Israel commit a shocking betrayal. God has just delivered them from slavery, parted the sea for them, fed them in the wilderness—and yet, while Moses is up on the mountain with God, they melt down their gold and build a calf to worship. They say, “This is the god who brought us out of Egypt.”
It’s hard to believe—until we realize we do the same thing.Maybe not with gold and statues, but with the things we turn to when we’re afraid, impatient, or tired of waiting on God.We chase security, approval, control, or comfort—and we forget the One who gave us freedom in the first place.
God is understandably angry. But then Moses steps in.He stands in the breach between God and the people and says, “Remember… Remember Your promise. Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”
And in a stunning act of mercy, God relents.Not because the people earned it. Not because they groveled.But because God remembered what they had forgotten—His covenant, His love, His desire to redeem.
Jesus and the Forgotten Witness
In the Gospel of John, we hear Jesus confronting a different kind of forgetfulness. He’s speaking to people who know Scripture inside and out. They’ve studied Moses, memorized the law, kept the rituals. But somehow, they’ve missed the very One the Scriptures point to.
“You search the Scriptures thinking you have eternal life,” Jesus says, “but they testify to me—and you refuse to come to me.”
It’s not ignorance—it’s selective memory.They’re so focused on religion that they’ve forgotten relationship.They’re so busy trying to be right that they miss the presence of the Righteous One standing right in front of them.
And yet, even here, Jesus doesn’t give up.He keeps speaking, keeps reaching, keeps inviting.
Why?Because He remembers who they are, even when they forget who He is.
The God Who Stays
Today’s psalm pulls it all together: “They forgot God, their Savior… they exchanged their glory for the image of a calf.”But then it says: “He would have destroyed them, had not Moses stood in the breach.”
That phrase—“stood in the breach”—is powerful. It means someone stepped into the broken place between justice and mercy. Someone stood where no one else dared stand.
Moses did it then.Jesus does it eternally.
On the cross, Jesus stood in the breach—not just for Israel, but for all of us.He took on the weight of our forgetfulness, our idols, our sin—and responded not with wrath, but with forgiveness.
The Mercy of Memory
We forget.We forget to pray.We forget who we are.We forget what God has already done.
But God doesn’t forget.
He doesn’t walk away when we turn our backs.He doesn’t quit when we give up.He stays.
Like the daughter holding her mother’s hand, God looks at us—even when we don’t recognize Him—and says,“It’s okay. I remember you.”
So today, if you’ve wandered, come back.If you’ve been disappointed, let Him speak again.If you’ve been holding onto guilt or shame, remember this: God’s mercy is not based on your memory—it’s rooted in His.
He remembers the promise.He remembers the cross.He remembers you.
And when you let that truth sink in, it will change the way you live, the way you forgive, and the way you love.
Because when we forget… God still remembers.
The question hit like a punch to the heart. The daughter had been faithfully, lovingly by her mother’s side every day. And now—forgotten.
But instead of reacting with anger or frustration, she gently took her mother’s hand, looked into her eyes, and said, “It’s okay. I remember you.”
That simple phrase—“I remember you”—speaks volumes. It’s love that doesn’t depend on being recognized. It’s mercy that doesn’t retreat when hurt. And that, in so many ways, is the kind of love God shows us throughout salvation history.
From the Golden Calf to the Cross
In today’s first reading from Exodus, the people of Israel commit a shocking betrayal. God has just delivered them from slavery, parted the sea for them, fed them in the wilderness—and yet, while Moses is up on the mountain with God, they melt down their gold and build a calf to worship. They say, “This is the god who brought us out of Egypt.”
It’s hard to believe—until we realize we do the same thing.Maybe not with gold and statues, but with the things we turn to when we’re afraid, impatient, or tired of waiting on God.We chase security, approval, control, or comfort—and we forget the One who gave us freedom in the first place.
God is understandably angry. But then Moses steps in.He stands in the breach between God and the people and says, “Remember… Remember Your promise. Remember Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.”
And in a stunning act of mercy, God relents.Not because the people earned it. Not because they groveled.But because God remembered what they had forgotten—His covenant, His love, His desire to redeem.
Jesus and the Forgotten Witness
In the Gospel of John, we hear Jesus confronting a different kind of forgetfulness. He’s speaking to people who know Scripture inside and out. They’ve studied Moses, memorized the law, kept the rituals. But somehow, they’ve missed the very One the Scriptures point to.
“You search the Scriptures thinking you have eternal life,” Jesus says, “but they testify to me—and you refuse to come to me.”
It’s not ignorance—it’s selective memory.They’re so focused on religion that they’ve forgotten relationship.They’re so busy trying to be right that they miss the presence of the Righteous One standing right in front of them.
And yet, even here, Jesus doesn’t give up.He keeps speaking, keeps reaching, keeps inviting.
Why?Because He remembers who they are, even when they forget who He is.
The God Who Stays
Today’s psalm pulls it all together: “They forgot God, their Savior… they exchanged their glory for the image of a calf.”But then it says: “He would have destroyed them, had not Moses stood in the breach.”
That phrase—“stood in the breach”—is powerful. It means someone stepped into the broken place between justice and mercy. Someone stood where no one else dared stand.
Moses did it then.Jesus does it eternally.
On the cross, Jesus stood in the breach—not just for Israel, but for all of us.He took on the weight of our forgetfulness, our idols, our sin—and responded not with wrath, but with forgiveness.
The Mercy of Memory
We forget.We forget to pray.We forget who we are.We forget what God has already done.
But God doesn’t forget.
He doesn’t walk away when we turn our backs.He doesn’t quit when we give up.He stays.
Like the daughter holding her mother’s hand, God looks at us—even when we don’t recognize Him—and says,“It’s okay. I remember you.”
So today, if you’ve wandered, come back.If you’ve been disappointed, let Him speak again.If you’ve been holding onto guilt or shame, remember this: God’s mercy is not based on your memory—it’s rooted in His.
He remembers the promise.He remembers the cross.He remembers you.
And when you let that truth sink in, it will change the way you live, the way you forgive, and the way you love.
Because when we forget… God still remembers.
Never Forgotten 04-02-25
A man was visiting the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C. As he stood before the long, black wall of names etched in polished stone, he quietly removed his cap and bowed his head. His eyes scanned name after name—so many lives, so many stories—until he found the one he came for.
Then he did something simple—something sacred. He took out a pencil and a piece of paper, and gently traced the letters of the name. As they appeared, he whispered just loud enough for heaven to hear:“I haven’t forgotten you.”
There’s something sacred about remembering. And something devastating about being forgotten.
You and I may not be carved into stone on a monument—but we all carry that longing: Please remember me. See me. Don’t let me disappear.
The people in today’s first reading from Isaiah 49 were feeling just that. Exiled. Abandoned. Forgotten. They said, “The Lord has forsaken me; my Lord has forgotten me.”
And then God answers—not with scolding, but with tenderness. Not with correction, but with poetry.“Can a mother forget her infant, be without tenderness for the child of her womb? Even should she forget, I will never forget you.”
That’s one of the most intimate promises in all of Scripture. God compares His love to that of a mother—the most instinctive, unbreakable love we know. And then He goes a step further:“See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”
In other words: “You are not a passing thought. You are etched into Me. You are permanent. You are mine.”
Now fast forward to today’s Gospel in John 5. Jesus says:“The hour is coming when all who are in the tombs will hear the voice of the Son of God.”
Even the dead are not beyond His voice. Even those long buried in sorrow, regret, isolation—even they will be remembered and called by name.
This Gospel is not only about the resurrection of bodies. It’s about the resurrection of hope. Because the truth is, there are many kinds of tombs.
There’s the tomb of loneliness, where no one calls or checks in.There’s the tomb of guilt, where we replay our failures like a film on loop.There’s the tomb of grief, when someone we love is no longer at the table.There’s the tomb of invisibility, when we wonder, “Does anyone see me anymore?”
But Jesus speaks into every one of those tombs and says: “Come out. Rise. I remember you.”
My friends, we are not statistics to God. We are not names on a list. We are not one more face in the crowd.
We are engraved on His hands.
Think about that. When Christ stretched out His hands on the Cross, your name was there. And it still is.
So if you’ve ever felt forgotten—by friends, by family, even by God—hear this: You are not invisible. You are not too far gone. You are not just tolerated—you are treasured.
And maybe… maybe we’re called to reflect that same remembering. To see the person who’s always overlooked. To reach out to the neighbor we’ve lost touch with. To visit someone who’s homebound or grieving. Because when we help others feel remembered, we become echoes of the heart of God.
Then he did something simple—something sacred. He took out a pencil and a piece of paper, and gently traced the letters of the name. As they appeared, he whispered just loud enough for heaven to hear:“I haven’t forgotten you.”
There’s something sacred about remembering. And something devastating about being forgotten.
You and I may not be carved into stone on a monument—but we all carry that longing: Please remember me. See me. Don’t let me disappear.
The people in today’s first reading from Isaiah 49 were feeling just that. Exiled. Abandoned. Forgotten. They said, “The Lord has forsaken me; my Lord has forgotten me.”
And then God answers—not with scolding, but with tenderness. Not with correction, but with poetry.“Can a mother forget her infant, be without tenderness for the child of her womb? Even should she forget, I will never forget you.”
That’s one of the most intimate promises in all of Scripture. God compares His love to that of a mother—the most instinctive, unbreakable love we know. And then He goes a step further:“See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands.”
In other words: “You are not a passing thought. You are etched into Me. You are permanent. You are mine.”
Now fast forward to today’s Gospel in John 5. Jesus says:“The hour is coming when all who are in the tombs will hear the voice of the Son of God.”
Even the dead are not beyond His voice. Even those long buried in sorrow, regret, isolation—even they will be remembered and called by name.
This Gospel is not only about the resurrection of bodies. It’s about the resurrection of hope. Because the truth is, there are many kinds of tombs.
There’s the tomb of loneliness, where no one calls or checks in.There’s the tomb of guilt, where we replay our failures like a film on loop.There’s the tomb of grief, when someone we love is no longer at the table.There’s the tomb of invisibility, when we wonder, “Does anyone see me anymore?”
But Jesus speaks into every one of those tombs and says: “Come out. Rise. I remember you.”
My friends, we are not statistics to God. We are not names on a list. We are not one more face in the crowd.
We are engraved on His hands.
Think about that. When Christ stretched out His hands on the Cross, your name was there. And it still is.
So if you’ve ever felt forgotten—by friends, by family, even by God—hear this: You are not invisible. You are not too far gone. You are not just tolerated—you are treasured.
And maybe… maybe we’re called to reflect that same remembering. To see the person who’s always overlooked. To reach out to the neighbor we’ve lost touch with. To visit someone who’s homebound or grieving. Because when we help others feel remembered, we become echoes of the heart of God.
Do You Want to Be Well? 04-01-25
There’s an old story about a man who goes to the doctor and says,“Doctor, it hurts every time I touch my body—my head, my chest, my knee—ouch!”The doctor examines him and says,“Sir, your finger is broken.”
That’s how life feels sometimes, isn’t it? Everything hurts. Everything feels off. And we keep trying to fix the symptoms—our job, our relationships, our stress—without realizing that maybe what needs healing is something deeper. Maybe the real pain is in the heart.
That’s what today’s readings are about: not just physical healing, but deep, soul-level healing. And more importantly, the willingness to receive it.
In Ezekiel, we see a river flowing from the Temple—starting as a trickle, becoming a torrent. Wherever the water flows, life returns. The image isn’t just nature—it’s grace. That river is Christ. He flows from the heart of God straight into our dryness, our wounds, our places of silence.
In the Gospel, Jesus meets a man who has been sick for 38 years. He asks him just one question:“Do you want to be well?”
It’s startling. Of course the man wants to be well—right? But Jesus knows that healing requires more than hope. It requires surrender. Change. A willingness to let go of what’s familiar, even if it’s broken.
We’re not so different from that man. We lie beside the grace we need, but hesitate to step into it. We adapt to our dysfunction. We say, “This is just who I am now.” But Jesus keeps asking:“Do you really want to be healed?”
Because real healing means transformation.It might mean forgiving someone.Letting go of a grudge.Finally asking for help.Trusting that God can breathe life into what feels long dead.
Like the man with the broken finger, maybe it’s not the world that’s in pain—maybe it’s just one part of us that needs healing.
Let the healing begin there.
Let the waters flow.
And let grace do what only grace can do.
That’s how life feels sometimes, isn’t it? Everything hurts. Everything feels off. And we keep trying to fix the symptoms—our job, our relationships, our stress—without realizing that maybe what needs healing is something deeper. Maybe the real pain is in the heart.
That’s what today’s readings are about: not just physical healing, but deep, soul-level healing. And more importantly, the willingness to receive it.
In Ezekiel, we see a river flowing from the Temple—starting as a trickle, becoming a torrent. Wherever the water flows, life returns. The image isn’t just nature—it’s grace. That river is Christ. He flows from the heart of God straight into our dryness, our wounds, our places of silence.
In the Gospel, Jesus meets a man who has been sick for 38 years. He asks him just one question:“Do you want to be well?”
It’s startling. Of course the man wants to be well—right? But Jesus knows that healing requires more than hope. It requires surrender. Change. A willingness to let go of what’s familiar, even if it’s broken.
We’re not so different from that man. We lie beside the grace we need, but hesitate to step into it. We adapt to our dysfunction. We say, “This is just who I am now.” But Jesus keeps asking:“Do you really want to be healed?”
Because real healing means transformation.It might mean forgiving someone.Letting go of a grudge.Finally asking for help.Trusting that God can breathe life into what feels long dead.
Like the man with the broken finger, maybe it’s not the world that’s in pain—maybe it’s just one part of us that needs healing.
Let the healing begin there.
Let the waters flow.
And let grace do what only grace can do.
The God Who Starts Over 03-31-25
Based on Isaiah 65:17–21; Psalm 30; John 4:43–54
There was a man named Tom who had spent his whole life in the construction business. He built homes, managed crews, and grew a successful company from the ground up. But when the 2008 financial crisis hit, everything fell apart. Jobs disappeared, clients backed out, bills piled up. Within a matter of months, Tom lost his company, his savings, and eventually, his home.
He ended up living in his truck. For a time, even his own family didn’t know just how bad things had gotten. Alone, ashamed, and overwhelmed, he believed his life had reached a dead end. He said later, “I thought my story was over. I thought God had walked away.”
One morning, he found himself parked outside a church. On a whim, he went in for Mass. The Gospel reading that day was the story of the Prodigal Son. Sitting in the back pew, with nothing to offer and nowhere left to go, Tom wept. Something stirred deep within—a small flicker of hope.
A parishioner noticed him after Mass, struck up a conversation, and eventually helped him find part-time work. One thing led to another. Tom got a small apartment, reconnected with his kids, and began mentoring young men in the parish. He even started a weekly prayer group for people going through tough times.
Years later, he would say: “I thought I had reached the end. But God was just beginning something new.”
That is the promise at the heart of today’s first reading:“Lo, I am about to create new heavens and a new earth.”God speaks these words through Isaiah to people in exile—people who had lost everything familiar, everything sacred. They were grieving the past, uncertain of the future. But God does not simply promise to restore what they had. He promises something new. Not just repair, but re-creation. Not just a return, but a rebirth.
And that same promise echoes through the Gospel.
In John’s account, a royal official comes to Jesus in desperation. His son is dying. He’s not asking for a teaching or a sign—he’s asking for mercy. Jesus tests his faith: “Unless you see signs and wonders, you do not believe.” But the man presses on. “Sir, come down before my child dies.”
Jesus doesn’t go with him. He simply says, “Go; your son will live.” And the man believes Him. He trusts the Word, even before he sees the result. On the way home, he learns that the healing came at the exact moment Jesus spoke. Faith took root, and new life began.
That’s what faith often looks like: walking home without the answer in your hand, but with trust in your heart.
Psalm 30 gives voice to the journey between sorrow and joy: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” It’s a song of resurrection—not just from the grave, but from all the little deaths we experience in life: loss, failure, fear, regret. God turns mourning into dancing, not just once, but again and again.
So what does this mean for us?
It means your story isn’t over.
It means God doesn’t just restore the old—He creates the new. He’s not merely the God of second chances. He’s the God of new beginnings. Even if something has ended—your health, a relationship, a career, a dream—it does not mean God is finished. Sometimes what feels like the end is the seed of something greater.
But here’s the challenge: new beginnings don’t always look like miracles. They often start small. Quiet. Hidden. A whisper instead of a shout. A word of hope instead of immediate rescue.
So today, take courage. Ask for the grace to see with faith what you cannot yet see with your eyes. Trust that God is already at work, even now, shaping something new in you.
Because what feels like your lowest point may be the foundation God is using to build something better.And the chapter you thought was your last… might just be your beginning.
Amen.
There was a man named Tom who had spent his whole life in the construction business. He built homes, managed crews, and grew a successful company from the ground up. But when the 2008 financial crisis hit, everything fell apart. Jobs disappeared, clients backed out, bills piled up. Within a matter of months, Tom lost his company, his savings, and eventually, his home.
He ended up living in his truck. For a time, even his own family didn’t know just how bad things had gotten. Alone, ashamed, and overwhelmed, he believed his life had reached a dead end. He said later, “I thought my story was over. I thought God had walked away.”
One morning, he found himself parked outside a church. On a whim, he went in for Mass. The Gospel reading that day was the story of the Prodigal Son. Sitting in the back pew, with nothing to offer and nowhere left to go, Tom wept. Something stirred deep within—a small flicker of hope.
A parishioner noticed him after Mass, struck up a conversation, and eventually helped him find part-time work. One thing led to another. Tom got a small apartment, reconnected with his kids, and began mentoring young men in the parish. He even started a weekly prayer group for people going through tough times.
Years later, he would say: “I thought I had reached the end. But God was just beginning something new.”
That is the promise at the heart of today’s first reading:“Lo, I am about to create new heavens and a new earth.”God speaks these words through Isaiah to people in exile—people who had lost everything familiar, everything sacred. They were grieving the past, uncertain of the future. But God does not simply promise to restore what they had. He promises something new. Not just repair, but re-creation. Not just a return, but a rebirth.
And that same promise echoes through the Gospel.
In John’s account, a royal official comes to Jesus in desperation. His son is dying. He’s not asking for a teaching or a sign—he’s asking for mercy. Jesus tests his faith: “Unless you see signs and wonders, you do not believe.” But the man presses on. “Sir, come down before my child dies.”
Jesus doesn’t go with him. He simply says, “Go; your son will live.” And the man believes Him. He trusts the Word, even before he sees the result. On the way home, he learns that the healing came at the exact moment Jesus spoke. Faith took root, and new life began.
That’s what faith often looks like: walking home without the answer in your hand, but with trust in your heart.
Psalm 30 gives voice to the journey between sorrow and joy: “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” It’s a song of resurrection—not just from the grave, but from all the little deaths we experience in life: loss, failure, fear, regret. God turns mourning into dancing, not just once, but again and again.
So what does this mean for us?
It means your story isn’t over.
It means God doesn’t just restore the old—He creates the new. He’s not merely the God of second chances. He’s the God of new beginnings. Even if something has ended—your health, a relationship, a career, a dream—it does not mean God is finished. Sometimes what feels like the end is the seed of something greater.
But here’s the challenge: new beginnings don’t always look like miracles. They often start small. Quiet. Hidden. A whisper instead of a shout. A word of hope instead of immediate rescue.
So today, take courage. Ask for the grace to see with faith what you cannot yet see with your eyes. Trust that God is already at work, even now, shaping something new in you.
Because what feels like your lowest point may be the foundation God is using to build something better.And the chapter you thought was your last… might just be your beginning.
Amen.
The Heart God Sees 03-29-25
Not long ago, a man walked into a church office with a question for the pastor. He wasn’t a regular churchgoer—hadn’t been in years—but something had stirred in him. Life had taken a few hard turns, and he felt like he needed to come back to God.He asked, “Father, what do I need to do to come back to church? I’ve been gone too long. I’ve made too many mistakes.”
The pastor looked at him with warmth and said, “You don’t need a checklist. You just need to bring God one thing.”The man raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”And the pastor said, “A heart that’s honest.”
That answer surprised him—but it’s exactly what today’s Scriptures are all about.
In the Gospel, Jesus tells a simple but striking story: two men go to the Temple to pray. One is a Pharisee—the religious professional. The other, a tax collector—seen as a traitor and a sinner.The Pharisee prays loudly, confidently, thanking God that he’s not like “other people,” especially that guy over there. He lists his spiritual résumé: fasting, tithing, being righteous. His prayer is more self-congratulation than conversation with God.
Meanwhile, the tax collector won’t even lift his eyes. He simply whispers, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”And Jesus shocks His audience by saying: It’s the sinner—not the religious expert—who goes home right with God.
Why? Because humility opens the door to grace.
The readings from Hosea and Psalm 51 echo the same message.God says through the prophet Hosea, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice. Knowledge of God, not burnt offerings.” In other words, God wants our hearts—not our performance.
And Psalm 51 gives voice to a soul that gets it. The psalmist doesn’t offer excuses. He offers honesty: “Have mercy on me, O God… A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”Not a heart that has it all together. Not a heart that looks impressive. Just a heart that’s real.
Let’s be honest—humility doesn’t come easy to any of us.We like to look like we’ve got it under control. We like to compare. We measure ourselves against others: “At least I’m not as bad as that person!”But when we come before God, comparison crumbles. There’s no spiritual scoreboard in God’s eyes—just truth, and mercy.
And the beautiful thing? God doesn’t shame us in our weakness. He heals us in it.Hosea says that even when God allows us to feel the consequences of our choices, it’s only so He can bind us up and bring us back to life.
God wounds only to heal. He convicts only to restore.But He can’t work with pride. He can’t fill a heart that’s already full of itself.He can only transform a heart that says, like the tax collector, “Lord, I need You.”
This message is for all of us—whether you’ve been in church every Sunday for decades, or whether you feel like you barely belong.God isn’t looking at your track record. He’s looking at your heart.
And if you bring Him a heart that’s honest, humble, even broken—He will not despise it. He will meet you there with mercy.
So today, let’s take a moment to drop the masks.Let’s stop trying to impress God with what we’ve done.Let’s bring Him what He really wants: a heart that is real, a heart that is repentant, a heart that is open.
Because in God’s kingdom, the way up always begins by kneeling down.
The pastor looked at him with warmth and said, “You don’t need a checklist. You just need to bring God one thing.”The man raised an eyebrow. “What’s that?”And the pastor said, “A heart that’s honest.”
That answer surprised him—but it’s exactly what today’s Scriptures are all about.
In the Gospel, Jesus tells a simple but striking story: two men go to the Temple to pray. One is a Pharisee—the religious professional. The other, a tax collector—seen as a traitor and a sinner.The Pharisee prays loudly, confidently, thanking God that he’s not like “other people,” especially that guy over there. He lists his spiritual résumé: fasting, tithing, being righteous. His prayer is more self-congratulation than conversation with God.
Meanwhile, the tax collector won’t even lift his eyes. He simply whispers, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”And Jesus shocks His audience by saying: It’s the sinner—not the religious expert—who goes home right with God.
Why? Because humility opens the door to grace.
The readings from Hosea and Psalm 51 echo the same message.God says through the prophet Hosea, “I desire mercy, not sacrifice. Knowledge of God, not burnt offerings.” In other words, God wants our hearts—not our performance.
And Psalm 51 gives voice to a soul that gets it. The psalmist doesn’t offer excuses. He offers honesty: “Have mercy on me, O God… A broken and contrite heart, O God, you will not despise.”Not a heart that has it all together. Not a heart that looks impressive. Just a heart that’s real.
Let’s be honest—humility doesn’t come easy to any of us.We like to look like we’ve got it under control. We like to compare. We measure ourselves against others: “At least I’m not as bad as that person!”But when we come before God, comparison crumbles. There’s no spiritual scoreboard in God’s eyes—just truth, and mercy.
And the beautiful thing? God doesn’t shame us in our weakness. He heals us in it.Hosea says that even when God allows us to feel the consequences of our choices, it’s only so He can bind us up and bring us back to life.
God wounds only to heal. He convicts only to restore.But He can’t work with pride. He can’t fill a heart that’s already full of itself.He can only transform a heart that says, like the tax collector, “Lord, I need You.”
This message is for all of us—whether you’ve been in church every Sunday for decades, or whether you feel like you barely belong.God isn’t looking at your track record. He’s looking at your heart.
And if you bring Him a heart that’s honest, humble, even broken—He will not despise it. He will meet you there with mercy.
So today, let’s take a moment to drop the masks.Let’s stop trying to impress God with what we’ve done.Let’s bring Him what He really wants: a heart that is real, a heart that is repentant, a heart that is open.
Because in God’s kingdom, the way up always begins by kneeling down.
Selective Hearing and the Wholehearted Life 03-28-25
There’s a classic story about a man in his seventies who finally agrees to get hearing aids. A week later, the audiologist calls to check in.
“How’s it going?”“It’s amazing,” the man says. “I can hear the birds again. I can hear the kids, even the dishwasher. I didn’t realize how much I was missing.”“Your family must be thrilled,” the doctor says.“Oh, I haven’t told them yet,” he replies. “I’ve changed my will three times—I’ve learned what they really think of me!”
It’s a funny story—but like many jokes, it hits close to home. Most of us suffer from selective hearing—not just with our ears, but with our hearts.
God’s Call to Listen
In today’s readings, God is asking not just to be heard, but to be listened to—with sincerity and openness.
In Hosea, God speaks tenderly to a people who have wandered far from Him: “Return to me… I will heal you. I will love you freely.” It’s not a demand—it’s an invitation.
In Psalm 81, God expresses longing: “If only my people would listen…” Not perfection. Not performance. Just listen.
Then in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus gives us the heart of the faith:
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.And love your neighbor as yourself.”
This isn’t partial devotion. It’s an invitation to live with our whole heart.
When Faith Becomes Half-Hearted
We know what half-hearted attention looks like:
• A spouse nodding while scrolling through a phone. • A teenager replying “Uh huh” without listening. • A friend who’s there—but not really present.
We do the same with God. We say the prayers, show up at Mass, follow the basics—but our minds are often elsewhere. We love when it’s easy, when it fits into our schedule, when it doesn’t ask too much.
But Jesus is clear: real love doesn’t hold back. Real love goes all in.
What All-In Love Looks Like
Wholehearted love isn’t loud or dramatic. It’s often quiet and steady:
• Choosing prayer over another hour of screen time. • Forgiving someone who hasn’t apologized. • Serving when it would be easier to say no. • Being kind to the person who’s hardest to love.
These are the everyday ways we show that our love for God isn’t just words—it’s woven into how we live.
The Simple, Life-Changing Truth
Here’s the truth today:Real love listens. And real listening leads to real love.
God doesn’t want just a part of you. He wants you—all of you.Not to burden you. Not to control you.But to heal you.To renew you.To love you freely, as Hosea says.
So ask yourself today:
• Am I really listening to God—or just nodding along? • Am I loving God and others with my whole self—or just when it’s comfortable?
The greatest commandment isn’t about doing more.It’s about loving better.Not someday.Not when life gets easier.But today.Right now.With the heart you already have.
“How’s it going?”“It’s amazing,” the man says. “I can hear the birds again. I can hear the kids, even the dishwasher. I didn’t realize how much I was missing.”“Your family must be thrilled,” the doctor says.“Oh, I haven’t told them yet,” he replies. “I’ve changed my will three times—I’ve learned what they really think of me!”
It’s a funny story—but like many jokes, it hits close to home. Most of us suffer from selective hearing—not just with our ears, but with our hearts.
God’s Call to Listen
In today’s readings, God is asking not just to be heard, but to be listened to—with sincerity and openness.
In Hosea, God speaks tenderly to a people who have wandered far from Him: “Return to me… I will heal you. I will love you freely.” It’s not a demand—it’s an invitation.
In Psalm 81, God expresses longing: “If only my people would listen…” Not perfection. Not performance. Just listen.
Then in Mark’s Gospel, Jesus gives us the heart of the faith:
“Love the Lord your God with all your heart, soul, mind, and strength.And love your neighbor as yourself.”
This isn’t partial devotion. It’s an invitation to live with our whole heart.
When Faith Becomes Half-Hearted
We know what half-hearted attention looks like:
• A spouse nodding while scrolling through a phone. • A teenager replying “Uh huh” without listening. • A friend who’s there—but not really present.
We do the same with God. We say the prayers, show up at Mass, follow the basics—but our minds are often elsewhere. We love when it’s easy, when it fits into our schedule, when it doesn’t ask too much.
But Jesus is clear: real love doesn’t hold back. Real love goes all in.
What All-In Love Looks Like
Wholehearted love isn’t loud or dramatic. It’s often quiet and steady:
• Choosing prayer over another hour of screen time. • Forgiving someone who hasn’t apologized. • Serving when it would be easier to say no. • Being kind to the person who’s hardest to love.
These are the everyday ways we show that our love for God isn’t just words—it’s woven into how we live.
The Simple, Life-Changing Truth
Here’s the truth today:Real love listens. And real listening leads to real love.
God doesn’t want just a part of you. He wants you—all of you.Not to burden you. Not to control you.But to heal you.To renew you.To love you freely, as Hosea says.
So ask yourself today:
• Am I really listening to God—or just nodding along? • Am I loving God and others with my whole self—or just when it’s comfortable?
The greatest commandment isn’t about doing more.It’s about loving better.Not someday.Not when life gets easier.But today.Right now.With the heart you already have.
Are You Really Listening? 03-27-25
There’s a difference between hearing and listening—and every married couple knows it.A wife may say, “Remember, we’re having dinner with the neighbors Saturday,” and the husband nods, “Sure, sounds good.”But when Saturday rolls around, he’s in gym shorts, watching a game, and asking, “Dinner with who?”
We hear things all the time. The hum of traffic. The background chatter in a café. The news anchor on TV.But listening—real listening—means taking something in, allowing it to land, and letting it shape how we think, act, or feel.
That’s exactly the challenge the prophet Jeremiah puts before us today.God wasn’t silent. He had been speaking to His people all along.But they didn’t listen.They heard Him the way we hear elevator music—barely registering it.And so, their hearts grew hard.Not because God stopped loving them, but because they stopped tuning in.
Psalm 95 gives us a direct warning:“If today you hear His voice, harden not your hearts.”It’s not just about hearing—it’s about how we hear.Are we open? Receptive? Or distracted and self-absorbed?
Then Jesus drives the point home in the Gospel.He performs a miracle—casting out a demon—and people accuse Him of working with Satan.They saw it, but they refused to see.They heard Him speak, but refused to listen.And so, Jesus says something bold: “Whoever is not with Me is against Me.”In other words, there’s no neutral zone when it comes to following God.
And friends, that’s where it hits home for us.We may hear God—at Mass, in prayer, in Scripture.But are we listening?Are we letting His Word interrupt our plans, reshape our values, or challenge our comfort zones?
Listening is risky.Because once we truly listen, we can’t stay the same.
Lent is our annual reminder to listen again.To turn down the volume of the world so we can turn up the voice of God.To soften our hearts.To stop nodding politely at God while we make our own decisions.And instead, to say: “Speak, Lord. I’m ready. I want to follow.”
So here’s the invitation today:Don’t just hear Him. Listen.Let His Word in. Let it move you.Because when we truly listen—deep down in the heart—we’ll hear the voice of a God who’s not condemning us, but calling us closer.
Brief Pause for Reflection:Let’s take a moment in silence. Just a few seconds to ask ourselves:Lord, what have I been hearing—but not really listening to?And then pray: Speak, Lord. Your servant is listening.
We hear things all the time. The hum of traffic. The background chatter in a café. The news anchor on TV.But listening—real listening—means taking something in, allowing it to land, and letting it shape how we think, act, or feel.
That’s exactly the challenge the prophet Jeremiah puts before us today.God wasn’t silent. He had been speaking to His people all along.But they didn’t listen.They heard Him the way we hear elevator music—barely registering it.And so, their hearts grew hard.Not because God stopped loving them, but because they stopped tuning in.
Psalm 95 gives us a direct warning:“If today you hear His voice, harden not your hearts.”It’s not just about hearing—it’s about how we hear.Are we open? Receptive? Or distracted and self-absorbed?
Then Jesus drives the point home in the Gospel.He performs a miracle—casting out a demon—and people accuse Him of working with Satan.They saw it, but they refused to see.They heard Him speak, but refused to listen.And so, Jesus says something bold: “Whoever is not with Me is against Me.”In other words, there’s no neutral zone when it comes to following God.
And friends, that’s where it hits home for us.We may hear God—at Mass, in prayer, in Scripture.But are we listening?Are we letting His Word interrupt our plans, reshape our values, or challenge our comfort zones?
Listening is risky.Because once we truly listen, we can’t stay the same.
Lent is our annual reminder to listen again.To turn down the volume of the world so we can turn up the voice of God.To soften our hearts.To stop nodding politely at God while we make our own decisions.And instead, to say: “Speak, Lord. I’m ready. I want to follow.”
So here’s the invitation today:Don’t just hear Him. Listen.Let His Word in. Let it move you.Because when we truly listen—deep down in the heart—we’ll hear the voice of a God who’s not condemning us, but calling us closer.
Brief Pause for Reflection:Let’s take a moment in silence. Just a few seconds to ask ourselves:Lord, what have I been hearing—but not really listening to?And then pray: Speak, Lord. Your servant is listening.
The Law That Leads to Life 03-26-25
Years ago, in a little mountain town in Colorado, a retired railroad engineer named Ben volunteered to give tours of the old steam locomotive on display near the station. It was a marvel—black iron, polished brass, and the massive wheels that once pulled passengers through valleys and peaks.
One afternoon, a teenager named Luke asked, “Hey Ben, wouldn’t it be awesome if this train could run wild—no tracks, just freedom?”
Ben chuckled. “Son,” he said, “the train’s not free when it’s off the rails. That’s when it’s useless—or dangerous. The rails aren’t the enemy of freedom. They’re what make the journey possible.”
That’s what Moses is telling the people in Deuteronomy: “Observe the statutes and decrees of the Lord… that you may live.” Not that you may be restricted, but that you may live.
The law of God is not a fence to keep us trapped—it’s a pathway to help us flourish. Psalm 147 says it plainly: God declares His word to Jacob, His statutes to Israel… He has not done this for other nations. That’s not a punishment for others—it’s a blessing for us. The law is God’s gift to help us live with justice, mercy, and dignity.
And then Jesus, in Matthew’s Gospel, takes it even further. “I have not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it.” That means the law doesn’t go away—it reaches its highest point in Him.
He doesn’t just teach the law; He embodies it.He doesn’t just speak the truth; He is the Truth.And He doesn’t demand perfection from a distance—He walks with us, forgives us, and lifts us up when we fall.
Let’s be honest. Our world doesn’t like rules. We are allergic to commandments. We want to pick and choose—like a spiritual buffet:“I like the love part, Jesus, but the forgiveness thing is hard.”“Mercy? Sure. But fidelity? That’s outdated.”
And yet—we’re more anxious than ever. More isolated. More addicted. More divided. Could it be that the freedom we’re chasing is just a train that’s left the rails?
What if God’s law—the commandments, the teachings of Christ—is not about control, but about healing?Not about guilt, but about grace?Not about rules—but about relationship?
Moses says: Teach these things to your children and your children’s children.What will the next generation know about God’s wisdom—if we don’t live it and speak it?
Let’s be bold enough to trust that God knows more than Google.Let’s be humble enough to say, “Lord, teach me again.”Let’s be brave enough to walk the narrow path—not because it’s easy, but because it’s true.
That train in Colorado? It’s still there. But these days, it runs once a year along restored tracks—through snow-capped mountains, pine forests, and rivers that sparkle like glass.
And every year, people come from all over to ride it.Why? Because there’s beauty in the journey.And the journey is only possible because it stays on the rails.
So it is with us.
God’s law is not a prison—it’s a promise.A promise that if we walk with Him, we will not only survive—we will live.
“Whoever obeys and teaches these commandments will be called greatest in the Kingdom of heaven.”May that be said of us.
Amen.
One afternoon, a teenager named Luke asked, “Hey Ben, wouldn’t it be awesome if this train could run wild—no tracks, just freedom?”
Ben chuckled. “Son,” he said, “the train’s not free when it’s off the rails. That’s when it’s useless—or dangerous. The rails aren’t the enemy of freedom. They’re what make the journey possible.”
That’s what Moses is telling the people in Deuteronomy: “Observe the statutes and decrees of the Lord… that you may live.” Not that you may be restricted, but that you may live.
The law of God is not a fence to keep us trapped—it’s a pathway to help us flourish. Psalm 147 says it plainly: God declares His word to Jacob, His statutes to Israel… He has not done this for other nations. That’s not a punishment for others—it’s a blessing for us. The law is God’s gift to help us live with justice, mercy, and dignity.
And then Jesus, in Matthew’s Gospel, takes it even further. “I have not come to abolish the law, but to fulfill it.” That means the law doesn’t go away—it reaches its highest point in Him.
He doesn’t just teach the law; He embodies it.He doesn’t just speak the truth; He is the Truth.And He doesn’t demand perfection from a distance—He walks with us, forgives us, and lifts us up when we fall.
Let’s be honest. Our world doesn’t like rules. We are allergic to commandments. We want to pick and choose—like a spiritual buffet:“I like the love part, Jesus, but the forgiveness thing is hard.”“Mercy? Sure. But fidelity? That’s outdated.”
And yet—we’re more anxious than ever. More isolated. More addicted. More divided. Could it be that the freedom we’re chasing is just a train that’s left the rails?
What if God’s law—the commandments, the teachings of Christ—is not about control, but about healing?Not about guilt, but about grace?Not about rules—but about relationship?
Moses says: Teach these things to your children and your children’s children.What will the next generation know about God’s wisdom—if we don’t live it and speak it?
Let’s be bold enough to trust that God knows more than Google.Let’s be humble enough to say, “Lord, teach me again.”Let’s be brave enough to walk the narrow path—not because it’s easy, but because it’s true.
That train in Colorado? It’s still there. But these days, it runs once a year along restored tracks—through snow-capped mountains, pine forests, and rivers that sparkle like glass.
And every year, people come from all over to ride it.Why? Because there’s beauty in the journey.And the journey is only possible because it stays on the rails.
So it is with us.
God’s law is not a prison—it’s a promise.A promise that if we walk with Him, we will not only survive—we will live.
“Whoever obeys and teaches these commandments will be called greatest in the Kingdom of heaven.”May that be said of us.
Amen.
Solemnity of the Annunciation of the Lord 03-25-25
Introduction
Today, on this Solemnity of the Annunciation, we celebrate the moment when God’s eternal plan of salvation took flesh in time—when Mary said yes, and the Word became flesh in her womb. Through prophecy and angelic message, we are reminded that God’s will is often revealed not in power, but in quiet trust and courageous surrender.
As we enter into this sacred mystery, let us acknowledge the times we have struggled to trust God’s plan or failed to respond with the openness of Mary. With humble hearts, we ask the Lord for mercy and grace.
Lord Jesus, you are the sign of God’s faithful love: Lord, have mercy.Christ Jesus, you call us to trust even when we do not understand: Christ, have mercy.Lord Jesus, you bring God’s presence into our lives through your Word and Spirit: Lord, have mercy.
May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life. Amen. Homily A man once joked that when he was young, he prayed earnestly, “God, I want to do Your will. Just give me a clear sign.” That night, his smoke detector beeped endlessly. The next day, his toddler flushed his car keys, and the neighbor’s dog destroyed his garden. Exhausted, he cried out, “Lord, I asked for a sign, not a stress test!”
Later, a wise old priest told him, “Maybe it was a sign. God’s will isn’t always something grand we chase—it’s often something ordinary we endure with love.”
That’s the heart of today’s feast. We imagine God’s will as dramatic—visions, callings, miracles. But the Annunciation tells another story. God’s greatest work began not with spectacle, but with a quiet yes. One girl, one moment, one surrender—and eternity changed.
In Isaiah, King Ahaz refuses to ask for a sign. He hides behind piety, but the truth is fear. Still, God offers a sign anyway: “The virgin shall conceive.” No thunder, no armies—just a child, born of trust. God answers fear with presence, not power.
And then, in the Gospel, the angel appears—not to a queen or warrior, but to a teenage girl in an obscure village. Gabriel doesn’t issue a command—he extends an invitation. And Mary responds not with certainty, but with faith. She doesn’t demand a map. She gives her yes to a mystery.
Let’s be honest: most of us prefer clarity. We like to know what we’re signing up for. Mary didn’t get that. What she got was a promise—beautiful, bewildering—and the road ahead would include joy, exile, and a cross. And still, she said yes.
And that yes—quiet, costly, wholehearted—became the hinge of salvation history.
So what yes is God asking of you? It might not be dramatic. It might look like forgiving someone who doesn’t deserve it. Caring for someone who can’t repay you. Trusting God when the outcome is unclear. But if you meet that moment with love, if you say yes in the hidden places of your life, then the same God who overshadowed Mary will work through you—and Christ will come into the world again, through your surrender.
As we enter into this sacred mystery, let us acknowledge the times we have struggled to trust God’s plan or failed to respond with the openness of Mary. With humble hearts, we ask the Lord for mercy and grace.
Lord Jesus, you are the sign of God’s faithful love: Lord, have mercy.Christ Jesus, you call us to trust even when we do not understand: Christ, have mercy.Lord Jesus, you bring God’s presence into our lives through your Word and Spirit: Lord, have mercy.
May almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life. Amen. Homily A man once joked that when he was young, he prayed earnestly, “God, I want to do Your will. Just give me a clear sign.” That night, his smoke detector beeped endlessly. The next day, his toddler flushed his car keys, and the neighbor’s dog destroyed his garden. Exhausted, he cried out, “Lord, I asked for a sign, not a stress test!”
Later, a wise old priest told him, “Maybe it was a sign. God’s will isn’t always something grand we chase—it’s often something ordinary we endure with love.”
That’s the heart of today’s feast. We imagine God’s will as dramatic—visions, callings, miracles. But the Annunciation tells another story. God’s greatest work began not with spectacle, but with a quiet yes. One girl, one moment, one surrender—and eternity changed.
In Isaiah, King Ahaz refuses to ask for a sign. He hides behind piety, but the truth is fear. Still, God offers a sign anyway: “The virgin shall conceive.” No thunder, no armies—just a child, born of trust. God answers fear with presence, not power.
And then, in the Gospel, the angel appears—not to a queen or warrior, but to a teenage girl in an obscure village. Gabriel doesn’t issue a command—he extends an invitation. And Mary responds not with certainty, but with faith. She doesn’t demand a map. She gives her yes to a mystery.
Let’s be honest: most of us prefer clarity. We like to know what we’re signing up for. Mary didn’t get that. What she got was a promise—beautiful, bewildering—and the road ahead would include joy, exile, and a cross. And still, she said yes.
And that yes—quiet, costly, wholehearted—became the hinge of salvation history.
So what yes is God asking of you? It might not be dramatic. It might look like forgiving someone who doesn’t deserve it. Caring for someone who can’t repay you. Trusting God when the outcome is unclear. But if you meet that moment with love, if you say yes in the hidden places of your life, then the same God who overshadowed Mary will work through you—and Christ will come into the world again, through your surrender.
Grace in Ordinary Wrapping 03-24-25
Monday of the Third Week of Lent
A woman sat near the back of the church, arms crossed, already regretting she came. It had been one of those weeks. Her husband had brushed her off again, her grown children were ignoring her advice, and everything just felt… off. Lonely. Heavy. Like she was slowly disappearing in her own life.
She didn’t come to Mass looking for answers. She certainly didn’t come expecting a spiritual breakthrough. She was just going through the motions. Stand. Sit. Kneel. Sigh. Repeat.
Then the lector walked up—that lector. The one who always reads too quickly, stumbles through half the words, and never seems quite prepared. The woman rolled her eyes. Here we go again, she thought.
But then it happened.
Right in the middle of the reading—rushed pace, mispronunciations and all—one line jumped out. A verse she’d heard dozens of times before suddenly struck her like lightning. It pierced her heart. It was as if God had bolded and underlined that one line just for her.
And in that moment, something inside her softened. She realized she had almost missed it. So wrapped up in her frustration, her judgments, her weariness—she nearly walked away from the one moment God had been preparing for her all week.
In our first reading today, someone else nearly missed the moment of grace.
Naaman the Syrian is a man of power and status. A successful military commander. Decorated. Respected. But beneath the armor—he’s sick. A leper. And no amount of medals or victories can fix that.
He hears about a prophet in Israel who can heal him, so he sets off with fanfare, gifts, and high expectations. But when he arrives at Elisha’s door, the prophet doesn’t even come out to meet him. Instead, a messenger delivers a simple instruction: “Go wash in the Jordan River seven times.”
That’s it? No ceremony? No special prayer? Not even a personal greeting?
Naaman is furious. The Jordan? That muddy little river? That’s beneath me.
He almost leaves. Not because healing wasn’t offered—but because it came in a package that seemed too ordinary. Too unimpressive. Too small for someone of his stature.
But then someone speaks a word of reason. “If the prophet had asked you to do something difficult, wouldn’t you have done it? Why not try this?”
Naaman swallows his pride. He obeys. And he’s healed.
In the Gospel, Jesus encounters a similar kind of resistance.
He speaks with authority. His words stir hearts. But someone says, “Wait—hold on—isn’t this Joseph’s son?” And just like that, they stop listening.
Why? Because they knew Him. Or thought they did.
They couldn’t imagine that something holy, something divine, could come from someone so ordinary. So familiar. Someone whose hands once shaped wood and hammered nails.
Jesus reminds them of Naaman—a foreigner, an outsider, who received grace because he was willing to obey, even when he didn’t understand. And that reminder—that God’s grace doesn’t follow our expectations—is so offensive to the crowd that they try to throw Him off a cliff.
And here’s the truth: we’re not that different.
We want God to speak—but we want Him to sound like we imagined.
We want answers—but only if they come in ways we approve of.
We want healing—but only if it feels profound or impressive.
We want grace—but only if it comes through someone who’s eloquent, someone we admire, someone who looks the part—not through someone we’ve already judged. Not through something that feels beneath us.
But over and over again in Scripture—and in life—God chooses the unexpected.
He speaks through the tired lector with the shaky voice.
He heals through muddy water.
He moves through bread and wine.
And if we’re not careful, we’ll miss it. Not because God wasn’t speaking—but because we weren’t listening. Because the packaging didn’t meet our expectations.
So maybe today, God is asking you to go to your own “Jordan.”
To do something humble. Something quiet. Something small and obedient that doesn’t seem miraculous—at least, not yet.
Maybe He’s trying to speak to you through someone you’re tempted to ignore.
Maybe the grace you’ve been praying for is already nearby—just not in the form you expected.
Let’s not walk away from the miracle because it looks ordinary.
Let’s not dismiss the moment because it feels too familiar.
Because some of the greatest works of God are wrapped in plain brown paper.
And grace—real grace—very often arrives in everyday disguises.
The question is: Will we have the humility to receive it?
She didn’t come to Mass looking for answers. She certainly didn’t come expecting a spiritual breakthrough. She was just going through the motions. Stand. Sit. Kneel. Sigh. Repeat.
Then the lector walked up—that lector. The one who always reads too quickly, stumbles through half the words, and never seems quite prepared. The woman rolled her eyes. Here we go again, she thought.
But then it happened.
Right in the middle of the reading—rushed pace, mispronunciations and all—one line jumped out. A verse she’d heard dozens of times before suddenly struck her like lightning. It pierced her heart. It was as if God had bolded and underlined that one line just for her.
And in that moment, something inside her softened. She realized she had almost missed it. So wrapped up in her frustration, her judgments, her weariness—she nearly walked away from the one moment God had been preparing for her all week.
In our first reading today, someone else nearly missed the moment of grace.
Naaman the Syrian is a man of power and status. A successful military commander. Decorated. Respected. But beneath the armor—he’s sick. A leper. And no amount of medals or victories can fix that.
He hears about a prophet in Israel who can heal him, so he sets off with fanfare, gifts, and high expectations. But when he arrives at Elisha’s door, the prophet doesn’t even come out to meet him. Instead, a messenger delivers a simple instruction: “Go wash in the Jordan River seven times.”
That’s it? No ceremony? No special prayer? Not even a personal greeting?
Naaman is furious. The Jordan? That muddy little river? That’s beneath me.
He almost leaves. Not because healing wasn’t offered—but because it came in a package that seemed too ordinary. Too unimpressive. Too small for someone of his stature.
But then someone speaks a word of reason. “If the prophet had asked you to do something difficult, wouldn’t you have done it? Why not try this?”
Naaman swallows his pride. He obeys. And he’s healed.
In the Gospel, Jesus encounters a similar kind of resistance.
He speaks with authority. His words stir hearts. But someone says, “Wait—hold on—isn’t this Joseph’s son?” And just like that, they stop listening.
Why? Because they knew Him. Or thought they did.
They couldn’t imagine that something holy, something divine, could come from someone so ordinary. So familiar. Someone whose hands once shaped wood and hammered nails.
Jesus reminds them of Naaman—a foreigner, an outsider, who received grace because he was willing to obey, even when he didn’t understand. And that reminder—that God’s grace doesn’t follow our expectations—is so offensive to the crowd that they try to throw Him off a cliff.
And here’s the truth: we’re not that different.
We want God to speak—but we want Him to sound like we imagined.
We want answers—but only if they come in ways we approve of.
We want healing—but only if it feels profound or impressive.
We want grace—but only if it comes through someone who’s eloquent, someone we admire, someone who looks the part—not through someone we’ve already judged. Not through something that feels beneath us.
But over and over again in Scripture—and in life—God chooses the unexpected.
He speaks through the tired lector with the shaky voice.
He heals through muddy water.
He moves through bread and wine.
And if we’re not careful, we’ll miss it. Not because God wasn’t speaking—but because we weren’t listening. Because the packaging didn’t meet our expectations.
So maybe today, God is asking you to go to your own “Jordan.”
To do something humble. Something quiet. Something small and obedient that doesn’t seem miraculous—at least, not yet.
Maybe He’s trying to speak to you through someone you’re tempted to ignore.
Maybe the grace you’ve been praying for is already nearby—just not in the form you expected.
Let’s not walk away from the miracle because it looks ordinary.
Let’s not dismiss the moment because it feels too familiar.
Because some of the greatest works of God are wrapped in plain brown paper.
And grace—real grace—very often arrives in everyday disguises.
The question is: Will we have the humility to receive it?
What God Can Do with Rejection 03-22-25
Rejection stings. Whether it’s being overlooked for a job, excluded from a group, misunderstood by family, or even dismissed by the Church, rejection has a way of making us question our worth. But what if rejection isn’t the end of the story? What if it’s the beginning of something greater?
Years ago, a woman walked into a bookstore excited to see her first published book on display. She had worked for years to finish it and had been turned down by twelve publishers before one finally said yes. But when she got to the store, she couldn’t find the book. When she asked the clerk, he looked up her name and replied, “Sorry, never heard of her.”
That woman was J.K. Rowling. The book was Harry Potter.
Rejection didn’t define her. It didn’t stop her. It was part of the journey that eventually led to global impact. And that principle—that rejection can lead to redemption—is at the very heart of our faith.
In the Bible, some of God’s most powerful work begins with rejection. Take Joseph, for example. In the Book of Genesis (37:3–28), Joseph is betrayed by his brothers—not because he did something wrong, but because of their jealousy. They resent his dreams and strip him of the colorful coat his father gave him. Then they throw him into a pit and sell him into slavery.
It would be easy to assume that Joseph’s story ends there. But it doesn’t. That pit was the beginning of a path that led him to Egypt, to Pharaoh’s court, and eventually to a position where he could save not only Egypt, but even the very brothers who betrayed him.
In the Gospel of Matthew (21:33–46), Jesus tells a parable about tenant farmers who reject and kill the servants sent by the landowner—and finally murder the landowner’s own son. It’s a direct foreshadowing of how Jesus Himself will be rejected, beaten, and crucified. But Jesus ends the parable with a powerful line: “The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.”
Rejection is real. And painful. But it does not get the last word.
All of us, at some point, find ourselves in Joseph’s pit. Misunderstood. Cast aside. Left behind. Sometimes by strangers. Sometimes by the people closest to us. And sometimes, we’re the ones who reject—whether it’s someone who challenges us, an uncomfortable truth, or even the quiet invitation of God.
But the hope of our faith is that God works in the very places where others walk away. He doesn’t just salvage broken stories—He builds on them. What others discard, God uses to construct something lasting. The betrayal of Joseph becomes a path to salvation. The crucifixion of Jesus becomes the doorway to eternal life. The overlooked and forgotten become the ones through whom God moves most powerfully.
So what do we do when we face rejection?
First, we stop seeing it as the end. God doesn’t measure us by worldly approval. Our value isn’t based on how others perceive us, but on the fact that we are His. Second, we bring that pain to Him. Rejection in the hands of God becomes transformation. And third, we look around—perhaps there’s someone we’ve rejected, written off, or ignored. Maybe it’s time to ask for the grace to see them with God’s eyes.
If the stone the builders rejected became the cornerstone, maybe our rejected places are where God is laying the foundation for something we can’t yet see.
God does not forget the ones who have been cast aside. He builds His kingdom on them.
And that includes you.
Years ago, a woman walked into a bookstore excited to see her first published book on display. She had worked for years to finish it and had been turned down by twelve publishers before one finally said yes. But when she got to the store, she couldn’t find the book. When she asked the clerk, he looked up her name and replied, “Sorry, never heard of her.”
That woman was J.K. Rowling. The book was Harry Potter.
Rejection didn’t define her. It didn’t stop her. It was part of the journey that eventually led to global impact. And that principle—that rejection can lead to redemption—is at the very heart of our faith.
In the Bible, some of God’s most powerful work begins with rejection. Take Joseph, for example. In the Book of Genesis (37:3–28), Joseph is betrayed by his brothers—not because he did something wrong, but because of their jealousy. They resent his dreams and strip him of the colorful coat his father gave him. Then they throw him into a pit and sell him into slavery.
It would be easy to assume that Joseph’s story ends there. But it doesn’t. That pit was the beginning of a path that led him to Egypt, to Pharaoh’s court, and eventually to a position where he could save not only Egypt, but even the very brothers who betrayed him.
In the Gospel of Matthew (21:33–46), Jesus tells a parable about tenant farmers who reject and kill the servants sent by the landowner—and finally murder the landowner’s own son. It’s a direct foreshadowing of how Jesus Himself will be rejected, beaten, and crucified. But Jesus ends the parable with a powerful line: “The stone the builders rejected has become the cornerstone.”
Rejection is real. And painful. But it does not get the last word.
All of us, at some point, find ourselves in Joseph’s pit. Misunderstood. Cast aside. Left behind. Sometimes by strangers. Sometimes by the people closest to us. And sometimes, we’re the ones who reject—whether it’s someone who challenges us, an uncomfortable truth, or even the quiet invitation of God.
But the hope of our faith is that God works in the very places where others walk away. He doesn’t just salvage broken stories—He builds on them. What others discard, God uses to construct something lasting. The betrayal of Joseph becomes a path to salvation. The crucifixion of Jesus becomes the doorway to eternal life. The overlooked and forgotten become the ones through whom God moves most powerfully.
So what do we do when we face rejection?
First, we stop seeing it as the end. God doesn’t measure us by worldly approval. Our value isn’t based on how others perceive us, but on the fact that we are His. Second, we bring that pain to Him. Rejection in the hands of God becomes transformation. And third, we look around—perhaps there’s someone we’ve rejected, written off, or ignored. Maybe it’s time to ask for the grace to see them with God’s eyes.
If the stone the builders rejected became the cornerstone, maybe our rejected places are where God is laying the foundation for something we can’t yet see.
God does not forget the ones who have been cast aside. He builds His kingdom on them.
And that includes you.
Trusting God’s Plan Amid Betrayal and Hardship 03-21-25
A Story of Betrayal and Redemption
Charlie had spent decades building his business from the ground up. He wasn’t just a boss; he was a mentor, a leader who believed in second chances and treating his employees like family. One man in particular, someone Charlie had personally taken under his wing, seemed to have a bright future ahead. Charlie trusted him completely—until the day he didn’t.
One morning, Charlie walked into his office to discover that this trusted employee had stolen company secrets and joined a competitor. It wasn’t just a professional loss; it was personal. Betrayed and heartbroken, Charlie struggled with anger and resentment. How could someone he had invested in so deeply turn against him?
But instead of letting bitterness consume him, Charlie chose a different path. He leaned into his faith, believing that even in betrayal, God had a plan. Slowly, he rebuilt his business—this time, stronger and wiser. Years later, something unexpected happened. The man who had betrayed him returned, not as a rival, but as someone seeking forgiveness. And Charlie, remembering how God had carried him through, chose to forgive. He had learned what Joseph once did—that what others mean for harm, God can turn into good.
Joseph’s Story: From the Pit to the Palace
Charlie’s story echoes the pain and redemption we see in today’s first reading. Joseph was his father’s favorite, marked by a beautiful coat and a destiny greater than his brothers could understand. But jealousy took root in their hearts, and rather than celebrating their brother’s gifts, they conspired against him. First, they threw him into a pit; then, they sold him into slavery. They thought they had erased him from their lives forever.
Imagine Joseph’s despair. The people who should have protected him—his own brothers—cast him aside for their own gain. And yet, God was at work. Through a series of unexpected events, Joseph rose to power in Egypt, becoming second only to Pharaoh. When famine struck, the very brothers who had betrayed him came begging for help, unaware that the powerful ruler before them was the sibling they had wronged.
At that moment, Joseph had a choice: revenge or mercy. He chose mercy. He recognized that even though his brothers had acted out of malice, God had been guiding his path all along. He told them, “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good” (Genesis 50:20).
The Gospel: Rejection of the Cornerstone
Jesus builds on this same theme in today’s Gospel with the parable of the wicked tenants. In the story, a landowner entrusts his vineyard to tenants, only for them to reject and kill the servants he sends to collect his share. Finally, he sends his own son, thinking they would respect him—but they kill him, too.
The religious leaders listening to Jesus knew He was speaking about them. They had rejected the prophets, and now they were about to reject the very Son of God. But like in Joseph’s story, their rejection would not stop God’s plan. Jesus’ suffering and death would become the very means of salvation for the world.
What This Means for Us
We have all felt the sting of betrayal, rejection, or deep disappointment. Maybe it was a friend who turned their back on us, a coworker who took credit for our work, or even a family member who hurt us in ways we never expected. In those moments, we can feel like Joseph in the pit—abandoned, forgotten, and wondering where God is.
But today’s readings remind us: God is never absent. What feels like a dead end may actually be a new beginning. Like Joseph, we may not understand why we are suffering now, but God is always working behind the scenes, shaping something greater than we can imagine.
Charlie had spent decades building his business from the ground up. He wasn’t just a boss; he was a mentor, a leader who believed in second chances and treating his employees like family. One man in particular, someone Charlie had personally taken under his wing, seemed to have a bright future ahead. Charlie trusted him completely—until the day he didn’t.
One morning, Charlie walked into his office to discover that this trusted employee had stolen company secrets and joined a competitor. It wasn’t just a professional loss; it was personal. Betrayed and heartbroken, Charlie struggled with anger and resentment. How could someone he had invested in so deeply turn against him?
But instead of letting bitterness consume him, Charlie chose a different path. He leaned into his faith, believing that even in betrayal, God had a plan. Slowly, he rebuilt his business—this time, stronger and wiser. Years later, something unexpected happened. The man who had betrayed him returned, not as a rival, but as someone seeking forgiveness. And Charlie, remembering how God had carried him through, chose to forgive. He had learned what Joseph once did—that what others mean for harm, God can turn into good.
Joseph’s Story: From the Pit to the Palace
Charlie’s story echoes the pain and redemption we see in today’s first reading. Joseph was his father’s favorite, marked by a beautiful coat and a destiny greater than his brothers could understand. But jealousy took root in their hearts, and rather than celebrating their brother’s gifts, they conspired against him. First, they threw him into a pit; then, they sold him into slavery. They thought they had erased him from their lives forever.
Imagine Joseph’s despair. The people who should have protected him—his own brothers—cast him aside for their own gain. And yet, God was at work. Through a series of unexpected events, Joseph rose to power in Egypt, becoming second only to Pharaoh. When famine struck, the very brothers who had betrayed him came begging for help, unaware that the powerful ruler before them was the sibling they had wronged.
At that moment, Joseph had a choice: revenge or mercy. He chose mercy. He recognized that even though his brothers had acted out of malice, God had been guiding his path all along. He told them, “You meant evil against me, but God meant it for good” (Genesis 50:20).
The Gospel: Rejection of the Cornerstone
Jesus builds on this same theme in today’s Gospel with the parable of the wicked tenants. In the story, a landowner entrusts his vineyard to tenants, only for them to reject and kill the servants he sends to collect his share. Finally, he sends his own son, thinking they would respect him—but they kill him, too.
The religious leaders listening to Jesus knew He was speaking about them. They had rejected the prophets, and now they were about to reject the very Son of God. But like in Joseph’s story, their rejection would not stop God’s plan. Jesus’ suffering and death would become the very means of salvation for the world.
What This Means for Us
We have all felt the sting of betrayal, rejection, or deep disappointment. Maybe it was a friend who turned their back on us, a coworker who took credit for our work, or even a family member who hurt us in ways we never expected. In those moments, we can feel like Joseph in the pit—abandoned, forgotten, and wondering where God is.
But today’s readings remind us: God is never absent. What feels like a dead end may actually be a new beginning. Like Joseph, we may not understand why we are suffering now, but God is always working behind the scenes, shaping something greater than we can imagine.
Where Is Your Trust? 03-20-25
Opening StoryA wealthy businessman once visited a wise old monk. The businessman was proud of his success—he had built an empire, secured his future, and ensured that his children would never struggle. He told the monk, “I have worked hard, made smart decisions, and now I have everything I need. I trust in my ability to shape my future.”
The monk listened quietly and then took the man outside. He pointed to a towering tree standing by a river. “That tree,” he said, “is strong because its roots go deep into the water. It does not fear the drought because its source never runs dry. Now tell me, if the river dried up, what would happen?”
The businessman replied, “The tree would wither and die.”
The monk nodded. “And so it is with those who trust only in their own strength. When the storm comes, they have nothing deeper to hold onto.”
The man left that day, realizing for the first time that all his success was built on shifting sand.
Where Is Your Trust?We live in a world that tells us to put our trust in what we can control—our finances, our jobs, our health, our plans. We work hard, plan carefully, and hope that we can secure our futures. But if the past few years have taught us anything, it’s this: nothing in this world is truly secure.
One day, everything seems fine, and the next, a medical diagnosis changes everything. A job we thought was stable is gone. A market crash wipes out years of savings. A relationship we relied on falls apart. And suddenly, we are left wondering: Where is my trust?
Two Ways to Live
The prophet Jeremiah gives us two choices.
He warns: “Cursed is the one who trusts in human beings, who seeks his strength in flesh.” (Jer 17:5) Why? Because human strength is limited. We are fragile, and so is everything we build on our own.
But then he paints another picture: “Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose hope is the Lord.” That person is like a tree planted by water—strong, unshaken, even in the harshest drought.
One life is built on shifting sand. The other is built on something eternal.
A Warning from Jesus
In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives us a powerful example. He tells of a rich man who had everything—wealth, comfort, status—but his trust was in his possessions. Just outside his gate lay Lazarus, a poor man who had nothing but trust in God.
Then came the great reversal. The rich man, who had lived for himself, found himself in torment, while Lazarus was carried into eternal peace.
The rich man wasn’t condemned for being wealthy—he was condemned because he trusted in his wealth and ignored those in need. His heart was rooted in the wrong things.
What About Us?
This isn’t just a story from long ago—it’s a question for each of us.
If we’re honest, we all have something we trust in more than God. Maybe it’s money, maybe it’s our own abilities, maybe it’s relationships. But what happens when those things are shaken? Do we crumble with them, or do we have a deeper foundation?
Think of the people in your life who have a quiet, unshakable peace even in the middle of suffering. They are not immune to pain or loss, but their faith keeps them steady. They are like the tree in Psalm 1—deeply rooted, drawing strength from God, not from the world.
A Practical Challenge
Whenever worry creeps in—about your finances, your health, your future—pause for a moment. Instead of letting fear take hold, whisper this prayer:
“Lord, I trust in You.”
Say it not just with your lips, but with your heart. Let it sink in. Let it shape your mindset. Let it remind you that your security does not come from the things of this world, but from the One who holds all things in His hands.
Trust is not just a feeling—it’s a decision. A choice to lean on God even when life feels uncertain. A choice to plant your roots in Him, so that no storm can shake you.
Because in the end, everything else will pass away—our wealth, our plans, even our own strength. But God remains. And when we place our trust in Him, we are not just safe—we are strong, steady, and unshakable.
Amen.
The monk listened quietly and then took the man outside. He pointed to a towering tree standing by a river. “That tree,” he said, “is strong because its roots go deep into the water. It does not fear the drought because its source never runs dry. Now tell me, if the river dried up, what would happen?”
The businessman replied, “The tree would wither and die.”
The monk nodded. “And so it is with those who trust only in their own strength. When the storm comes, they have nothing deeper to hold onto.”
The man left that day, realizing for the first time that all his success was built on shifting sand.
Where Is Your Trust?We live in a world that tells us to put our trust in what we can control—our finances, our jobs, our health, our plans. We work hard, plan carefully, and hope that we can secure our futures. But if the past few years have taught us anything, it’s this: nothing in this world is truly secure.
One day, everything seems fine, and the next, a medical diagnosis changes everything. A job we thought was stable is gone. A market crash wipes out years of savings. A relationship we relied on falls apart. And suddenly, we are left wondering: Where is my trust?
Two Ways to Live
The prophet Jeremiah gives us two choices.
He warns: “Cursed is the one who trusts in human beings, who seeks his strength in flesh.” (Jer 17:5) Why? Because human strength is limited. We are fragile, and so is everything we build on our own.
But then he paints another picture: “Blessed is the one who trusts in the Lord, whose hope is the Lord.” That person is like a tree planted by water—strong, unshaken, even in the harshest drought.
One life is built on shifting sand. The other is built on something eternal.
A Warning from Jesus
In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives us a powerful example. He tells of a rich man who had everything—wealth, comfort, status—but his trust was in his possessions. Just outside his gate lay Lazarus, a poor man who had nothing but trust in God.
Then came the great reversal. The rich man, who had lived for himself, found himself in torment, while Lazarus was carried into eternal peace.
The rich man wasn’t condemned for being wealthy—he was condemned because he trusted in his wealth and ignored those in need. His heart was rooted in the wrong things.
What About Us?
This isn’t just a story from long ago—it’s a question for each of us.
If we’re honest, we all have something we trust in more than God. Maybe it’s money, maybe it’s our own abilities, maybe it’s relationships. But what happens when those things are shaken? Do we crumble with them, or do we have a deeper foundation?
Think of the people in your life who have a quiet, unshakable peace even in the middle of suffering. They are not immune to pain or loss, but their faith keeps them steady. They are like the tree in Psalm 1—deeply rooted, drawing strength from God, not from the world.
A Practical Challenge
Whenever worry creeps in—about your finances, your health, your future—pause for a moment. Instead of letting fear take hold, whisper this prayer:
“Lord, I trust in You.”
Say it not just with your lips, but with your heart. Let it sink in. Let it shape your mindset. Let it remind you that your security does not come from the things of this world, but from the One who holds all things in His hands.
Trust is not just a feeling—it’s a decision. A choice to lean on God even when life feels uncertain. A choice to plant your roots in Him, so that no storm can shake you.
Because in the end, everything else will pass away—our wealth, our plans, even our own strength. But God remains. And when we place our trust in Him, we are not just safe—we are strong, steady, and unshakable.
Amen.
Joseph’s Silent but Powerful Yes 03-19-25
Years ago, a famous tightrope walker stunned audiences with daring feats high above the ground. One day, he set up a rope across a deep canyon and asked the gathered crowd, “Do you believe I can walk across this rope without falling?”
The people cheered. “Yes! We believe in you!” With perfect balance, he made it to the other side.
Then he asked, “Do you believe I can do it while pushing a wheelbarrow?” Again, the crowd roared with approval. He did it flawlessly.
Finally, he asked, “Do you believe I can do it with someone sitting inside the wheelbarrow?” The crowd was ecstatic. “Yes!”
Then he pointed to one of the loudest supporters and said, “Great! Get in the wheelbarrow.” Suddenly, there was silence.
It’s one thing to believe from a distance, but another to trust when it requires action.
Standing at the Edge of the Unknown
In today’s Gospel, Joseph finds himself standing before his own canyon of uncertainty. His life had been planned—a quiet, respectable future with Mary. Then, suddenly, everything changed.
Mary was found to be with child. It must have shaken him to his core. The woman he loved, the future he had envisioned—now cast into doubt. Imagine the turmoil: the questions, the fear of judgment, the ache of betrayal. The logical choice, the safe choice, would have been to walk away.
But then, an angel appeared with a message: “Do not be afraid… take Mary as your wife.”
No explanations. No clear roadmap. Just a call to trust.
And Joseph said yes.
Not with words—we never hear a single word spoken by him in Scripture—but with action. He stepped forward in faith, embracing God’s plan, even when he didn’t fully understand it.
Faith Beyond Certainty
We live in a world that craves certainty. We want security in our jobs, in our relationships, in our future. We make plans, map out goals, and expect life to unfold accordingly.
But what happens when life takes an unexpected turn? When the diagnosis comes? When the job is lost? When relationships fall apart?
It is in these moments that we stand at the edge of the canyon, like that man in the crowd, and God asks us, “Do you trust me?”
Joseph shows us that real faith is not just believing that God exists—it’s trusting Him enough to step into the unknown.
The Silent Strength of St. Joseph
Joseph’s greatness wasn’t in words—it was in actions. He didn’t perform miracles. He didn’t preach. But he protected, provided, and remained faithful.
• He protected Mary when the world would have condemned her. • He provided for Jesus, teaching him, guiding him, shaping him. • He remained faithful in the ordinary, the unnoticed, the everyday tasks of life.
And isn’t that what true holiness looks like? Not in grand gestures, but in the quiet sacrifices—working long hours to provide for a family, staying up late with a sick child, standing by a loved one in suffering.
We live in a world that celebrates power, influence, and recognition. But Joseph shows us that the holiest work is often unseen. The father who wakes up at 5 a.m. to go to a job he doesn’t love, just to give his kids a better future—that is Joseph’s strength. The mother who tirelessly cares for her family, with no applause, no awards—that is Joseph’s faithfulness. The man or woman who does the right thing, even when no one notices—that is Joseph’s quiet, unwavering virtue.
Stepping into the Wheelbarrow
Joseph didn’t just stand in the crowd and cheer—he stepped forward. He embraced God’s call without knowing where it would lead, trusting completely in His plan. True faith is more than words or distant belief; it is a quiet, steady surrender, lived out in the ordinary moments of life.
Like Joseph, may we have the courage to trust, to act, and to follow where God leads—even when it means stepping into the wheelbarrow.
The people cheered. “Yes! We believe in you!” With perfect balance, he made it to the other side.
Then he asked, “Do you believe I can do it while pushing a wheelbarrow?” Again, the crowd roared with approval. He did it flawlessly.
Finally, he asked, “Do you believe I can do it with someone sitting inside the wheelbarrow?” The crowd was ecstatic. “Yes!”
Then he pointed to one of the loudest supporters and said, “Great! Get in the wheelbarrow.” Suddenly, there was silence.
It’s one thing to believe from a distance, but another to trust when it requires action.
Standing at the Edge of the Unknown
In today’s Gospel, Joseph finds himself standing before his own canyon of uncertainty. His life had been planned—a quiet, respectable future with Mary. Then, suddenly, everything changed.
Mary was found to be with child. It must have shaken him to his core. The woman he loved, the future he had envisioned—now cast into doubt. Imagine the turmoil: the questions, the fear of judgment, the ache of betrayal. The logical choice, the safe choice, would have been to walk away.
But then, an angel appeared with a message: “Do not be afraid… take Mary as your wife.”
No explanations. No clear roadmap. Just a call to trust.
And Joseph said yes.
Not with words—we never hear a single word spoken by him in Scripture—but with action. He stepped forward in faith, embracing God’s plan, even when he didn’t fully understand it.
Faith Beyond Certainty
We live in a world that craves certainty. We want security in our jobs, in our relationships, in our future. We make plans, map out goals, and expect life to unfold accordingly.
But what happens when life takes an unexpected turn? When the diagnosis comes? When the job is lost? When relationships fall apart?
It is in these moments that we stand at the edge of the canyon, like that man in the crowd, and God asks us, “Do you trust me?”
Joseph shows us that real faith is not just believing that God exists—it’s trusting Him enough to step into the unknown.
The Silent Strength of St. Joseph
Joseph’s greatness wasn’t in words—it was in actions. He didn’t perform miracles. He didn’t preach. But he protected, provided, and remained faithful.
• He protected Mary when the world would have condemned her. • He provided for Jesus, teaching him, guiding him, shaping him. • He remained faithful in the ordinary, the unnoticed, the everyday tasks of life.
And isn’t that what true holiness looks like? Not in grand gestures, but in the quiet sacrifices—working long hours to provide for a family, staying up late with a sick child, standing by a loved one in suffering.
We live in a world that celebrates power, influence, and recognition. But Joseph shows us that the holiest work is often unseen. The father who wakes up at 5 a.m. to go to a job he doesn’t love, just to give his kids a better future—that is Joseph’s strength. The mother who tirelessly cares for her family, with no applause, no awards—that is Joseph’s faithfulness. The man or woman who does the right thing, even when no one notices—that is Joseph’s quiet, unwavering virtue.
Stepping into the Wheelbarrow
Joseph didn’t just stand in the crowd and cheer—he stepped forward. He embraced God’s call without knowing where it would lead, trusting completely in His plan. True faith is more than words or distant belief; it is a quiet, steady surrender, lived out in the ordinary moments of life.
Like Joseph, may we have the courage to trust, to act, and to follow where God leads—even when it means stepping into the wheelbarrow.
Walk the Talk: A Homily on Authentic Faith 03-18-25
There’s an old story about a mother who took her son to see Mahatma Gandhi. She pleaded, “Please tell my son to stop eating sugar.” Gandhi looked at the boy, thought for a moment, and said, “Come back in two weeks.”
Two weeks later, they returned. Gandhi looked at the boy and said, “Stop eating sugar.”
The mother was puzzled. “Why didn’t you say that two weeks ago?” she asked.
Gandhi smiled, “Because two weeks ago, I was still eating sugar.”
He refused to tell someone to do something he hadn’t first practiced himself. That’s integrity—when our words and actions align.
Jesus Calls Out Hypocrisy
In today’s Gospel, Jesus confronts the Pharisees, saying, “They preach but do not practice.” (Matthew 23:3)
The Pharisees were respected teachers of the Law. Their words were correct, but their actions didn’t match. They imposed strict rules on others but found loopholes for themselves. They sought honor and recognition more than humble service.
But before we judge them, we should ask: Do I do the same?
Do I preach patience but get frustrated in traffic? Do I talk about trusting God but spend my days worrying? Do I encourage kindness but snap at my loved ones?
Isaiah warns us in the first reading: “Wash yourselves clean! Put away your misdeeds.” (Isaiah 1:16) And Psalm 50 reminds us that God doesn’t just want words—He wants sincerity.
How Do We “Walk the Talk”?
First, we need to examine ourselves. It’s easy to see faults in others, but Jesus calls us to start with our own hearts. Before we correct someone else, we should ask if we are living out what we claim to believe.
Second, we need to make small, consistent changes. Faith isn’t about grand gestures—it’s found in daily choices. Choosing patience over frustration. Choosing kindness over resentment. Choosing humility over pride.
Finally, we need to lead with humility. Jesus says, “Whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” (Matthew 23:12) True greatness in God’s eyes isn’t about titles or recognition—it’s about serving others with a sincere heart.
Conclusion: Living the Gospel
People may never read the Gospel of Matthew, but they will read our lives. They will watch how we treat others, how we respond to stress, how we practice forgiveness.
When they see us, will they see Christ?
Let’s ask God today for the grace to live our faith—not just talk about it.
Closing Prayer
Lord, help me to be authentic. When I speak of trust, let me truly trust You. When I preach patience, let me practice it. When I talk about love, let me live it.
Refine me, Lord. Close the gap between my words and my actions, so that when people see me, they see You.
Amen.
Two weeks later, they returned. Gandhi looked at the boy and said, “Stop eating sugar.”
The mother was puzzled. “Why didn’t you say that two weeks ago?” she asked.
Gandhi smiled, “Because two weeks ago, I was still eating sugar.”
He refused to tell someone to do something he hadn’t first practiced himself. That’s integrity—when our words and actions align.
Jesus Calls Out Hypocrisy
In today’s Gospel, Jesus confronts the Pharisees, saying, “They preach but do not practice.” (Matthew 23:3)
The Pharisees were respected teachers of the Law. Their words were correct, but their actions didn’t match. They imposed strict rules on others but found loopholes for themselves. They sought honor and recognition more than humble service.
But before we judge them, we should ask: Do I do the same?
Do I preach patience but get frustrated in traffic? Do I talk about trusting God but spend my days worrying? Do I encourage kindness but snap at my loved ones?
Isaiah warns us in the first reading: “Wash yourselves clean! Put away your misdeeds.” (Isaiah 1:16) And Psalm 50 reminds us that God doesn’t just want words—He wants sincerity.
How Do We “Walk the Talk”?
First, we need to examine ourselves. It’s easy to see faults in others, but Jesus calls us to start with our own hearts. Before we correct someone else, we should ask if we are living out what we claim to believe.
Second, we need to make small, consistent changes. Faith isn’t about grand gestures—it’s found in daily choices. Choosing patience over frustration. Choosing kindness over resentment. Choosing humility over pride.
Finally, we need to lead with humility. Jesus says, “Whoever humbles himself will be exalted.” (Matthew 23:12) True greatness in God’s eyes isn’t about titles or recognition—it’s about serving others with a sincere heart.
Conclusion: Living the Gospel
People may never read the Gospel of Matthew, but they will read our lives. They will watch how we treat others, how we respond to stress, how we practice forgiveness.
When they see us, will they see Christ?
Let’s ask God today for the grace to live our faith—not just talk about it.
Closing Prayer
Lord, help me to be authentic. When I speak of trust, let me truly trust You. When I preach patience, let me practice it. When I talk about love, let me live it.
Refine me, Lord. Close the gap between my words and my actions, so that when people see me, they see You.
Amen.
The Measure You Give 03-17-25
Mercy is a beautiful thing—when we are on the receiving end of it. When we make mistakes, say the wrong thing, or let someone down, we hope for understanding. We long for that gentle reassurance: “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.” We appreciate kindness when we forget an appointment, miss a deadline, or unintentionally hurt someone. Yet, when the roles are reversed, when someone wrongs us, our natural instinct is often not mercy, but justice.
We see this play out in the smallest moments of life. Picture a man driving to work, already running late. Suddenly, another car cuts him off, forcing him to slam on his brakes. Furious, he honks, shakes his head, and mutters under his breath, “People like that shouldn’t have a license!” Later that day, while distracted at the coffee shop, he absentmindedly steps in front of someone in line. Realizing his mistake, he turns and apologizes. The person smiles and says, “No worries, it happens.”
In that moment, a realization dawns on him. When others inconvenience him, he wants accountability. But when he is at fault, he hopes for patience. It’s easy to demand justice for others and mercy for ourselves.
God’s Mercy is Greater
Today’s readings remind us that we are all in need of mercy. In the Book of Daniel, the prophet humbly confesses the sins of Israel:
“We have sinned and done wrong… we have rebelled. But to You, Lord, belongs compassion and forgiveness.”
Daniel does not offer excuses or shift the blame—he simply acknowledges the truth. He understands something we often forget: God’s mercy is greater than our failures. Too often, we compare ourselves to those who seem worse and think, “At least I’m not as bad as them.” But if God judged us by that standard, would we stand a chance?
The psalmist echoes this plea:
“Do not remember against us the sins of our past… Help us, O God of our salvation!”
These words reveal something powerful—God’s forgiveness is not about deserving it. It’s about His love, freely given.
The Way We Forgive Matters
Jesus takes this lesson even further in today’s Gospel:
“Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful… The measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you.”
This verse should make us pause. The way we treat others is the measure God will use for us. Yet, how often do we hold onto grudges, keep a mental scorecard of offenses, or withhold kindness until someone has “earned” it?
We say things like:
• “I forgive, but I won’t forget.” • “They need to learn their lesson.” • “They don’t deserve my kindness.”
But what if God treated us that way? What if He said, “I’ll forgive you, but I’m keeping this on your record”? What if He made us earn His love? That’s not the God we serve. His mercy is infinite—but He asks us to extend the same mercy to others.
Mercy is a Choice
Many people think forgiveness is a feeling—that we must wait until we feel ready to let go of a hurt. But mercy is not an emotion; it is a choice.
It does not mean ignoring wrongdoing. It does not mean allowing someone to continue hurting us. What it does mean is refusing to let bitterness control our hearts. It means choosing grace over resentment.
Have you ever met someone who carries a grudge for years? The wound may have been real, but over time, their bitterness becomes a prison of their own making. They replay the hurt over and over, allowing it to define them. Meanwhile, the person who wronged them has likely moved on.
Now, imagine the opposite—someone who chooses to let go. Mercy does not erase the past, but it frees the person from carrying it. It creates space for peace, for healing, and for God’s grace to work.
A Challenge for Today
Instead of thinking about mercy as something for tomorrow, what if we practiced it today?
1. Let something go. If someone frustrates you today, choose not to dwell on it. 2. Apologize first. If you’ve wronged someone—even in a small way—take the step to make it right. 3. Thank God for His mercy. Spend a moment recognizing how often He has forgiven you.
Mercy starts in the little moments. In the car when someone cuts you off. At home when a family member says something thoughtless. At work when a coworker frustrates you. Each time, we have a choice: demand justice or offer grace. Mercy is a gift—not just one we receive, but one we are called to give. The measure we use for others is the measure God will use for us. If we want His mercy in abundance, let’s be sure we are offering it in abundance as well. And that, more than anything, is what will bring us peace.
We see this play out in the smallest moments of life. Picture a man driving to work, already running late. Suddenly, another car cuts him off, forcing him to slam on his brakes. Furious, he honks, shakes his head, and mutters under his breath, “People like that shouldn’t have a license!” Later that day, while distracted at the coffee shop, he absentmindedly steps in front of someone in line. Realizing his mistake, he turns and apologizes. The person smiles and says, “No worries, it happens.”
In that moment, a realization dawns on him. When others inconvenience him, he wants accountability. But when he is at fault, he hopes for patience. It’s easy to demand justice for others and mercy for ourselves.
God’s Mercy is Greater
Today’s readings remind us that we are all in need of mercy. In the Book of Daniel, the prophet humbly confesses the sins of Israel:
“We have sinned and done wrong… we have rebelled. But to You, Lord, belongs compassion and forgiveness.”
Daniel does not offer excuses or shift the blame—he simply acknowledges the truth. He understands something we often forget: God’s mercy is greater than our failures. Too often, we compare ourselves to those who seem worse and think, “At least I’m not as bad as them.” But if God judged us by that standard, would we stand a chance?
The psalmist echoes this plea:
“Do not remember against us the sins of our past… Help us, O God of our salvation!”
These words reveal something powerful—God’s forgiveness is not about deserving it. It’s about His love, freely given.
The Way We Forgive Matters
Jesus takes this lesson even further in today’s Gospel:
“Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful… The measure with which you measure will in return be measured out to you.”
This verse should make us pause. The way we treat others is the measure God will use for us. Yet, how often do we hold onto grudges, keep a mental scorecard of offenses, or withhold kindness until someone has “earned” it?
We say things like:
• “I forgive, but I won’t forget.” • “They need to learn their lesson.” • “They don’t deserve my kindness.”
But what if God treated us that way? What if He said, “I’ll forgive you, but I’m keeping this on your record”? What if He made us earn His love? That’s not the God we serve. His mercy is infinite—but He asks us to extend the same mercy to others.
Mercy is a Choice
Many people think forgiveness is a feeling—that we must wait until we feel ready to let go of a hurt. But mercy is not an emotion; it is a choice.
It does not mean ignoring wrongdoing. It does not mean allowing someone to continue hurting us. What it does mean is refusing to let bitterness control our hearts. It means choosing grace over resentment.
Have you ever met someone who carries a grudge for years? The wound may have been real, but over time, their bitterness becomes a prison of their own making. They replay the hurt over and over, allowing it to define them. Meanwhile, the person who wronged them has likely moved on.
Now, imagine the opposite—someone who chooses to let go. Mercy does not erase the past, but it frees the person from carrying it. It creates space for peace, for healing, and for God’s grace to work.
A Challenge for Today
Instead of thinking about mercy as something for tomorrow, what if we practiced it today?
1. Let something go. If someone frustrates you today, choose not to dwell on it. 2. Apologize first. If you’ve wronged someone—even in a small way—take the step to make it right. 3. Thank God for His mercy. Spend a moment recognizing how often He has forgiven you.
Mercy starts in the little moments. In the car when someone cuts you off. At home when a family member says something thoughtless. At work when a coworker frustrates you. Each time, we have a choice: demand justice or offer grace. Mercy is a gift—not just one we receive, but one we are called to give. The measure we use for others is the measure God will use for us. If we want His mercy in abundance, let’s be sure we are offering it in abundance as well. And that, more than anything, is what will bring us peace.
The Grudge That Lasted Too Long 03-15-25
Two brothers had a falling out—so long ago that neither could even remember what started it. Maybe it was a harsh word, a misunderstanding, or something small that, over time, became something big. As the years passed, they grew further apart. They stopped talking, stopped visiting, and eventually, they became strangers to each other.
Then one of them died. The other came to the funeral, standing in the back of the church, staring at the casket, overwhelmed with regret. Was it really worth it? He had held onto the grudge for so long, but now there was no chance for reconciliation.
That’s the thing about grudges—they last far longer than they should. But in the end, they don’t protect us; they only rob us of peace.
God’s Laws: A Path to Freedom
In our first reading, God calls the Israelites to obedience. He tells them to follow His commands—not as a set of rules to restrict them, but as a path to blessing and fulfillment. His laws are not burdens; they are a roadmap for living a life of peace, joy, and harmony.
Psalm 119 echoes this: “Blessed are they who follow the law of the Lord.” This isn’t about blind obedience but about trusting that God’s ways lead to something greater. When He commands us to love, to forgive, to let go of resentment, He isn’t making life harder—He’s showing us how to be free.
Then Jesus raises the bar even higher. “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.”
The Hardest Command
Of all the things Jesus asks of us, this might be the hardest. Loving those who hurt us doesn’t come naturally. It’s far easier to hold onto anger, to justify our resentment, to keep a safe distance.
But Jesus doesn’t say, “Love them once they apologize.” He doesn’t say, “Pray for them when they’ve changed.” He just says, “Love them. Pray for them.” No conditions, no loopholes.
And let’s be honest—sometimes our “enemies” aren’t distant people. Sometimes, they’re the ones closest to us. A family member we no longer speak to. A coworker who makes our lives difficult. A neighbor who seems impossible to get along with. The person who frustrates us most might not be a stranger—it might be someone sitting in the next pew.
Loving them doesn’t mean ignoring the hurt or pretending nothing happened. It means choosing kindness over resentment, mercy over revenge, and prayer over bitterness.
Letting Go for Our Own Sake
Grudges don’t punish the other person; they punish us. Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to suffer.
That’s why Jesus calls us to radical love—not just for the sake of others, but for our own freedom. When we refuse to forgive, when we hold onto resentment, it’s like carrying a heavy weight that only wears us down. But when we choose love, when we surrender that anger to God, we discover peace.
A Challenge for This Week
Think about your own life.
• Is there someone you need to forgive? • Is there a grudge you’ve been carrying that’s weighing you down? • Is there a prayer you need to say—not to change them, but to heal your own heart?
Loving our enemies isn’t about letting them “win.” It’s about letting go of what holds us back. It’s about choosing the way of Christ, one small act of love at a time.
And if we do? We won’t just be following a command—we’ll be stepping into a life of true peace, the kind only God can give.
Amen.
Then one of them died. The other came to the funeral, standing in the back of the church, staring at the casket, overwhelmed with regret. Was it really worth it? He had held onto the grudge for so long, but now there was no chance for reconciliation.
That’s the thing about grudges—they last far longer than they should. But in the end, they don’t protect us; they only rob us of peace.
God’s Laws: A Path to Freedom
In our first reading, God calls the Israelites to obedience. He tells them to follow His commands—not as a set of rules to restrict them, but as a path to blessing and fulfillment. His laws are not burdens; they are a roadmap for living a life of peace, joy, and harmony.
Psalm 119 echoes this: “Blessed are they who follow the law of the Lord.” This isn’t about blind obedience but about trusting that God’s ways lead to something greater. When He commands us to love, to forgive, to let go of resentment, He isn’t making life harder—He’s showing us how to be free.
Then Jesus raises the bar even higher. “Love your enemies. Pray for those who persecute you.”
The Hardest Command
Of all the things Jesus asks of us, this might be the hardest. Loving those who hurt us doesn’t come naturally. It’s far easier to hold onto anger, to justify our resentment, to keep a safe distance.
But Jesus doesn’t say, “Love them once they apologize.” He doesn’t say, “Pray for them when they’ve changed.” He just says, “Love them. Pray for them.” No conditions, no loopholes.
And let’s be honest—sometimes our “enemies” aren’t distant people. Sometimes, they’re the ones closest to us. A family member we no longer speak to. A coworker who makes our lives difficult. A neighbor who seems impossible to get along with. The person who frustrates us most might not be a stranger—it might be someone sitting in the next pew.
Loving them doesn’t mean ignoring the hurt or pretending nothing happened. It means choosing kindness over resentment, mercy over revenge, and prayer over bitterness.
Letting Go for Our Own Sake
Grudges don’t punish the other person; they punish us. Holding onto anger is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to suffer.
That’s why Jesus calls us to radical love—not just for the sake of others, but for our own freedom. When we refuse to forgive, when we hold onto resentment, it’s like carrying a heavy weight that only wears us down. But when we choose love, when we surrender that anger to God, we discover peace.
A Challenge for This Week
Think about your own life.
• Is there someone you need to forgive? • Is there a grudge you’ve been carrying that’s weighing you down? • Is there a prayer you need to say—not to change them, but to heal your own heart?
Loving our enemies isn’t about letting them “win.” It’s about letting go of what holds us back. It’s about choosing the way of Christ, one small act of love at a time.
And if we do? We won’t just be following a command—we’ll be stepping into a life of true peace, the kind only God can give.
Amen.
Going Beyond the Bare Minimum 03-14-25
A high school teacher once made a bold announcement: anyone aiming for the minimum passing grade would automatically fail. The students were outraged. “That’s not fair!” one protested. The teacher replied, “Education isn’t about avoiding failure—it’s about pursuing excellence.”
Jesus makes the same point in today’s Gospel. He says, “Unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven” (Mt 5:20). The Pharisees followed every rule, yet their faith was hollow. They obeyed the law, but their hearts remained untouched by love and mercy.
Many people approach faith the same way—just doing enough to “pass.” They avoid serious sin, go to Mass, say a few prayers, and think that’s enough. But Jesus wants more than rule-followers. He wants disciples. He doesn’t just say, “Don’t kill.” He says, “Remove anger from your heart.” He doesn’t just say, “Don’t commit adultery.” He says, “Have a pure heart.” Faith isn’t about avoiding sin—it’s about seeking holiness.
This isn’t just about religion; it’s about how we live. It’s not enough to say, “I haven’t hurt my spouse, my children, or my friends.” Have you loved them? Have you been patient, kind, and generous? Have you gone out of your way to bring joy to someone else?
The Pharisees asked, “What do I have to do?” A true disciple asks, “How much can I love?” That’s the difference between meeting expectations and exceeding them, between going through the motions and truly giving your heart to God.
Imagine if that teacher’s students had stopped aiming for the bare minimum and started striving for something greater. Their education—and their lives—would have been transformed. Jesus is asking the same of us. He doesn’t call us to scrape by—He calls us to greatness. Don’t settle. Give God your best. Give Him your heart.
Jesus makes the same point in today’s Gospel. He says, “Unless your righteousness surpasses that of the scribes and Pharisees, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven” (Mt 5:20). The Pharisees followed every rule, yet their faith was hollow. They obeyed the law, but their hearts remained untouched by love and mercy.
Many people approach faith the same way—just doing enough to “pass.” They avoid serious sin, go to Mass, say a few prayers, and think that’s enough. But Jesus wants more than rule-followers. He wants disciples. He doesn’t just say, “Don’t kill.” He says, “Remove anger from your heart.” He doesn’t just say, “Don’t commit adultery.” He says, “Have a pure heart.” Faith isn’t about avoiding sin—it’s about seeking holiness.
This isn’t just about religion; it’s about how we live. It’s not enough to say, “I haven’t hurt my spouse, my children, or my friends.” Have you loved them? Have you been patient, kind, and generous? Have you gone out of your way to bring joy to someone else?
The Pharisees asked, “What do I have to do?” A true disciple asks, “How much can I love?” That’s the difference between meeting expectations and exceeding them, between going through the motions and truly giving your heart to God.
Imagine if that teacher’s students had stopped aiming for the bare minimum and started striving for something greater. Their education—and their lives—would have been transformed. Jesus is asking the same of us. He doesn’t call us to scrape by—He calls us to greatness. Don’t settle. Give God your best. Give Him your heart.
Ask, Seek, Knock – Trusting God’s Timing 03-13-25
There’s an old story about a man stranded on a rooftop during a flood. As the waters rise, he folds his hands in prayer and says, “Lord, save me!” Not long after, a neighbor paddles by in a canoe. “Hop in!” the neighbor calls.The man shakes his head. “No thanks, I’m waiting for God to save me.”
The waters keep rising. A rescue boat arrives. “Sir, get in! The flood’s getting worse.”
Again, the man refuses. “No need. God’s got this.”
Eventually, the water reaches the rooftop, and a helicopter swoops in. A rope ladder drops down, and the pilot shouts, “This is your last chance! Grab the ladder!”
Once again, the man stands firm. “I trust in God. He will save me.”
Minutes later, the flood overtakes him. He drowns.
When he arrives in heaven, dripping wet, he asks, “Lord, why didn’t You save me?”
God sighs and says, “I sent you a canoe, a boat, and a helicopter. What more did you want?”
It’s a funny story, but also painfully familiar. How often do we miss God’s answers because we expect something different? We pray for help, but when solutions come in a way we don’t recognize—through people, opportunities, or even hardships—we ignore them, still waiting for a dramatic miracle.
Today’s readings remind us that God is always listening, but His answers don’t always come as we expect.
Look at Queen Esther. She’s in a desperate situation. Her people face destruction, and fear grips her heart. But instead of panicking (or just venting to her friends, as we often do), she turns to God in heartfelt prayer. She doesn’t demand an immediate rescue—she asks for wisdom, strength, and favor. And God provides.
Psalm 138 echoes this lesson. The psalmist praises God, not just for past blessings, but for His faithfulness in the midst of uncertainty. “When I called, You answered me.” Not always instantly, not always in the way he expected, but always faithfully.
Then, in the Gospel, Jesus gives us one of the most reassuring invitations in Scripture: “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened.” Notice the action words—ask, seek, knock. Prayer isn’t a passive thing. It’s an ongoing relationship of trust.
And yet, God’s answers come in different forms:
YES – And we rejoice! Like when you pray for a parking spot at church, and—miracle!—there it is.
WAIT – This one’s tough. It’s like when a child asks, “Are we there yet?” and the parent keeps saying, “Almost.” God’s timing is perfect, but our patience? Not so much.
NO – This one’s even harder. But sometimes, God’s “no” is a hidden mercy. Think back to that high school crush you prayed to marry—aren’t you glad now that God had other plans?
So, what do we take from today’s readings?
Pray like Esther—lay your heart before God, but trust His plan.
Praise like the psalmist—thank God not just for what He’s done, but for what He’s still doing.
Trust like Jesus teaches—keep asking, seeking, and knocking. Even when the answer isn’t what we expected, God is never silent or absent.
And the next time you pray for help, remember—if a canoe, a boat, or a helicopter shows up, don’t be too stubborn to climb aboard.
Amen.
The waters keep rising. A rescue boat arrives. “Sir, get in! The flood’s getting worse.”
Again, the man refuses. “No need. God’s got this.”
Eventually, the water reaches the rooftop, and a helicopter swoops in. A rope ladder drops down, and the pilot shouts, “This is your last chance! Grab the ladder!”
Once again, the man stands firm. “I trust in God. He will save me.”
Minutes later, the flood overtakes him. He drowns.
When he arrives in heaven, dripping wet, he asks, “Lord, why didn’t You save me?”
God sighs and says, “I sent you a canoe, a boat, and a helicopter. What more did you want?”
It’s a funny story, but also painfully familiar. How often do we miss God’s answers because we expect something different? We pray for help, but when solutions come in a way we don’t recognize—through people, opportunities, or even hardships—we ignore them, still waiting for a dramatic miracle.
Today’s readings remind us that God is always listening, but His answers don’t always come as we expect.
Look at Queen Esther. She’s in a desperate situation. Her people face destruction, and fear grips her heart. But instead of panicking (or just venting to her friends, as we often do), she turns to God in heartfelt prayer. She doesn’t demand an immediate rescue—she asks for wisdom, strength, and favor. And God provides.
Psalm 138 echoes this lesson. The psalmist praises God, not just for past blessings, but for His faithfulness in the midst of uncertainty. “When I called, You answered me.” Not always instantly, not always in the way he expected, but always faithfully.
Then, in the Gospel, Jesus gives us one of the most reassuring invitations in Scripture: “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and the door will be opened.” Notice the action words—ask, seek, knock. Prayer isn’t a passive thing. It’s an ongoing relationship of trust.
And yet, God’s answers come in different forms:
YES – And we rejoice! Like when you pray for a parking spot at church, and—miracle!—there it is.
WAIT – This one’s tough. It’s like when a child asks, “Are we there yet?” and the parent keeps saying, “Almost.” God’s timing is perfect, but our patience? Not so much.
NO – This one’s even harder. But sometimes, God’s “no” is a hidden mercy. Think back to that high school crush you prayed to marry—aren’t you glad now that God had other plans?
So, what do we take from today’s readings?
Pray like Esther—lay your heart before God, but trust His plan.
Praise like the psalmist—thank God not just for what He’s done, but for what He’s still doing.
Trust like Jesus teaches—keep asking, seeking, and knocking. Even when the answer isn’t what we expected, God is never silent or absent.
And the next time you pray for help, remember—if a canoe, a boat, or a helicopter shows up, don’t be too stubborn to climb aboard.
Amen.
Prayer, Trust, and Letting Go of the Need to Know 03-11-25
Introduction: The Grandpa Who “Knew Everything”
There was a grandfather who prided himself on knowing absolutely everything. No matter the topic, he had an answer. One day, his grandson came running up, excited.
“Grandpa! Did you know the human body is 60% water?”
The old man leaned back in his chair, nodded knowingly, and said, “Yep. That’s why I never trust my weight. It’s probably just water retention.”
A few days later, the boy came back with another fact. “Grandpa! Did you know light takes over eight minutes to travel from the sun to the earth?”
Without skipping a beat, Grandpa replied, “And that’s why I’m always late. By the time I see the clock, it’s already in the past.”
Eventually, the boy caught on. “Grandpa, do you actually know everything?”
The old man chuckled. “No, son. But if you say anything with confidence, people think you do.”
We laugh at that, but isn’t that exactly what Jesus warns us about in today’s Gospel? Some people think if they pray long enough, loud enough, or use just the right words, God will be impressed. But Jesus teaches us that prayer isn’t about showing off or pretending we have all the answers. It’s about trusting that God already knows what we need before we ask.
God’s Word Always Works (Isaiah 55:10-11)
Isaiah tells us that God’s word is like rain—it always fulfills its purpose. But here’s the challenge: we must be patient. Too often, we treat prayer like a vending machine. We put in our request, press the button, and expect immediate results. But God works more like a garden. His word is planted in our hearts, and over time, it grows.
Have you ever prayed for something and felt like nothing was happening? Maybe you’re praying for a family member to return to the faith, for healing, or for guidance. Remember: just because you don’t see results right away doesn’t mean God isn’t working.
The Right Way to Pray (Matthew 6:7-15)
In the Gospel, Jesus gives us the Lord’s Prayer. Notice how simple it is—no fancy words, no long explanations. It’s about surrender. “Thy will be done.” That’s the hardest part, isn’t it? We’d prefer to pray, “Lord, MY will be done.”
Then there’s the tricky part: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Ah, yes. We love receiving forgiveness, but giving it? Not as easy. We sometimes hold onto grudges like prized possessions. We might say, “I’ll forgive… but I won’t forget.” But Jesus teaches us that real prayer changes us—it softens our hearts, making us more like Him.
God Always Hears Us (Psalm 34:4-19)
The psalmist reminds us that when we seek the Lord, He hears us. That doesn’t mean life will be free of problems. Even the righteous face challenges. But God is always near. Sometimes, we just need to be still long enough to notice.
Conclusion: Trust the Process
So, what’s the takeaway? First, trust that God’s word is always at work, even if you don’t see immediate results. Second, pray with sincerity—God already knows what you need. And finally, live what you pray. If you ask for forgiveness, be willing to forgive.
And maybe, just maybe, be a little quicker to admit when you don’t have all the answers. Even Grandpa had to learn that lesson eventually.
There was a grandfather who prided himself on knowing absolutely everything. No matter the topic, he had an answer. One day, his grandson came running up, excited.
“Grandpa! Did you know the human body is 60% water?”
The old man leaned back in his chair, nodded knowingly, and said, “Yep. That’s why I never trust my weight. It’s probably just water retention.”
A few days later, the boy came back with another fact. “Grandpa! Did you know light takes over eight minutes to travel from the sun to the earth?”
Without skipping a beat, Grandpa replied, “And that’s why I’m always late. By the time I see the clock, it’s already in the past.”
Eventually, the boy caught on. “Grandpa, do you actually know everything?”
The old man chuckled. “No, son. But if you say anything with confidence, people think you do.”
We laugh at that, but isn’t that exactly what Jesus warns us about in today’s Gospel? Some people think if they pray long enough, loud enough, or use just the right words, God will be impressed. But Jesus teaches us that prayer isn’t about showing off or pretending we have all the answers. It’s about trusting that God already knows what we need before we ask.
God’s Word Always Works (Isaiah 55:10-11)
Isaiah tells us that God’s word is like rain—it always fulfills its purpose. But here’s the challenge: we must be patient. Too often, we treat prayer like a vending machine. We put in our request, press the button, and expect immediate results. But God works more like a garden. His word is planted in our hearts, and over time, it grows.
Have you ever prayed for something and felt like nothing was happening? Maybe you’re praying for a family member to return to the faith, for healing, or for guidance. Remember: just because you don’t see results right away doesn’t mean God isn’t working.
The Right Way to Pray (Matthew 6:7-15)
In the Gospel, Jesus gives us the Lord’s Prayer. Notice how simple it is—no fancy words, no long explanations. It’s about surrender. “Thy will be done.” That’s the hardest part, isn’t it? We’d prefer to pray, “Lord, MY will be done.”
Then there’s the tricky part: “Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us.” Ah, yes. We love receiving forgiveness, but giving it? Not as easy. We sometimes hold onto grudges like prized possessions. We might say, “I’ll forgive… but I won’t forget.” But Jesus teaches us that real prayer changes us—it softens our hearts, making us more like Him.
God Always Hears Us (Psalm 34:4-19)
The psalmist reminds us that when we seek the Lord, He hears us. That doesn’t mean life will be free of problems. Even the righteous face challenges. But God is always near. Sometimes, we just need to be still long enough to notice.
Conclusion: Trust the Process
So, what’s the takeaway? First, trust that God’s word is always at work, even if you don’t see immediate results. Second, pray with sincerity—God already knows what you need. And finally, live what you pray. If you ask for forgiveness, be willing to forgive.
And maybe, just maybe, be a little quicker to admit when you don’t have all the answers. Even Grandpa had to learn that lesson eventually.
The Power of God’s Word in Our Lives 03-10-25
A man once bought a small packet of flower seeds. On the package was a beautiful picture of a garden in full bloom. Excited, he planted the seeds in his backyard, watered them, and waited. Days passed, then weeks—nothing happened. Frustrated, he almost gave up, convinced the seeds were defective. But then, one morning, tiny green shoots appeared. Over time, they grew into the very flowers pictured on the packet.
What the man didn’t realize was that the seeds had been working all along—hidden beneath the soil, taking root, preparing to grow. He just couldn’t see it yet.
This is how God’s word works in our lives.
God’s Word Always Bears Fruit
In our first reading, Isaiah reminds us that God’s word never returns to Him empty—just as the rain and snow nourish the earth and make it fruitful, so too does God’s word accomplish its purpose in us. But, like seeds in the ground, its effects aren’t always immediate.
How often do we pray, read Scripture, or try to live out our faith but feel like nothing is changing? We may ask for strength to overcome a habit, but still struggle. We may pray for healing, but the pain lingers. We may hope for peace, but conflict continues. In those moments, it’s easy to think that God’s word isn’t working.
But Isaiah reassures us: God’s timing is not our timing. Just because we don’t see change doesn’t mean nothing is happening. Beneath the surface, beyond what we can see, God’s grace is at work. The seeds He plants will bloom at the right time.
Jesus Teaches Us to Trust in Prayer
In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives us the Lord’s Prayer. Before teaching it, He warns against “babbling like the pagans” who think that long, elaborate prayers will make God listen. Instead, He tells us to pray simply and from the heart, trusting that our Father already knows what we need.
Think about the words of the Our Father. Every line teaches us something essential about our relationship with God: • “Give us this day our daily bread” – We ask for what we need, not everything we want. • “Forgive us our trespasses” – We acknowledge our own faults and ask for mercy. • “As we forgive those who trespass against us” – We commit to showing the same mercy to others. • “Thy will be done” – We surrender to God’s plan, even when it’s not clear.
The Lord’s Prayer isn’t just a set of words—it’s a way of life. It teaches us to trust, to be patient, and to believe that God is always working, even when we don’t see it.
Living the Message
So, what do we do when we don’t see immediate results in our spiritual lives? First, be patient. Just because you don’t see change doesn’t mean God isn’t working. His grace is often slow and steady, like seeds taking root beneath the soil.
Second, be faithful. Keep praying, keep reading Scripture, and keep doing good—even when it feels like nothing is happening. Just as a farmer tends his crops long before the harvest, we must nurture our faith with trust and perseverance.
Finally, trust in God’s timing. The seeds He plants in your heart will bear fruit when the time is right. Sometimes, we only recognize His work when we look back and see how far we’ve come.
Closing Thought
The next time you feel like your prayers aren’t making a difference, remember the flower seeds. Growth is happening beneath the surface, even if you can’t see it yet. God’s word is alive, and it will accomplish its purpose in you. Stay faithful, keep praying, and trust that, in His perfect time, you will see the fruits of His work in your life.
Amen.
What the man didn’t realize was that the seeds had been working all along—hidden beneath the soil, taking root, preparing to grow. He just couldn’t see it yet.
This is how God’s word works in our lives.
God’s Word Always Bears Fruit
In our first reading, Isaiah reminds us that God’s word never returns to Him empty—just as the rain and snow nourish the earth and make it fruitful, so too does God’s word accomplish its purpose in us. But, like seeds in the ground, its effects aren’t always immediate.
How often do we pray, read Scripture, or try to live out our faith but feel like nothing is changing? We may ask for strength to overcome a habit, but still struggle. We may pray for healing, but the pain lingers. We may hope for peace, but conflict continues. In those moments, it’s easy to think that God’s word isn’t working.
But Isaiah reassures us: God’s timing is not our timing. Just because we don’t see change doesn’t mean nothing is happening. Beneath the surface, beyond what we can see, God’s grace is at work. The seeds He plants will bloom at the right time.
Jesus Teaches Us to Trust in Prayer
In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives us the Lord’s Prayer. Before teaching it, He warns against “babbling like the pagans” who think that long, elaborate prayers will make God listen. Instead, He tells us to pray simply and from the heart, trusting that our Father already knows what we need.
Think about the words of the Our Father. Every line teaches us something essential about our relationship with God: • “Give us this day our daily bread” – We ask for what we need, not everything we want. • “Forgive us our trespasses” – We acknowledge our own faults and ask for mercy. • “As we forgive those who trespass against us” – We commit to showing the same mercy to others. • “Thy will be done” – We surrender to God’s plan, even when it’s not clear.
The Lord’s Prayer isn’t just a set of words—it’s a way of life. It teaches us to trust, to be patient, and to believe that God is always working, even when we don’t see it.
Living the Message
So, what do we do when we don’t see immediate results in our spiritual lives? First, be patient. Just because you don’t see change doesn’t mean God isn’t working. His grace is often slow and steady, like seeds taking root beneath the soil.
Second, be faithful. Keep praying, keep reading Scripture, and keep doing good—even when it feels like nothing is happening. Just as a farmer tends his crops long before the harvest, we must nurture our faith with trust and perseverance.
Finally, trust in God’s timing. The seeds He plants in your heart will bear fruit when the time is right. Sometimes, we only recognize His work when we look back and see how far we’ve come.
Closing Thought
The next time you feel like your prayers aren’t making a difference, remember the flower seeds. Growth is happening beneath the surface, even if you can’t see it yet. God’s word is alive, and it will accomplish its purpose in you. Stay faithful, keep praying, and trust that, in His perfect time, you will see the fruits of His work in your life.
Amen.
The Kindness That Saved a Life 03-09-25
Readings: Leviticus 19:1-18; Psalm 19:8-15; Matthew 25:31-46
Years ago, a man named John was walking home late at night when he saw a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk, shivering. Most people passed by without a glance, but John hesitated. He took off his warm coat and gave it to the man. He even walked him to a nearby shelter. The next day, John received an unexpected call—his job was offering him a long-awaited promotion. What he didn’t know at the time was that his boss had witnessed his act of kindness. The company had been looking for someone with not just skill, but character. That night, John unknowingly encountered an opportunity that changed his life.
We often think of God’s judgment as something distant, something reserved for the end of time. But today’s Gospel reminds us that judgment is happening every day, through the choices we make—especially in how we treat others, particularly the least among us.
In the first reading, Leviticus teaches us that holiness is not simply about rituals or religious observances, but about how we live in relationship with others. “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” it says. This is not a suggestion; it is a command. God does not just call us to avoid wrongdoing—He calls us to actively do good. Holiness is measured by our honesty, our compassion, and our care for the poor and the vulnerable.
Psalm 19 tells us that God’s law is not a burden, but a source of joy. “The precepts of the Lord give joy to the heart.” The more we align our hearts with God’s ways, the more we experience a deeper, lasting joy—not the fleeting satisfaction that comes from wealth or success, but the peace that comes from knowing we are living in love.
And then we come to the Gospel—one of the most striking passages in all of Scripture. Jesus, like a shepherd, separates people into two groups. To one, He says, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father,” and to the other, He says, “Depart from me.” The difference between the two groups is not theology or knowledge. It is action. Those who served the hungry, the thirsty, the sick, and the imprisoned are welcomed into the Kingdom, while those who ignored them are turned away. What’s shocking is that neither group realized they were encountering Christ in the people they served—or failed to serve. “Lord, when did we see you hungry?” they ask. And Jesus responds, “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.”
It’s easy to think holiness is about what we don’t do—avoiding sin, staying out of trouble, keeping our hands clean. But Jesus challenges us to go further. What good are we doing? Are we noticing the needs around us, or do we walk past like so many did with the homeless man John encountered? Do we give our time, our compassion, our resources? Or do we tell ourselves that someone else will help?
Sometimes, we hesitate because we wonder if someone “deserves” our help. But notice—Jesus does not say, “Feed the hungry, unless they made bad choices.” He does not say, “Welcome the stranger, unless they are different from you.” He simply commands us to love. The measure of our lives will not be what we claimed to believe, but what we did with that belief.
We may never know how one small act of love will ripple into eternity. John’s simple act of kindness changed his life and the life of a man in need. Likewise, our actions today shape our eternal future. If Jesus disguised Himself as the person most in need in our lives, would we recognize Him? Would we respond? Because in truth, He is there. And He is waiting.
We often think of God’s judgment as something distant, something reserved for the end of time. But today’s Gospel reminds us that judgment is happening every day, through the choices we make—especially in how we treat others, particularly the least among us.
In the first reading, Leviticus teaches us that holiness is not simply about rituals or religious observances, but about how we live in relationship with others. “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” it says. This is not a suggestion; it is a command. God does not just call us to avoid wrongdoing—He calls us to actively do good. Holiness is measured by our honesty, our compassion, and our care for the poor and the vulnerable.
Psalm 19 tells us that God’s law is not a burden, but a source of joy. “The precepts of the Lord give joy to the heart.” The more we align our hearts with God’s ways, the more we experience a deeper, lasting joy—not the fleeting satisfaction that comes from wealth or success, but the peace that comes from knowing we are living in love.
And then we come to the Gospel—one of the most striking passages in all of Scripture. Jesus, like a shepherd, separates people into two groups. To one, He says, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father,” and to the other, He says, “Depart from me.” The difference between the two groups is not theology or knowledge. It is action. Those who served the hungry, the thirsty, the sick, and the imprisoned are welcomed into the Kingdom, while those who ignored them are turned away. What’s shocking is that neither group realized they were encountering Christ in the people they served—or failed to serve. “Lord, when did we see you hungry?” they ask. And Jesus responds, “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.”
It’s easy to think holiness is about what we don’t do—avoiding sin, staying out of trouble, keeping our hands clean. But Jesus challenges us to go further. What good are we doing? Are we noticing the needs around us, or do we walk past like so many did with the homeless man John encountered? Do we give our time, our compassion, our resources? Or do we tell ourselves that someone else will help?
Sometimes, we hesitate because we wonder if someone “deserves” our help. But notice—Jesus does not say, “Feed the hungry, unless they made bad choices.” He does not say, “Welcome the stranger, unless they are different from you.” He simply commands us to love. The measure of our lives will not be what we claimed to believe, but what we did with that belief.
We may never know how one small act of love will ripple into eternity. John’s simple act of kindness changed his life and the life of a man in need. Likewise, our actions today shape our eternal future. If Jesus disguised Himself as the person most in need in our lives, would we recognize Him? Would we respond? Because in truth, He is there. And He is waiting.
The Kindness That Saved a Life 03-08-25
Readings: Leviticus 19:1-18; Psalm 19:8-15; Matthew 25:31-46
Years ago, a man named John was walking home late at night when he saw a homeless man sitting on the sidewalk, shivering. Most people passed by without a glance, but John hesitated. He took off his warm coat and gave it to the man. He even walked him to a nearby shelter. The next day, John received an unexpected call—his job was offering him a long-awaited promotion. What he didn’t know at the time was that his boss had witnessed his act of kindness. The company had been looking for someone with not just skill, but character. That night, John unknowingly encountered an opportunity that changed his life.
We often think of God’s judgment as something distant, something reserved for the end of time. But today’s Gospel reminds us that judgment is happening every day, through the choices we make—especially in how we treat others, particularly the least among us.
In the first reading, Leviticus teaches us that holiness is not simply about rituals or religious observances, but about how we live in relationship with others. “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” it says. This is not a suggestion; it is a command. God does not just call us to avoid wrongdoing—He calls us to actively do good. Holiness is measured by our honesty, our compassion, and our care for the poor and the vulnerable.
Psalm 19 tells us that God’s law is not a burden, but a source of joy. “The precepts of the Lord give joy to the heart.” The more we align our hearts with God’s ways, the more we experience a deeper, lasting joy—not the fleeting satisfaction that comes from wealth or success, but the peace that comes from knowing we are living in love.
And then we come to the Gospel—one of the most striking passages in all of Scripture. Jesus, like a shepherd, separates people into two groups. To one, He says, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father,” and to the other, He says, “Depart from me.” The difference between the two groups is not theology or knowledge. It is action. Those who served the hungry, the thirsty, the sick, and the imprisoned are welcomed into the Kingdom, while those who ignored them are turned away. What’s shocking is that neither group realized they were encountering Christ in the people they served—or failed to serve. “Lord, when did we see you hungry?” they ask. And Jesus responds, “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.”
It’s easy to think holiness is about what we don’t do—avoiding sin, staying out of trouble, keeping our hands clean. But Jesus challenges us to go further. What good are we doing? Are we noticing the needs around us, or do we walk past like so many did with the homeless man John encountered? Do we give our time, our compassion, our resources? Or do we tell ourselves that someone else will help?
Sometimes, we hesitate because we wonder if someone “deserves” our help. But notice—Jesus does not say, “Feed the hungry, unless they made bad choices.” He does not say, “Welcome the stranger, unless they are different from you.” He simply commands us to love. The measure of our lives will not be what we claimed to believe, but what we did with that belief.
We may never know how one small act of love will ripple into eternity. John’s simple act of kindness changed his life and the life of a man in need. Likewise, our actions today shape our eternal future. If Jesus disguised Himself as the person most in need in our lives, would we recognize Him? Would we respond? Because in truth, He is there. And He is waiting.
We often think of God’s judgment as something distant, something reserved for the end of time. But today’s Gospel reminds us that judgment is happening every day, through the choices we make—especially in how we treat others, particularly the least among us.
In the first reading, Leviticus teaches us that holiness is not simply about rituals or religious observances, but about how we live in relationship with others. “You shall love your neighbor as yourself,” it says. This is not a suggestion; it is a command. God does not just call us to avoid wrongdoing—He calls us to actively do good. Holiness is measured by our honesty, our compassion, and our care for the poor and the vulnerable.
Psalm 19 tells us that God’s law is not a burden, but a source of joy. “The precepts of the Lord give joy to the heart.” The more we align our hearts with God’s ways, the more we experience a deeper, lasting joy—not the fleeting satisfaction that comes from wealth or success, but the peace that comes from knowing we are living in love.
And then we come to the Gospel—one of the most striking passages in all of Scripture. Jesus, like a shepherd, separates people into two groups. To one, He says, “Come, you who are blessed by my Father,” and to the other, He says, “Depart from me.” The difference between the two groups is not theology or knowledge. It is action. Those who served the hungry, the thirsty, the sick, and the imprisoned are welcomed into the Kingdom, while those who ignored them are turned away. What’s shocking is that neither group realized they were encountering Christ in the people they served—or failed to serve. “Lord, when did we see you hungry?” they ask. And Jesus responds, “Whatever you did for the least of these, you did for me.”
It’s easy to think holiness is about what we don’t do—avoiding sin, staying out of trouble, keeping our hands clean. But Jesus challenges us to go further. What good are we doing? Are we noticing the needs around us, or do we walk past like so many did with the homeless man John encountered? Do we give our time, our compassion, our resources? Or do we tell ourselves that someone else will help?
Sometimes, we hesitate because we wonder if someone “deserves” our help. But notice—Jesus does not say, “Feed the hungry, unless they made bad choices.” He does not say, “Welcome the stranger, unless they are different from you.” He simply commands us to love. The measure of our lives will not be what we claimed to believe, but what we did with that belief.
We may never know how one small act of love will ripple into eternity. John’s simple act of kindness changed his life and the life of a man in need. Likewise, our actions today shape our eternal future. If Jesus disguised Himself as the person most in need in our lives, would we recognize Him? Would we respond? Because in truth, He is there. And He is waiting.
A Place for the Broken 03-08-25
Readings: Isaiah 58:9b-14; Psalm 86:1-6; Luke 5:27-32
There’s an old story about a man who walked into a church one Sunday, looking out of place. His clothes were ragged, his hair unkempt, and he carried the weight of years of bad choices on his shoulders. As he stepped inside, he could feel the stares—subtle but unmistakable. He found a seat in the back pew, head bowed, as if hoping to disappear.
After Mass, the priest approached him and said, “Welcome. We’re glad you’re here.”
The man hesitated, then whispered, “I don’t belong here. If people knew my past, they wouldn’t want me sitting next to them.”
The priest smiled and said, “This isn’t a place for perfect people. It’s a place for those who need God. Which means you belong here just as much as anyone else.”
This is the heart of today’s Gospel.
Jesus sees Levi, a tax collector despised by his people, and does something shocking—He calls him to follow. Levi doesn’t hesitate. He leaves everything behind. But even more astonishing, he throws a banquet, inviting Jesus and other tax collectors and sinners.
The religious leaders are outraged. “Why does He eat with tax collectors and sinners?” they grumble. Jesus responds: “Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do. I have not come to call the righteous to repentance, but sinners.”
This moment reveals God’s mercy. Society labels people—some as worthy, others as lost causes. But Jesus seeks out the broken, the outcast, and the sinner. He doesn’t wait for them to change; He calls them as they are and leads them to something greater.
Isaiah reminds us that if we remove oppression, stop pointing fingers, and lift others up instead of condemning them, our light will shine in the darkness. The psalm echoes this, praising a God who is “good and forgiving, abounding in mercy.” And in the Gospel, Jesus lives this mercy—not in theory, but in action.
Do we?
Like the Pharisees, we sometimes think holiness means separating ourselves from sinners instead of bringing them home. Do we welcome struggling souls, or do we silently judge from a distance? Do we, like Jesus, seek out the lost, or do we wait for them to clean up their act first?
The Church is not a museum for saints; it is a hospital for sinners—including us. Imagine if every person, no matter their past, could walk through our doors and not feel judged but embraced.
The man who walked into that church, afraid he didn’t belong? He stayed because someone welcomed him. Over time, he wasn’t just a visitor—he became part of the community. He wasn’t perfect, but he was healed.
Today, Jesus walks by our tax booth. He sees our flaws, sins, and regrets and still says, Follow Me. He doesn’t ask us to be perfect first—He simply calls. And He asks us to do the same for others.
So, when the Lord looks at us, may He not find us among those who exclude and grumble. May He find us at the table, welcoming the wounded—because we, too, have been healed by His mercy.
Amen.
After Mass, the priest approached him and said, “Welcome. We’re glad you’re here.”
The man hesitated, then whispered, “I don’t belong here. If people knew my past, they wouldn’t want me sitting next to them.”
The priest smiled and said, “This isn’t a place for perfect people. It’s a place for those who need God. Which means you belong here just as much as anyone else.”
This is the heart of today’s Gospel.
Jesus sees Levi, a tax collector despised by his people, and does something shocking—He calls him to follow. Levi doesn’t hesitate. He leaves everything behind. But even more astonishing, he throws a banquet, inviting Jesus and other tax collectors and sinners.
The religious leaders are outraged. “Why does He eat with tax collectors and sinners?” they grumble. Jesus responds: “Those who are well do not need a physician, but the sick do. I have not come to call the righteous to repentance, but sinners.”
This moment reveals God’s mercy. Society labels people—some as worthy, others as lost causes. But Jesus seeks out the broken, the outcast, and the sinner. He doesn’t wait for them to change; He calls them as they are and leads them to something greater.
Isaiah reminds us that if we remove oppression, stop pointing fingers, and lift others up instead of condemning them, our light will shine in the darkness. The psalm echoes this, praising a God who is “good and forgiving, abounding in mercy.” And in the Gospel, Jesus lives this mercy—not in theory, but in action.
Do we?
Like the Pharisees, we sometimes think holiness means separating ourselves from sinners instead of bringing them home. Do we welcome struggling souls, or do we silently judge from a distance? Do we, like Jesus, seek out the lost, or do we wait for them to clean up their act first?
The Church is not a museum for saints; it is a hospital for sinners—including us. Imagine if every person, no matter their past, could walk through our doors and not feel judged but embraced.
The man who walked into that church, afraid he didn’t belong? He stayed because someone welcomed him. Over time, he wasn’t just a visitor—he became part of the community. He wasn’t perfect, but he was healed.
Today, Jesus walks by our tax booth. He sees our flaws, sins, and regrets and still says, Follow Me. He doesn’t ask us to be perfect first—He simply calls. And He asks us to do the same for others.
So, when the Lord looks at us, may He not find us among those who exclude and grumble. May He find us at the table, welcoming the wounded—because we, too, have been healed by His mercy.
Amen.
FASTING THAT FEEDS THE SOUL Emptying the Heart, Not Just the Plate 03-07-25
Readings: Isaiah 58:1-9a; Psalm 51:3-19; Matthew 9:14-15
Option 1There’s an old folk story about a man named Stefan who wanted to be known as the most religious person in his village. Every year during Lent, he would fast rigorously, making sure everyone knew about it. He avoided meat, gave up sweets, and even walked around looking tired to show how much he was suffering for God.
One evening, he visited a wise monk and said proudly, “Father, I have eaten nothing but bread and water for weeks. Surely God must be pleased with my sacrifice.” The monk looked at him kindly and asked, “Stefan, in these weeks of fasting, have you been more patient with your wife? Have you been more generous to the poor? Have you reconciled with your neighbor whom you quarreled with last month?”
Stefan hesitated. “Well… no, but I have denied myself food.” The monk smiled and said, “If bread and water were all that God wanted, He would be more pleased with a donkey than with you.”
This story captures the heart of today’s readings. In Isaiah, God rebukes the people for fasting while continuing to argue, oppress the poor, and serve their own interests. He tells them plainly: “This is the fasting I desire: to break the chains of injustice, to share your bread with the hungry, to welcome the homeless, and clothe the naked.” True fasting isn’t about looking religious; it’s about becoming more loving.
In the Gospel, Jesus is asked why His disciples do not fast like others. He responds, “The bridegroom is with them.” His point is clear: fasting is not just about rituals but about relationship. If our fasting does not bring us closer to God and neighbor, then we are missing the point.
What if, instead of just giving up food, we fasted from impatience and replaced it with kindness? What if we fasted from gossip and replaced it with encouragement? What if we fasted from complaining and replaced it with gratitude?
At the end of our lives, God won’t ask how many days we went without food. He will ask: Did you feed the hungry? Did you care for the suffering? Did your fasting make you a more compassionate person?
True fasting is not just about what we give up but what we give to others. May our sacrifices not only bring us closer to God but also make His love more visible in the world. Amen.
Option 2 A priest once visited a small town known for its devout religious practices. As Lent approached, he noticed how seriously the people took their fasting. Meals were simple, meat was avoided, and prayers were lengthy. Yet, as he spent time among them, he observed something troubling—people were quick to judge, slow to forgive, and indifferent to the struggles of their neighbors.
One evening, he sat with a woman named Anna, who sighed in frustration. “Father, I’ve been fasting all week—no sweets, no snacks, nothing but bread and water. But my coworker keeps taking credit for my ideas at work, and I can’t stop thinking about how unfair it is!”
The priest smiled and said, “Anna, fasting is not just about what you take off your plate. It’s about what you take out of your heart.”
Today’s readings remind us that true fasting is not just about external sacrifice, but inner transformation. Isaiah challenges us: “Is this the fast that I choose, merely a day to humble oneself? Is it only for bowing one’s head like a reed and lying in sackcloth and ashes?” (Isaiah 58:5). Then he reveals what truly pleases God: “This is the fast I desire: to break the chains of injustice, to free the oppressed, to share your bread with the hungry, to welcome the poor into your home.” (Isaiah 58:6-7).
In the Gospel, Jesus is asked why His disciples do not fast. He responds, “Can the wedding guests mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them?” (Matthew 9:15). Jesus is teaching us that fasting is not an end in itself—it is preparation. It clears away distractions so we can hunger for Him. Psalm 51 deepens this message: “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:10). Fasting is not just about food—it is about making space for God to renew our hearts.
Lent is a time for fasting, but it’s also a time for honesty. How often do we focus on what we’re giving up—whether it’s food, social media, or other comforts—while holding onto anger, pride, or indifference? Some people fast from food but feast on gossip. Some give up sweets but cling to bitterness. Some turn off distractions but refuse to listen to those in need. Fasting is not about subtraction—it’s about addition. It’s about creating space for love, mercy, and holiness.
This Lent, let’s fast with purpose. Fast from judgment by offering kindness instead of criticism. Fast from indifference by noticing and responding to someone’s suffering. Fast from resentment by forgiving a past wound. Fast from waste by sharing your time, talents, or resources with someone in need.
At the end of our lives, God will not ask how many meals we skipped. He will ask: Did your fasting make you more loving? Did your sacrifices help someone in need? Did you empty yourself of pride, resentment, and selfishness so I could fill you with My grace?
Like Anna in our story, let us not just empty our plates—let us open our hearts. Because a fast that does not change us is simply a diet—but a fast that transforms us is a gift to God.
And that is the fast that pleases the Lord. Amen.
One evening, he visited a wise monk and said proudly, “Father, I have eaten nothing but bread and water for weeks. Surely God must be pleased with my sacrifice.” The monk looked at him kindly and asked, “Stefan, in these weeks of fasting, have you been more patient with your wife? Have you been more generous to the poor? Have you reconciled with your neighbor whom you quarreled with last month?”
Stefan hesitated. “Well… no, but I have denied myself food.” The monk smiled and said, “If bread and water were all that God wanted, He would be more pleased with a donkey than with you.”
This story captures the heart of today’s readings. In Isaiah, God rebukes the people for fasting while continuing to argue, oppress the poor, and serve their own interests. He tells them plainly: “This is the fasting I desire: to break the chains of injustice, to share your bread with the hungry, to welcome the homeless, and clothe the naked.” True fasting isn’t about looking religious; it’s about becoming more loving.
In the Gospel, Jesus is asked why His disciples do not fast like others. He responds, “The bridegroom is with them.” His point is clear: fasting is not just about rituals but about relationship. If our fasting does not bring us closer to God and neighbor, then we are missing the point.
What if, instead of just giving up food, we fasted from impatience and replaced it with kindness? What if we fasted from gossip and replaced it with encouragement? What if we fasted from complaining and replaced it with gratitude?
At the end of our lives, God won’t ask how many days we went without food. He will ask: Did you feed the hungry? Did you care for the suffering? Did your fasting make you a more compassionate person?
True fasting is not just about what we give up but what we give to others. May our sacrifices not only bring us closer to God but also make His love more visible in the world. Amen.
Option 2 A priest once visited a small town known for its devout religious practices. As Lent approached, he noticed how seriously the people took their fasting. Meals were simple, meat was avoided, and prayers were lengthy. Yet, as he spent time among them, he observed something troubling—people were quick to judge, slow to forgive, and indifferent to the struggles of their neighbors.
One evening, he sat with a woman named Anna, who sighed in frustration. “Father, I’ve been fasting all week—no sweets, no snacks, nothing but bread and water. But my coworker keeps taking credit for my ideas at work, and I can’t stop thinking about how unfair it is!”
The priest smiled and said, “Anna, fasting is not just about what you take off your plate. It’s about what you take out of your heart.”
Today’s readings remind us that true fasting is not just about external sacrifice, but inner transformation. Isaiah challenges us: “Is this the fast that I choose, merely a day to humble oneself? Is it only for bowing one’s head like a reed and lying in sackcloth and ashes?” (Isaiah 58:5). Then he reveals what truly pleases God: “This is the fast I desire: to break the chains of injustice, to free the oppressed, to share your bread with the hungry, to welcome the poor into your home.” (Isaiah 58:6-7).
In the Gospel, Jesus is asked why His disciples do not fast. He responds, “Can the wedding guests mourn as long as the bridegroom is with them?” (Matthew 9:15). Jesus is teaching us that fasting is not an end in itself—it is preparation. It clears away distractions so we can hunger for Him. Psalm 51 deepens this message: “Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” (Psalm 51:10). Fasting is not just about food—it is about making space for God to renew our hearts.
Lent is a time for fasting, but it’s also a time for honesty. How often do we focus on what we’re giving up—whether it’s food, social media, or other comforts—while holding onto anger, pride, or indifference? Some people fast from food but feast on gossip. Some give up sweets but cling to bitterness. Some turn off distractions but refuse to listen to those in need. Fasting is not about subtraction—it’s about addition. It’s about creating space for love, mercy, and holiness.
This Lent, let’s fast with purpose. Fast from judgment by offering kindness instead of criticism. Fast from indifference by noticing and responding to someone’s suffering. Fast from resentment by forgiving a past wound. Fast from waste by sharing your time, talents, or resources with someone in need.
At the end of our lives, God will not ask how many meals we skipped. He will ask: Did your fasting make you more loving? Did your sacrifices help someone in need? Did you empty yourself of pride, resentment, and selfishness so I could fill you with My grace?
Like Anna in our story, let us not just empty our plates—let us open our hearts. Because a fast that does not change us is simply a diet—but a fast that transforms us is a gift to God.
And that is the fast that pleases the Lord. Amen.
CHOOSING LIFE IN A WORLD OF SHORTCUTS 03-06-25
Readings: Deuteronomy 30:15-20; Psalm 1:1-6; Luke 9:22-25
Mark was a rising star in finance—smart, ambitious, and on the fast track to success. One day, he was offered a shortcut: a falsified report that would make him wealthy overnight. He hesitated. He knew it was wrong. But looking around, he saw others doing it without consequence. The temptation was too great.
At first, it worked. His wealth grew, his status soared. But soon, the truth caught up with him. His career collapsed. His reputation was ruined. One shortcut cost him everything.
Today’s readings present the same choice: do we take the easy road that leads to ruin, or the harder road that leads to life?
Moses stands before the Israelites and makes it clear: “I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life” (Deut 30:19). But choosing life isn’t just about existence—it’s about loving God, following His ways, and obeying His commands, even when it’s hard. Psalm 1 paints the contrast. The righteous are like a tree planted by water—strong and flourishing. The wicked are like chaff—rootless, weightless, blown away by the wind. The tree thrives because it is deeply rooted. The chaff drifts because it has nothing anchoring it.
Jesus takes this further: “Whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it” (Luke 9:24). The world tells us to seek comfort, success, and self-preservation. But Jesus warns that the easy road—the path of selfishness and compromise—often leads to deeper loss.
Every day, we make this choice. Do we act with integrity, or do we cut corners? Do we stay faithful when it’s difficult, or do we walk away? Do we avoid sacrifice, or do we embrace it, trusting that the cross leads to something greater? The easy road is tempting, but it leads nowhere. The harder road—the path of truth, faithfulness, and sacrifice—leads to real life.
Think back to Mark. He took the shortcut and lost everything. But when he hit rock bottom, he had a choice: stay in regret or rebuild with integrity. He chose the harder road. It wasn’t easy, but it led to peace.
Each of us stands at that crossroads every day. One path is wide, easy, and popular—but empty. The other is narrow, difficult, and requires trust—but leads to true life. Jesus calls us to the harder road. It may not be easy, but it is always worth it.
Choose life. Choose Christ. And never look back.
Amen.
Mark was a rising star in finance—smart, ambitious, and on the fast track to success. One day, he was offered a shortcut: a falsified report that would make him wealthy overnight. He hesitated. He knew it was wrong. But looking around, he saw others doing it without consequence. The temptation was too great.
At first, it worked. His wealth grew, his status soared. But soon, the truth caught up with him. His career collapsed. His reputation was ruined. One shortcut cost him everything.
Today’s readings present the same choice: do we take the easy road that leads to ruin, or the harder road that leads to life?
Moses stands before the Israelites and makes it clear: “I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse. Choose life” (Deut 30:19). But choosing life isn’t just about existence—it’s about loving God, following His ways, and obeying His commands, even when it’s hard. Psalm 1 paints the contrast. The righteous are like a tree planted by water—strong and flourishing. The wicked are like chaff—rootless, weightless, blown away by the wind. The tree thrives because it is deeply rooted. The chaff drifts because it has nothing anchoring it.
Jesus takes this further: “Whoever wishes to save his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for my sake will save it” (Luke 9:24). The world tells us to seek comfort, success, and self-preservation. But Jesus warns that the easy road—the path of selfishness and compromise—often leads to deeper loss.
Every day, we make this choice. Do we act with integrity, or do we cut corners? Do we stay faithful when it’s difficult, or do we walk away? Do we avoid sacrifice, or do we embrace it, trusting that the cross leads to something greater? The easy road is tempting, but it leads nowhere. The harder road—the path of truth, faithfulness, and sacrifice—leads to real life.
Think back to Mark. He took the shortcut and lost everything. But when he hit rock bottom, he had a choice: stay in regret or rebuild with integrity. He chose the harder road. It wasn’t easy, but it led to peace.
Each of us stands at that crossroads every day. One path is wide, easy, and popular—but empty. The other is narrow, difficult, and requires trust—but leads to true life. Jesus calls us to the harder road. It may not be easy, but it is always worth it.
Choose life. Choose Christ. And never look back.
Amen.
A Journey of the Heart, Not Just the Will Ash wednesday 03-05-25
Readings: Joel 2:12-18; Psalm 51:3-17; 2 Corinthians 5:20—6:2; Matthew 6:1-18
Introduction to Mass – Beginning of Lent
Brothers and sisters,
Today, we step into the holy season of Lent—a season not just of sacrifice, but of transformation. Over the next forty days, we are invited to turn away from distractions and turn toward God, not just in what we give up, but in how we love.
The ashes we receive today are not a sign of achievement but a reminder of our need for renewal. Our fasting, our prayers, and our acts of charity are not meant to be empty rituals but pathways to deeper compassion, greater humility, and a heart more like Christ’s.
As we begin this sacred journey together, let us ask the Lord to soften what is rigid within us, to fill what is empty, and to make this Lent not just a time of discipline, but a time of grace.
Let us now prepare our hearts to encounter the God who calls us to return to Him with all our hearts.
Homily
A young man named Alex once decided to take Lent seriously. He gave up sweets, prayed daily, and even attended daily Mass. But as the weeks passed, he became more focused on rules than on God. He judged others who didn’t fast or sacrifice as strictly as he did. By Holy Week, he was exhausted and frustrated—farther from God than when he started. Then, on Good Friday, as he knelt in the dim candlelit church, exhausted from weeks of trying to “do Lent right,” he noticed something simple yet profound: A mother, kneeling beside her young son, gently guiding his folded hands in prayer. She wasn’t focused on rigid perfection—she was present, loving, patient. And in that moment, Alex’s heart was pierced with the realization: “I’ve been doing Lent, but I haven’t been becoming more like Christ.”
Jesus warns us in the Gospel against performing religious acts just for show: praying to be seen, fasting to gain admiration, giving to charity so others will praise us. He isn’t saying that fasting, prayer, and almsgiving are bad—far from it! But they are meant to change us, to shape our hearts into something more like His. Think of it this way: Suppose you plant a garden. You prepare the soil, water the plants, and pull out weeds. But if, at the end of the season, no fruits or vegetables have grown, all your effort was meaningless. Likewise, if our fasting, prayers, and Lenten sacrifices don’t lead us to greater love—if they don’t make us more forgiving, more generous, more patient—then they are as empty as an unfruitful garden.
The prophet Joel cries out in our first reading: “Rend your hearts, not your garments!” In other words, don’t just go through the motions—let your heart break open before God. Lent is not a private challenge to see how much we can endure. It is a communal journey, meant to draw us closer not only to God but to one another. Our sacrifices should make us more compassionate, more aware of the struggles of those around us, and more willing to reach out in love.
Of course, by week two, some of us may be regretting our decision to give up coffee or chocolate. And by week four, we might be secretly negotiating with God: “Surely Sundays don’t count, right?” But Jesus never asked us to compete—He asked us to love. When He fasted in the desert, He wasn’t proving anything to Himself or to others. He was aligning His heart with the will of the Father, preparing for a mission of self-giving love. That is what our Lenten sacrifices should do as well. If our fasting makes us irritable, our prayers make us prideful, or our almsgiving makes us feel superior, then we have missed the heart of Lent.
This season is not just about what we give up, but about what we take on. Giving up sweets is good, but choosing to speak kindly when we’re tempted to be harsh is better. Saying your prayers daily is wonderful, but truly listening to God’s voice and allowing Him to shape our lives is even more important. Fasting from food can be spiritually beneficial, but fasting from gossip, selfishness, or impatience will bring us even closer to the heart of Christ.
So as we are marked with the ashes and hear the words, “Repent, and believe in the Gospel,” let us remember that Lent is not just about what we do, but about who we become. The ashes on our foreheads are not a badge of honor, a sign of how devout we are. Rather, they are a reminder of our potential for transformation. If we allow Lent to soften us, to make us more loving and Christ-like, then when Easter morning arrives, we will not only celebrate Christ’s victory over death—we will also celebrate the new life He has brought within us.
Final Blessing
Bow your heads and pray for God’s blessing.
May the Lord bless you in this holy season of Lent,that your fasting may open your heart to His mercy,your prayer draw you closer to His voice,and your sacrifices shape you more into the image of His Son.
May He soften what is rigid within you,heal what is wounded,fill what is empty,and renew in you a spirit of love and compassion.
May He take your Lenten offeringsand transform them into a path of grace,so that as you journey toward Easter with humility and trust,you may rise with Christ to the fullness of new life.
And may Almighty God bless you,the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Go in peace, and live this Lent with love.
Brothers and sisters,
Today, we step into the holy season of Lent—a season not just of sacrifice, but of transformation. Over the next forty days, we are invited to turn away from distractions and turn toward God, not just in what we give up, but in how we love.
The ashes we receive today are not a sign of achievement but a reminder of our need for renewal. Our fasting, our prayers, and our acts of charity are not meant to be empty rituals but pathways to deeper compassion, greater humility, and a heart more like Christ’s.
As we begin this sacred journey together, let us ask the Lord to soften what is rigid within us, to fill what is empty, and to make this Lent not just a time of discipline, but a time of grace.
Let us now prepare our hearts to encounter the God who calls us to return to Him with all our hearts.
Homily
A young man named Alex once decided to take Lent seriously. He gave up sweets, prayed daily, and even attended daily Mass. But as the weeks passed, he became more focused on rules than on God. He judged others who didn’t fast or sacrifice as strictly as he did. By Holy Week, he was exhausted and frustrated—farther from God than when he started. Then, on Good Friday, as he knelt in the dim candlelit church, exhausted from weeks of trying to “do Lent right,” he noticed something simple yet profound: A mother, kneeling beside her young son, gently guiding his folded hands in prayer. She wasn’t focused on rigid perfection—she was present, loving, patient. And in that moment, Alex’s heart was pierced with the realization: “I’ve been doing Lent, but I haven’t been becoming more like Christ.”
Jesus warns us in the Gospel against performing religious acts just for show: praying to be seen, fasting to gain admiration, giving to charity so others will praise us. He isn’t saying that fasting, prayer, and almsgiving are bad—far from it! But they are meant to change us, to shape our hearts into something more like His. Think of it this way: Suppose you plant a garden. You prepare the soil, water the plants, and pull out weeds. But if, at the end of the season, no fruits or vegetables have grown, all your effort was meaningless. Likewise, if our fasting, prayers, and Lenten sacrifices don’t lead us to greater love—if they don’t make us more forgiving, more generous, more patient—then they are as empty as an unfruitful garden.
The prophet Joel cries out in our first reading: “Rend your hearts, not your garments!” In other words, don’t just go through the motions—let your heart break open before God. Lent is not a private challenge to see how much we can endure. It is a communal journey, meant to draw us closer not only to God but to one another. Our sacrifices should make us more compassionate, more aware of the struggles of those around us, and more willing to reach out in love.
Of course, by week two, some of us may be regretting our decision to give up coffee or chocolate. And by week four, we might be secretly negotiating with God: “Surely Sundays don’t count, right?” But Jesus never asked us to compete—He asked us to love. When He fasted in the desert, He wasn’t proving anything to Himself or to others. He was aligning His heart with the will of the Father, preparing for a mission of self-giving love. That is what our Lenten sacrifices should do as well. If our fasting makes us irritable, our prayers make us prideful, or our almsgiving makes us feel superior, then we have missed the heart of Lent.
This season is not just about what we give up, but about what we take on. Giving up sweets is good, but choosing to speak kindly when we’re tempted to be harsh is better. Saying your prayers daily is wonderful, but truly listening to God’s voice and allowing Him to shape our lives is even more important. Fasting from food can be spiritually beneficial, but fasting from gossip, selfishness, or impatience will bring us even closer to the heart of Christ.
So as we are marked with the ashes and hear the words, “Repent, and believe in the Gospel,” let us remember that Lent is not just about what we do, but about who we become. The ashes on our foreheads are not a badge of honor, a sign of how devout we are. Rather, they are a reminder of our potential for transformation. If we allow Lent to soften us, to make us more loving and Christ-like, then when Easter morning arrives, we will not only celebrate Christ’s victory over death—we will also celebrate the new life He has brought within us.
Final Blessing
Bow your heads and pray for God’s blessing.
May the Lord bless you in this holy season of Lent,that your fasting may open your heart to His mercy,your prayer draw you closer to His voice,and your sacrifices shape you more into the image of His Son.
May He soften what is rigid within you,heal what is wounded,fill what is empty,and renew in you a spirit of love and compassion.
May He take your Lenten offeringsand transform them into a path of grace,so that as you journey toward Easter with humility and trust,you may rise with Christ to the fullness of new life.
And may Almighty God bless you,the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.
Go in peace, and live this Lent with love.
The Rewards of Generosity and Sacrifice 03-04-25
READINGS: Sirach 35:1-12; Psalm 50:5-23; Mark 10:28-31
Maria grew up in a small town where her family struggled to make ends meet. Despite their hardships, her mother always emphasized the importance of generosity. “Give what you can,” she would say, “and God will always take care of us.”
One particularly harsh winter, their elderly neighbor, a widow, had run out of firewood. Seeing her shivering in the cold, Maria’s mother took half of the little firewood they had and gave it to her. Maria was bewildered. “But Mama, we barely have enough for ourselves!” Her mother simply smiled and said, “Trust in the Lord’s abundance.”
The next morning, a truck arrived at their home, carrying more firewood than they had ever seen. A distant cousin, unaware of their need, had sent them enough to last the entire winter. Maria learned that day that generosity is never a loss—it is an investment in God’s providence.
The Heart of Today’s Readings
The readings today remind us of this same truth: that generosity and sacrifice are always rewarded by God.
In Sirach 35:1-12, we hear a clear message—giving to God is never in vain. “Give to the Most High as he has given to you, generously, according to your means.” This passage is not just about material giving but about offering our time, kindness, and trust. True generosity does not count the cost; it trusts in the abundance of God’s grace.
Psalm 50 reinforces this idea, reminding us that what God truly desires is not empty rituals but hearts that are grateful and faithful. He does not need our offerings, but He delights in our sincere worship and love.
Then, in Mark 10:28-31, Peter, who has left everything to follow Jesus, asks, “What will we get in return?” Jesus’ response is both a promise and a challenge: “There is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for my sake and for the Gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time—and in the age to come, eternal life.”
This is a radical assurance—every sacrifice made for Christ will be repaid beyond measure. But Jesus also warns, “Many who are first will be last, and the last first.” This reminds us that God’s way of measuring success is different from the world’s. The world values wealth, status, and comfort, but God values love, service, and self-sacrifice.
Living This Message Today
How does this message apply to our lives?
First, generosity should be a way of life. True generosity does not come from excess; it comes from a heart that trusts in God. Like Maria’s mother, we must give not because we have more than enough, but because we believe in the abundance of God’s blessings. This could mean sharing our time with someone in need, using our talents to serve others, or even giving financially when it feels difficult.
Second, we are called to make sacrifices for God’s Kingdom. Many of us have given up something for the sake of faith—perhaps a job opportunity, a comfortable life, or relationships that pulled us away from God. Jesus assures us that no sacrifice for Him goes unnoticed. Every act of love, service, and faithfulness is stored up in eternity.
Third, we must embrace God’s definition of reward. The world measures success in money, power, and prestige, but God’s rewards are far greater—peace in our hearts, strength in trials, joy that cannot be taken away, and the promise of eternal life. Sometimes, we may not see these rewards immediately, but God’s faithfulness is never delayed.
A Word of Wisdom
A wise priest once said, “What you give to God, you never truly lose.”
Maria learned this truth early in life, and today’s readings reaffirm it. When we give generously, trust deeply, and sacrifice for Christ, we may not always see immediate rewards, but we can be sure of one thing: God is never outdone in generosity. What we surrender for Him will return to us a hundredfold—in this life and in eternity.
So let us not be afraid to give, to trust, and to follow Christ wholeheartedly. In the end, He Himself is the greatest reward of all. Amen.
One particularly harsh winter, their elderly neighbor, a widow, had run out of firewood. Seeing her shivering in the cold, Maria’s mother took half of the little firewood they had and gave it to her. Maria was bewildered. “But Mama, we barely have enough for ourselves!” Her mother simply smiled and said, “Trust in the Lord’s abundance.”
The next morning, a truck arrived at their home, carrying more firewood than they had ever seen. A distant cousin, unaware of their need, had sent them enough to last the entire winter. Maria learned that day that generosity is never a loss—it is an investment in God’s providence.
The Heart of Today’s Readings
The readings today remind us of this same truth: that generosity and sacrifice are always rewarded by God.
In Sirach 35:1-12, we hear a clear message—giving to God is never in vain. “Give to the Most High as he has given to you, generously, according to your means.” This passage is not just about material giving but about offering our time, kindness, and trust. True generosity does not count the cost; it trusts in the abundance of God’s grace.
Psalm 50 reinforces this idea, reminding us that what God truly desires is not empty rituals but hearts that are grateful and faithful. He does not need our offerings, but He delights in our sincere worship and love.
Then, in Mark 10:28-31, Peter, who has left everything to follow Jesus, asks, “What will we get in return?” Jesus’ response is both a promise and a challenge: “There is no one who has left house or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or lands, for my sake and for the Gospel, who will not receive a hundredfold now in this time—and in the age to come, eternal life.”
This is a radical assurance—every sacrifice made for Christ will be repaid beyond measure. But Jesus also warns, “Many who are first will be last, and the last first.” This reminds us that God’s way of measuring success is different from the world’s. The world values wealth, status, and comfort, but God values love, service, and self-sacrifice.
Living This Message Today
How does this message apply to our lives?
First, generosity should be a way of life. True generosity does not come from excess; it comes from a heart that trusts in God. Like Maria’s mother, we must give not because we have more than enough, but because we believe in the abundance of God’s blessings. This could mean sharing our time with someone in need, using our talents to serve others, or even giving financially when it feels difficult.
Second, we are called to make sacrifices for God’s Kingdom. Many of us have given up something for the sake of faith—perhaps a job opportunity, a comfortable life, or relationships that pulled us away from God. Jesus assures us that no sacrifice for Him goes unnoticed. Every act of love, service, and faithfulness is stored up in eternity.
Third, we must embrace God’s definition of reward. The world measures success in money, power, and prestige, but God’s rewards are far greater—peace in our hearts, strength in trials, joy that cannot be taken away, and the promise of eternal life. Sometimes, we may not see these rewards immediately, but God’s faithfulness is never delayed.
A Word of Wisdom
A wise priest once said, “What you give to God, you never truly lose.”
Maria learned this truth early in life, and today’s readings reaffirm it. When we give generously, trust deeply, and sacrifice for Christ, we may not always see immediate rewards, but we can be sure of one thing: God is never outdone in generosity. What we surrender for Him will return to us a hundredfold—in this life and in eternity.
So let us not be afraid to give, to trust, and to follow Christ wholeheartedly. In the end, He Himself is the greatest reward of all. Amen.
Letting go to follow jesus 03-03-25
READINGS: Sirach 17:20-24; Psalm 32:1-7; Mark 10:17-27
William was a collector—not of stamps or baseball cards, but of things. His house was filled with antiques, rare books, and valuable artwork. Over the years, his possessions had become more than just objects; they had become his identity, his security. Then one day, a hurricane was coming, and he had to evacuate.
He ran through his home, frantically deciding what to take. But as the storm grew closer, he realized he couldn’t save it all. His greatest treasures, the things he had spent a lifetime collecting, had to be left behind. The next day, when he returned, much of it was gone. But instead of despair, he felt something unexpected—relief. For the first time in years, he felt free. The very things he had clung to had been weighing him down.
In today’s Gospel, the rich young man faces a similar dilemma. He is devout and sincere, keeping the commandments and wanting to do what is right. But when Jesus tells him, “Go, sell what you have and give to the poor… then come, follow me,” he walks away sad. He had been searching for eternal life, but when the cost was letting go, he couldn’t do it. His possessions weren’t just things—they were his comfort, his identity, his security.
What Are We Holding Onto?
We may not be rich like the young man, but we all have things we struggle to let go of. Some of us hold onto financial security, convincing ourselves, “Once I have enough, then I’ll focus on God.” But “enough” never seems to come. Others cling to control, wanting life to go according to their plans, afraid to trust in God’s. Many struggle with unforgiveness, holding onto past wounds like a shield, thinking it protects them when it only weighs them down.
Jesus doesn’t ask us to give up things for the sake of suffering. He asks us to let go so we can receive something greater. He knows that as long as our hands are full, we can’t accept what He wants to give us—true freedom, lasting peace, and a heart that is no longer burdened by fear.
God’s Mercy and Our Second Chances
Sirach reminds us: “To those who repent, he allows a return.” Maybe we, too, have walked away from Jesus before, clinging to our own securities. But He never stops inviting us back. His mercy is always waiting, His love never withdraws.
When the disciples hear how hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God, they are astonished and ask, “Who then can be saved?” Jesus’ response is one of hope: “For human beings it is impossible, but not for God. All things are possible for God.”
We can’t let go on our own. The things we cling to—our fears, our attachments, our sins—are too strong. But God can help us.
The Invitation
Today, Jesus is looking at each of us with love, just as He did the rich young man. Will we walk away sad, still holding onto what keeps us from Him? Or will we trust that what He offers is far greater than anything we leave behind?
Let’s ask ourselves:
• What is holding me back from fully following Jesus? • What do I need to surrender to Him today?
True freedom is not found in what we hold onto, but in what we are willing to let go of for God. The more we release into His hands, the more we will discover a life richer than we ever imagined.
Amen.
He ran through his home, frantically deciding what to take. But as the storm grew closer, he realized he couldn’t save it all. His greatest treasures, the things he had spent a lifetime collecting, had to be left behind. The next day, when he returned, much of it was gone. But instead of despair, he felt something unexpected—relief. For the first time in years, he felt free. The very things he had clung to had been weighing him down.
In today’s Gospel, the rich young man faces a similar dilemma. He is devout and sincere, keeping the commandments and wanting to do what is right. But when Jesus tells him, “Go, sell what you have and give to the poor… then come, follow me,” he walks away sad. He had been searching for eternal life, but when the cost was letting go, he couldn’t do it. His possessions weren’t just things—they were his comfort, his identity, his security.
What Are We Holding Onto?
We may not be rich like the young man, but we all have things we struggle to let go of. Some of us hold onto financial security, convincing ourselves, “Once I have enough, then I’ll focus on God.” But “enough” never seems to come. Others cling to control, wanting life to go according to their plans, afraid to trust in God’s. Many struggle with unforgiveness, holding onto past wounds like a shield, thinking it protects them when it only weighs them down.
Jesus doesn’t ask us to give up things for the sake of suffering. He asks us to let go so we can receive something greater. He knows that as long as our hands are full, we can’t accept what He wants to give us—true freedom, lasting peace, and a heart that is no longer burdened by fear.
God’s Mercy and Our Second Chances
Sirach reminds us: “To those who repent, he allows a return.” Maybe we, too, have walked away from Jesus before, clinging to our own securities. But He never stops inviting us back. His mercy is always waiting, His love never withdraws.
When the disciples hear how hard it is for the rich to enter the kingdom of God, they are astonished and ask, “Who then can be saved?” Jesus’ response is one of hope: “For human beings it is impossible, but not for God. All things are possible for God.”
We can’t let go on our own. The things we cling to—our fears, our attachments, our sins—are too strong. But God can help us.
The Invitation
Today, Jesus is looking at each of us with love, just as He did the rich young man. Will we walk away sad, still holding onto what keeps us from Him? Or will we trust that what He offers is far greater than anything we leave behind?
Let’s ask ourselves:
• What is holding me back from fully following Jesus? • What do I need to surrender to Him today?
True freedom is not found in what we hold onto, but in what we are willing to let go of for God. The more we release into His hands, the more we will discover a life richer than we ever imagined.
Amen.
Jumping Into God’s Arms 03-01-25
READINGS: Sirach 17:1-15; Psalm 103:13-18; Mark 10:13-16
Jumping Into God’s Arms
There’s an old story about a tightrope walker who amazed crowds by crossing a rope stretched high above the ground. With each daring step, he carried heavier loads—a sack of sand, a chair, even a small stove to cook an egg in the middle of the rope. The audience gasped and cheered.
Then, he pulled out a wheelbarrow. “Do you believe I can push this across?” he asked.
“Yes!” the crowd roared.
“Do you believe I could carry a person across in it?” he asked again.
They cheered even louder.
Then, he smiled and asked, “Who wants to get in?”
Silence.
The Leap of Faith
Jesus tells us today, “Whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it” (Mark 10:15). A child wouldn’t hesitate to jump into that wheelbarrow. They wouldn’t overthink it, analyze the risks, or ask for a signed contract first. If they trust you, they simply get in.
Yet as adults, we hesitate. Like the people in the crowd, we say we trust, but when it comes to actually surrendering, we freeze.
In today’s Gospel, the disciples try to keep children away from Jesus, maybe thinking faith is for the serious-minded. But Jesus rebukes them, saying, “Let the children come to me” (Mark 10:14). Why? Not because children are perfect, but because they trust completely. They don’t earn love; they receive it. They don’t hesitate to run into open arms.
When Did We Stop Trusting?
Sirach reminds us that God formed us, breathed life into us, and gave us hearts to seek Him (Sirach 17:1-15). Yet somewhere along the way, we stop running freely into His arms. We let fear, control, and disappointment make us cautious.
We tell ourselves: I trust God… but let me handle this part myself. I believe in His love… but what if I’m not good enough?
Yet Psalm 103 reassures us: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him” (Psalm 103:13).
God isn’t asking us to perform, prove, or achieve before He loves us. He’s just asking us to get in the wheelbarrow.
Trusting in the Arms That Hold Us
So today, let’s stop overcomplicating faith. God isn’t a distant judge with a checklist. He is a loving Father standing before us with open arms.
Think of how children run to their parents—full speed, no hesitation. They don’t ask, “Have I earned this hug?” They just go for it!
That’s what Jesus wants from us. Not blind faith, but a heart willing to trust, willing to let go of the need to control everything.
There’s an old story about a tightrope walker who amazed crowds by crossing a rope stretched high above the ground. With each daring step, he carried heavier loads—a sack of sand, a chair, even a small stove to cook an egg in the middle of the rope. The audience gasped and cheered.
Then, he pulled out a wheelbarrow. “Do you believe I can push this across?” he asked.
“Yes!” the crowd roared.
“Do you believe I could carry a person across in it?” he asked again.
They cheered even louder.
Then, he smiled and asked, “Who wants to get in?”
Silence.
The Leap of Faith
Jesus tells us today, “Whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it” (Mark 10:15). A child wouldn’t hesitate to jump into that wheelbarrow. They wouldn’t overthink it, analyze the risks, or ask for a signed contract first. If they trust you, they simply get in.
Yet as adults, we hesitate. Like the people in the crowd, we say we trust, but when it comes to actually surrendering, we freeze.
In today’s Gospel, the disciples try to keep children away from Jesus, maybe thinking faith is for the serious-minded. But Jesus rebukes them, saying, “Let the children come to me” (Mark 10:14). Why? Not because children are perfect, but because they trust completely. They don’t earn love; they receive it. They don’t hesitate to run into open arms.
When Did We Stop Trusting?
Sirach reminds us that God formed us, breathed life into us, and gave us hearts to seek Him (Sirach 17:1-15). Yet somewhere along the way, we stop running freely into His arms. We let fear, control, and disappointment make us cautious.
We tell ourselves: I trust God… but let me handle this part myself. I believe in His love… but what if I’m not good enough?
Yet Psalm 103 reassures us: “As a father has compassion on his children, so the Lord has compassion on those who fear Him” (Psalm 103:13).
God isn’t asking us to perform, prove, or achieve before He loves us. He’s just asking us to get in the wheelbarrow.
Trusting in the Arms That Hold Us
So today, let’s stop overcomplicating faith. God isn’t a distant judge with a checklist. He is a loving Father standing before us with open arms.
Think of how children run to their parents—full speed, no hesitation. They don’t ask, “Have I earned this hug?” They just go for it!
That’s what Jesus wants from us. Not blind faith, but a heart willing to trust, willing to let go of the need to control everything.
The Gift of True Friendship and Commitment 02-28-25
READINGS: Sirach 6:5-17; Psalm 119:12-35; Mark 10:1-12
Opening Story: The Wise Farmer and His Mule
There was an old farmer who had a mule named Charlie. Now, Charlie wasn’t the fastest, smartest, or even the most obedient animal on the farm. But he was loyal. One day, while plowing the field, Charlie suddenly stopped. The farmer pulled, pushed, yelled, and even promised him extra carrots—nothing. Finally, frustrated, he sat down beside Charlie and said, “Well, if you’re not going to move, neither am I.”
After a long silence, the old mule sighed (yes, sighed), took one step forward, and kept going. The farmer chuckled and said, “That’s what friendship and marriage are like—sometimes you just sit through the stubbornness, and eventually, you move forward together.”
That story holds a lot of truth, doesn’t it? Real relationships—whether marriage or deep friendship—aren’t always smooth sailing. They require patience, endurance, and, occasionally, the ability to outwait someone’s stubbornness!
The Challenge of Commitment
In today’s Gospel, the Pharisees test Jesus about divorce, hoping He’ll say something controversial. But Jesus points them back to God’s original design—marriage as a faithful, lifelong commitment. He explains that Moses allowed divorce because of people’s hardened hearts, but that wasn’t God’s ideal.
Now, let’s be honest—commitment is hard. Whether it’s marriage, deep friendships, or faith, at some point, you will want to quit. Maybe it’s when your best friend forgets your birthday two years in a row. Maybe it’s when your spouse insists that their way of loading the dishwasher is the only correct way (we all know there’s no correct way—just the way that keeps the peace).
But commitment means staying even when things get tough. Sirach reminds us: “A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter; he who finds one finds a treasure” (Sir 6:14). That kind of faithfulness is rare in today’s world, where so many relationships fall apart over minor disagreements.
Faithfulness: A Mark of True Love
Jesus isn’t just talking about marriage—He’s talking about all relationships. He’s talking about a kind of love that doesn’t quit, whether in friendships, family, or faith. It’s easy to love when things are good. But real love shows up when things are messy, when things aren’t fair, when someone is stubborn like Charlie the mule.
Psalm 119 reminds us, “Give me understanding, that I may keep your law and observe it with my whole heart” (Ps 119:34). This applies to every relationship. We need wisdom to remain faithful—not just to our spouses, but to our friends, our Church, and, most importantly, to God.
Life Wisdom: Choosing Lasting Treasure
Going back to the farmer and Charlie—sometimes, love is just about staying put when the other refuses to move. Whether it’s marriage, friendship, or our faith, real love means staying even when it’s easier to walk away.
So today, let’s ask ourselves: Are we treating our relationships as treasures or as conveniences? Are we faithful even when it’s difficult? Because in a world where everything seems temporary, faithfulness is the mark of true love—and the path to lasting joy.
Amen.
There was an old farmer who had a mule named Charlie. Now, Charlie wasn’t the fastest, smartest, or even the most obedient animal on the farm. But he was loyal. One day, while plowing the field, Charlie suddenly stopped. The farmer pulled, pushed, yelled, and even promised him extra carrots—nothing. Finally, frustrated, he sat down beside Charlie and said, “Well, if you’re not going to move, neither am I.”
After a long silence, the old mule sighed (yes, sighed), took one step forward, and kept going. The farmer chuckled and said, “That’s what friendship and marriage are like—sometimes you just sit through the stubbornness, and eventually, you move forward together.”
That story holds a lot of truth, doesn’t it? Real relationships—whether marriage or deep friendship—aren’t always smooth sailing. They require patience, endurance, and, occasionally, the ability to outwait someone’s stubbornness!
The Challenge of Commitment
In today’s Gospel, the Pharisees test Jesus about divorce, hoping He’ll say something controversial. But Jesus points them back to God’s original design—marriage as a faithful, lifelong commitment. He explains that Moses allowed divorce because of people’s hardened hearts, but that wasn’t God’s ideal.
Now, let’s be honest—commitment is hard. Whether it’s marriage, deep friendships, or faith, at some point, you will want to quit. Maybe it’s when your best friend forgets your birthday two years in a row. Maybe it’s when your spouse insists that their way of loading the dishwasher is the only correct way (we all know there’s no correct way—just the way that keeps the peace).
But commitment means staying even when things get tough. Sirach reminds us: “A faithful friend is a sturdy shelter; he who finds one finds a treasure” (Sir 6:14). That kind of faithfulness is rare in today’s world, where so many relationships fall apart over minor disagreements.
Faithfulness: A Mark of True Love
Jesus isn’t just talking about marriage—He’s talking about all relationships. He’s talking about a kind of love that doesn’t quit, whether in friendships, family, or faith. It’s easy to love when things are good. But real love shows up when things are messy, when things aren’t fair, when someone is stubborn like Charlie the mule.
Psalm 119 reminds us, “Give me understanding, that I may keep your law and observe it with my whole heart” (Ps 119:34). This applies to every relationship. We need wisdom to remain faithful—not just to our spouses, but to our friends, our Church, and, most importantly, to God.
Life Wisdom: Choosing Lasting Treasure
Going back to the farmer and Charlie—sometimes, love is just about staying put when the other refuses to move. Whether it’s marriage, friendship, or our faith, real love means staying even when it’s easier to walk away.
So today, let’s ask ourselves: Are we treating our relationships as treasures or as conveniences? Are we faithful even when it’s difficult? Because in a world where everything seems temporary, faithfulness is the mark of true love—and the path to lasting joy.
Amen.
Don’t Put It Off! 02-27-25
READINGS: SIRACH 5:1-8, PSLAM 1:1-6, and MARK 9:41-50
Opening Story: The “Tomorrow” Diet
There’s an old joke about a man who decided to start a diet. He told his friends, “I’m really serious this time! No more sweets, no more junk food—just clean eating from now on!” His friends were impressed. But then one of them noticed him eating a donut the very next morning. “Hey, I thought you started your diet yesterday?” The man shrugged and said, “Oh, I did. But then I realized I’d be much more committed if I started fresh tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. It’s always easier to do something tomorrow, isn’t it? We put off diets, exercise, difficult conversations—and yes, even repentance. We tell ourselves, “I’ll work on my prayer life when things slow down,” or “I’ll fix that habit when the time is right.” But here’s the problem: Tomorrow has a funny way of turning into next week, then next month, and before we know it, years have passed.
Sirach’s Warning: Stop Procrastinating!
Sirach doesn’t mince words: “Do not delay turning back to the Lord, do not put it off from day to day” (Sirach 5:7). Why? Because none of us are guaranteed tomorrow. Now, Sirach isn’t trying to scare us, but he is reminding us of something we often forget—we don’t have unlimited time to get our spiritual lives in order.
This doesn’t mean we need to be perfect right away, but it does mean we need to stop making excuses. “I’ll forgive that person when they apologize first.” “I’ll start being generous when I have a little more money.” “I’ll make time for God when my schedule clears up.” Sirach is telling us: Stop waiting. Start now.
Jesus’ Radical Call to Action
Jesus takes it even further in today’s Gospel: “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off” (Mark 9:43). Now, let’s be clear—Jesus is not advocating self-amputation. He’s using hyperbole to make a powerful point: Be ruthless in removing what pulls you away from God. If a bad habit, a toxic relationship, or an unhealthy attachment is keeping you from holiness, don’t just tolerate it—do something about it!
If you knew your house had a slow gas leak, you wouldn’t say, “Eh, I’ll fix it next week.” No! You’d deal with it immediately because you know it’s dangerous. Jesus is saying the same thing about sin. Don’t let it linger. Take action.
What Can You Do Today?
So, let’s make this practical. Ask yourself: What’s one thing I can do today to draw closer to God? Maybe it’s forgiving someone, even if they haven’t apologized. Maybe it’s turning off the TV five minutes earlier to pray. Maybe it’s finally going to confession after putting it off for months—or years.
Whatever it is, don’t wait for the “perfect” time. Start today. The best time to turn back to God was yesterday. The second-best time is right now.
There’s an old joke about a man who decided to start a diet. He told his friends, “I’m really serious this time! No more sweets, no more junk food—just clean eating from now on!” His friends were impressed. But then one of them noticed him eating a donut the very next morning. “Hey, I thought you started your diet yesterday?” The man shrugged and said, “Oh, I did. But then I realized I’d be much more committed if I started fresh tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. It’s always easier to do something tomorrow, isn’t it? We put off diets, exercise, difficult conversations—and yes, even repentance. We tell ourselves, “I’ll work on my prayer life when things slow down,” or “I’ll fix that habit when the time is right.” But here’s the problem: Tomorrow has a funny way of turning into next week, then next month, and before we know it, years have passed.
Sirach’s Warning: Stop Procrastinating!
Sirach doesn’t mince words: “Do not delay turning back to the Lord, do not put it off from day to day” (Sirach 5:7). Why? Because none of us are guaranteed tomorrow. Now, Sirach isn’t trying to scare us, but he is reminding us of something we often forget—we don’t have unlimited time to get our spiritual lives in order.
This doesn’t mean we need to be perfect right away, but it does mean we need to stop making excuses. “I’ll forgive that person when they apologize first.” “I’ll start being generous when I have a little more money.” “I’ll make time for God when my schedule clears up.” Sirach is telling us: Stop waiting. Start now.
Jesus’ Radical Call to Action
Jesus takes it even further in today’s Gospel: “If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off” (Mark 9:43). Now, let’s be clear—Jesus is not advocating self-amputation. He’s using hyperbole to make a powerful point: Be ruthless in removing what pulls you away from God. If a bad habit, a toxic relationship, or an unhealthy attachment is keeping you from holiness, don’t just tolerate it—do something about it!
If you knew your house had a slow gas leak, you wouldn’t say, “Eh, I’ll fix it next week.” No! You’d deal with it immediately because you know it’s dangerous. Jesus is saying the same thing about sin. Don’t let it linger. Take action.
What Can You Do Today?
So, let’s make this practical. Ask yourself: What’s one thing I can do today to draw closer to God? Maybe it’s forgiving someone, even if they haven’t apologized. Maybe it’s turning off the TV five minutes earlier to pray. Maybe it’s finally going to confession after putting it off for months—or years.
Whatever it is, don’t wait for the “perfect” time. Start today. The best time to turn back to God was yesterday. The second-best time is right now.
Wisdom, Unity, and the Unexpected Ways of God 02-26-25
READINGS: SIRACH 4:11-19; PSALM 119:165-175; MARK 9:38-40
A group of friends was on a road trip, heading to a cabin in the mountains. They had everything planned—the snacks, the music, even which scenic stops to make along the way. But halfway there, their GPS suggested an unfamiliar route. “That can’t be right,” one of them said. “We know a faster way.” So, they ignored the GPS and took their own shortcut.
Two hours later, they found themselves on a deserted dirt road, surrounded by trees, with no signal and a gas tank dangerously close to empty. Suddenly, the GPS, which they had been ignoring, calmly announced: “Recalculating.”
This story is a perfect reflection of today’s readings. Wisdom is constantly trying to guide us, but we don’t always listen. And when we think we know better than God, we often end up lost, needing to “recalculate” our way back.
The first reading from Sirach tells us: “Whoever loves wisdom loves life; those who seek her will be embraced by the Lord.” Wisdom is not just about having knowledge—it’s about trusting God’s way, even when it doesn’t make sense to us. Sometimes, His guidance feels like that GPS voice, calmly calling us back when we’ve strayed off course. The question is, do we listen?
In today’s Gospel, the disciples see someone casting out demons in Jesus’ name. Instead of celebrating that God’s power is at work, they try to stop him. Why? Because he wasn’t part of their group. Jesus, however, surprises them with His response: “Do not stop him… whoever is not against us is for us.” Imagine their reaction: “Wait, Jesus, you mean we don’t have exclusive rights to the Kingdom of God?”
Jesus challenges their mindset, reminding them—and us—that God’s work is far bigger than our personal preferences and assumptions. He often moves in ways and through people we don’t expect. We, like the disciples, can sometimes be too quick to decide who is “in” and who is “out” based on our own limited understanding.
How often do we try to control who belongs to “God’s team”? We assume holiness looks a certain way and dismiss those who express their faith differently. We judge others based on their past without recognizing how God is working in them now. We assume that if someone isn’t part of our specific group, movement, or denomination, God can’t possibly be using them. But Jesus is saying: “Don’t put limits on God’s work.” His wisdom is greater than our preferences.
Today, we are faced with two challenges. First, seek wisdom. Like Sirach teaches, wisdom is a gift, but it requires humility. When God “recalculates” our path, do we trust Him, or do we stubbornly keep going our own way?
Second, expand our hearts. Like Jesus teaches, God is working in places and people we might not expect. Instead of drawing lines that exclude, we should ask: “How is God working here?”
God’s wisdom does not always align with our shortcuts. He challenges us to be open, to trust Him, and to recognize His hand in unexpected places. So next time we are quick to judge, we should pause and ask: Am I following God’s wisdom, or am I just insisting on my own way?
And if all else fails, remember—when we get lost, God is always there, patiently whispering: “Recalculating.”
Two hours later, they found themselves on a deserted dirt road, surrounded by trees, with no signal and a gas tank dangerously close to empty. Suddenly, the GPS, which they had been ignoring, calmly announced: “Recalculating.”
This story is a perfect reflection of today’s readings. Wisdom is constantly trying to guide us, but we don’t always listen. And when we think we know better than God, we often end up lost, needing to “recalculate” our way back.
The first reading from Sirach tells us: “Whoever loves wisdom loves life; those who seek her will be embraced by the Lord.” Wisdom is not just about having knowledge—it’s about trusting God’s way, even when it doesn’t make sense to us. Sometimes, His guidance feels like that GPS voice, calmly calling us back when we’ve strayed off course. The question is, do we listen?
In today’s Gospel, the disciples see someone casting out demons in Jesus’ name. Instead of celebrating that God’s power is at work, they try to stop him. Why? Because he wasn’t part of their group. Jesus, however, surprises them with His response: “Do not stop him… whoever is not against us is for us.” Imagine their reaction: “Wait, Jesus, you mean we don’t have exclusive rights to the Kingdom of God?”
Jesus challenges their mindset, reminding them—and us—that God’s work is far bigger than our personal preferences and assumptions. He often moves in ways and through people we don’t expect. We, like the disciples, can sometimes be too quick to decide who is “in” and who is “out” based on our own limited understanding.
How often do we try to control who belongs to “God’s team”? We assume holiness looks a certain way and dismiss those who express their faith differently. We judge others based on their past without recognizing how God is working in them now. We assume that if someone isn’t part of our specific group, movement, or denomination, God can’t possibly be using them. But Jesus is saying: “Don’t put limits on God’s work.” His wisdom is greater than our preferences.
Today, we are faced with two challenges. First, seek wisdom. Like Sirach teaches, wisdom is a gift, but it requires humility. When God “recalculates” our path, do we trust Him, or do we stubbornly keep going our own way?
Second, expand our hearts. Like Jesus teaches, God is working in places and people we might not expect. Instead of drawing lines that exclude, we should ask: “How is God working here?”
God’s wisdom does not always align with our shortcuts. He challenges us to be open, to trust Him, and to recognize His hand in unexpected places. So next time we are quick to judge, we should pause and ask: Am I following God’s wisdom, or am I just insisting on my own way?
And if all else fails, remember—when we get lost, God is always there, patiently whispering: “Recalculating.”
Trusting God Through Trials 02-25-25
READINGS: GENESIS SIRACH 2:1-11; PSALM 37:3-40; MARK 9:30-37
A grandfather and his young grandson stood in a workshop, surrounded by dust and scattered pieces of marble. The old man was a sculptor, and with careful precision, he chipped away at a large block of stone.
The boy watched curiously for days, seeing nothing but rough edges and falling debris. Finally, he asked, “Grandpa, why are you breaking that rock?”
The grandfather smiled and said, “I’m not breaking it—I’m revealing what’s inside.”
A few weeks later, the boy returned, and his eyes widened in amazement. Where once there was just a shapeless block, now stood a beautiful statue of a horse. He gasped, “Grandpa! How did you know the horse was in there?”
The old man chuckled, “I didn’t put the horse there. I just removed everything that didn’t belong.”
This is exactly what God does in our lives. We are like that rough stone, and He is the sculptor. Through trials, challenges, and hardships, He chips away at our fears, our pride, and our doubts—not to harm us, but to reveal who we are meant to be.
Faith Through Trials
In the first reading, Sirach 2:1-11, we are given a powerful truth:
“When you come to serve the Lord, prepare yourself for trials.”
This may seem discouraging at first. If we are faithful, shouldn’t life become easier? But Sirach teaches us that true faith is not about avoiding difficulties—it’s about trusting God through them.
Why does God allow struggles? Because faith is like gold—it is purified in fire. Just as the sculptor removes unnecessary stone to reveal beauty, God allows trials to shape us into something greater.
And Sirach reassures us: “Has anyone trusted in the Lord and been disappointed?” No. God has never failed those who put their hope in Him.
Trusting God’s Timing
Psalm 37:3-40 echoes this message. It reminds us:
• “Trust in the Lord and do good.” • “Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him, and He will act.” • “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him.”
One of the hardest things to do is wait on God’s timing. We want quick solutions, immediate relief, and clear answers. But God works patiently—just like a sculptor, carefully chipping away until the masterpiece is revealed.
If we trust in Him, we will one day look back and realize—He was shaping us all along.
True Greatness in Humility
In Mark 9:30-37, Jesus’ disciples were arguing about who was the greatest. They expected honor and recognition. But Jesus tells them:
“If anyone wants to be first, he must be the last of all and the servant of all.”
Then He embraces a child—someone considered weak and unimportant in that society. He is teaching them (and us) that true greatness is not about power, but humility. It is about trusting God with the simplicity and dependence of a child.
Let God Shape You
Many of us resist God’s work in our lives because we do not understand it. We feel the pain of trials, but we don’t see the masterpiece He is creating within us.
So today, ask yourself: Do you trust the Sculptor?
If you do, stop fighting the chisel. Let Him remove everything that does not belong—your fears, doubts, and pride. Because when He is finished, you will finally see what He saw in you all along. And it will be beautiful.
The boy watched curiously for days, seeing nothing but rough edges and falling debris. Finally, he asked, “Grandpa, why are you breaking that rock?”
The grandfather smiled and said, “I’m not breaking it—I’m revealing what’s inside.”
A few weeks later, the boy returned, and his eyes widened in amazement. Where once there was just a shapeless block, now stood a beautiful statue of a horse. He gasped, “Grandpa! How did you know the horse was in there?”
The old man chuckled, “I didn’t put the horse there. I just removed everything that didn’t belong.”
This is exactly what God does in our lives. We are like that rough stone, and He is the sculptor. Through trials, challenges, and hardships, He chips away at our fears, our pride, and our doubts—not to harm us, but to reveal who we are meant to be.
Faith Through Trials
In the first reading, Sirach 2:1-11, we are given a powerful truth:
“When you come to serve the Lord, prepare yourself for trials.”
This may seem discouraging at first. If we are faithful, shouldn’t life become easier? But Sirach teaches us that true faith is not about avoiding difficulties—it’s about trusting God through them.
Why does God allow struggles? Because faith is like gold—it is purified in fire. Just as the sculptor removes unnecessary stone to reveal beauty, God allows trials to shape us into something greater.
And Sirach reassures us: “Has anyone trusted in the Lord and been disappointed?” No. God has never failed those who put their hope in Him.
Trusting God’s Timing
Psalm 37:3-40 echoes this message. It reminds us:
• “Trust in the Lord and do good.” • “Commit your way to the Lord; trust in Him, and He will act.” • “Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for Him.”
One of the hardest things to do is wait on God’s timing. We want quick solutions, immediate relief, and clear answers. But God works patiently—just like a sculptor, carefully chipping away until the masterpiece is revealed.
If we trust in Him, we will one day look back and realize—He was shaping us all along.
True Greatness in Humility
In Mark 9:30-37, Jesus’ disciples were arguing about who was the greatest. They expected honor and recognition. But Jesus tells them:
“If anyone wants to be first, he must be the last of all and the servant of all.”
Then He embraces a child—someone considered weak and unimportant in that society. He is teaching them (and us) that true greatness is not about power, but humility. It is about trusting God with the simplicity and dependence of a child.
Let God Shape You
Many of us resist God’s work in our lives because we do not understand it. We feel the pain of trials, but we don’t see the masterpiece He is creating within us.
So today, ask yourself: Do you trust the Sculptor?
If you do, stop fighting the chisel. Let Him remove everything that does not belong—your fears, doubts, and pride. Because when He is finished, you will finally see what He saw in you all along. And it will be beautiful.
The House We Build 02-18-25
READINGS: GENESIS 6:5-8; 7:1-5, 10; PSALM 102:16-23; MARK 8:14-21
An old carpenter was ready to retire. His employer asked for one last favor: “Build me one final house, and then you can retire.” The carpenter agreed but rushed the job, using cheap materials and cutting corners.
When the house was finished, his employer handed him the keys and said, “This is my gift to you. The house you just built is yours.” The carpenter was stunned. If only he had known he was building his own house, he would have done things differently.
This story reflects today’s readings. In Genesis, the people of Noah’s time built their lives carelessly, ignoring God. But Noah remained faithful, carefully following God’s instructions. His obedience saved him and his family.
In the Gospel, the disciples miss the bigger picture. They worry about not having enough bread, even though Jesus has just fed thousands. Jesus challenges them: “Do you still not understand?” He wants them to trust that God is already providing.
Faith is like building a house. Every choice, habit, and act of trust or neglect lays a brick in our spiritual foundation. Some, like Noah, build with care, ensuring their house stands firm. Others, like the carpenter, only realize too late that they were shaping their own future.
It’s easy to get distracted by daily concerns and miss God’s presence. The disciples were so focused on their lack that they failed to see Jesus, the true source of provision, standing right beside them. We often do the same—worrying about success, money, or control while overlooking God’s quiet work in our lives.
But here’s the good news: even if we’ve made mistakes or cut corners, God’s grace offers us a chance to rebuild. True faith is not just believing in God but recognizing His presence in everyday moments. When we build our lives on trust rather than fear, we create something lasting—something that will stand in the storms of life.
God provides the blueprint through His Word, the materials through His grace, and the strength through His presence. But He does not force us to build well—that choice is ours. If we live with faithfulness, we will not be surprised when, at the end of our journey, we find that we have built something beautiful—something strong enough to stand before God forever.
So today, let’s take a moment to ask: Where in my life do I need to build more carefully? And let’s open our eyes to see how God is already providing, guiding us to build something that lasts.
Introduction to Mass
Today’s readings remind us to build our lives with faith and trust in God. While the people of Noah’s time ignored God’s call, Noah remained faithful and was saved. In the Gospel, Jesus challenges His disciples to open their eyes and recognize that God is already providing for them. As we begin this Mass, let us ask the Lord to help us see His presence in our lives and trust Him more fully.
Penitential Rite
Lord Jesus, You call us to trust in Your providence—Lord, have mercy.Christ Jesus, You open our eyes to see Your presence—Christ, have mercy.Lord Jesus, You strengthen us to build our lives on faith—Lord, have mercy.
When the house was finished, his employer handed him the keys and said, “This is my gift to you. The house you just built is yours.” The carpenter was stunned. If only he had known he was building his own house, he would have done things differently.
This story reflects today’s readings. In Genesis, the people of Noah’s time built their lives carelessly, ignoring God. But Noah remained faithful, carefully following God’s instructions. His obedience saved him and his family.
In the Gospel, the disciples miss the bigger picture. They worry about not having enough bread, even though Jesus has just fed thousands. Jesus challenges them: “Do you still not understand?” He wants them to trust that God is already providing.
Faith is like building a house. Every choice, habit, and act of trust or neglect lays a brick in our spiritual foundation. Some, like Noah, build with care, ensuring their house stands firm. Others, like the carpenter, only realize too late that they were shaping their own future.
It’s easy to get distracted by daily concerns and miss God’s presence. The disciples were so focused on their lack that they failed to see Jesus, the true source of provision, standing right beside them. We often do the same—worrying about success, money, or control while overlooking God’s quiet work in our lives.
But here’s the good news: even if we’ve made mistakes or cut corners, God’s grace offers us a chance to rebuild. True faith is not just believing in God but recognizing His presence in everyday moments. When we build our lives on trust rather than fear, we create something lasting—something that will stand in the storms of life.
God provides the blueprint through His Word, the materials through His grace, and the strength through His presence. But He does not force us to build well—that choice is ours. If we live with faithfulness, we will not be surprised when, at the end of our journey, we find that we have built something beautiful—something strong enough to stand before God forever.
So today, let’s take a moment to ask: Where in my life do I need to build more carefully? And let’s open our eyes to see how God is already providing, guiding us to build something that lasts.
Introduction to Mass
Today’s readings remind us to build our lives with faith and trust in God. While the people of Noah’s time ignored God’s call, Noah remained faithful and was saved. In the Gospel, Jesus challenges His disciples to open their eyes and recognize that God is already providing for them. As we begin this Mass, let us ask the Lord to help us see His presence in our lives and trust Him more fully.
Penitential Rite
Lord Jesus, You call us to trust in Your providence—Lord, have mercy.Christ Jesus, You open our eyes to see Your presence—Christ, have mercy.Lord Jesus, You strengthen us to build our lives on faith—Lord, have mercy.
the heart of the matter 02-12-25
READINGS: GENESIS 2:4B-17; PSALM 104:1-30; MARK 7:14-23
Many years ago, a teacher gave each of her students a clear jar and two types of marbles—one black and one white. She told them that every time they did something kind, they should drop a white marble in the jar; every time they did something selfish, a black one. Over time, their jars would reflect the choices they made. At the end of the year, the students realized something striking: while some had mostly white marbles, others had many black ones, and the jars told the truth about what was in their hearts. This simple exercise taught them a profound lesson—what we say and do reveals what truly lives within us.
Today’s readings bring us back to this same truth. In Genesis, we hear about God placing Adam in the garden, offering him every good thing but warning him to avoid the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The heart of the command was trust—would Adam trust that God’s ways led to life, or would he try to define good and evil for himself? In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus takes this teaching even further, reminding us that nothing from the outside defiles us; rather, it is from within—our thoughts, desires, and choices—that sin arises. Just like those jars of marbles, our hearts tell the truth about us.
This challenges us to examine our own lives. Are we filling our hearts with faith, kindness, and love? Or are we allowing selfishness, anger, and pride to take root? It’s easy to blame external things—our circumstances, society, or other people—but Jesus calls us to look inward. The real battle isn’t just about avoiding bad influences; it’s about forming a heart that desires what is good. Just as a tree is known by its fruit, our lives will be known by what we cultivate within.
The good news is that we are not alone in this task. God, who planted the Garden of Eden and breathed life into Adam, is the same God who gives us grace to change. If we allow Him, He will renew our hearts, helping us to replace anger with patience, greed with generosity, and fear with trust. So today, let’s ask God to shape our hearts, so that what comes out of us is not defilement, but the goodness of Christ alive within us.
Penitential Rite
Brothers and sisters, as we come before the Lord, we acknowledge that sin does not come from the outside but from within our hearts. Let us ask God for the grace to be cleansed of all that separates us from Him, so that our words and actions may reflect His love.
Lord Jesus, you came to heal the brokenhearted: Lord, have mercy.Lord, have mercy.
Christ Jesus, you call us to purify our hearts and follow you in truth: Christ, have mercy.Christ, have mercy.
Lord Jesus, you strengthen us with your grace and lead us to everlasting life: Lord, have mercy.Lord, have mercy.
May Almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life. Amen.
Today’s readings bring us back to this same truth. In Genesis, we hear about God placing Adam in the garden, offering him every good thing but warning him to avoid the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. The heart of the command was trust—would Adam trust that God’s ways led to life, or would he try to define good and evil for himself? In Mark’s Gospel, Jesus takes this teaching even further, reminding us that nothing from the outside defiles us; rather, it is from within—our thoughts, desires, and choices—that sin arises. Just like those jars of marbles, our hearts tell the truth about us.
This challenges us to examine our own lives. Are we filling our hearts with faith, kindness, and love? Or are we allowing selfishness, anger, and pride to take root? It’s easy to blame external things—our circumstances, society, or other people—but Jesus calls us to look inward. The real battle isn’t just about avoiding bad influences; it’s about forming a heart that desires what is good. Just as a tree is known by its fruit, our lives will be known by what we cultivate within.
The good news is that we are not alone in this task. God, who planted the Garden of Eden and breathed life into Adam, is the same God who gives us grace to change. If we allow Him, He will renew our hearts, helping us to replace anger with patience, greed with generosity, and fear with trust. So today, let’s ask God to shape our hearts, so that what comes out of us is not defilement, but the goodness of Christ alive within us.
Penitential Rite
Brothers and sisters, as we come before the Lord, we acknowledge that sin does not come from the outside but from within our hearts. Let us ask God for the grace to be cleansed of all that separates us from Him, so that our words and actions may reflect His love.
Lord Jesus, you came to heal the brokenhearted: Lord, have mercy.Lord, have mercy.
Christ Jesus, you call us to purify our hearts and follow you in truth: Christ, have mercy.Christ, have mercy.
Lord Jesus, you strengthen us with your grace and lead us to everlasting life: Lord, have mercy.Lord, have mercy.
May Almighty God have mercy on us, forgive us our sins, and bring us to everlasting life. Amen.
The Measure of a Life Memorial of St. Thomas Aquinas 01-28-2025
READINGS: HEBREWS 10:1-10; PSALM 40:2, 4ab, 7-8a, 10, 11; MARK 3:31-35
When St. Thomas Aquinas was a young student, his classmates mocked him by calling him “The Dumb Ox.” They mistook his quiet, humble nature for a lack of intelligence. Yet one of his professors, St. Albert the Great, famously said, “You call him a Dumb Ox, but his bellow will one day resound throughout the world.” That prophecy came true—Thomas became one of the greatest theologians in history. But what truly made him remarkable wasn’t just his intellect. It was his faith and his constant desire to align his life with God’s will.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus redefines family, saying, “Whoever does the will of God is my brother, sister, and mother” (Mark 3:35). This echoes the message from Hebrews, where we are reminded that Jesus fully offered Himself to the Father, surpassing the old sacrifices of the law. Christ’s life was an act of complete surrender to the will of God. St. Thomas lived this truth as well. He recognized that his intellectual gifts were not for his own glory, but for the service of God. Near the end of his life, after writing some of the most profound theology ever recorded, he had a vision of God that left him speechless. Overwhelmed by God’s greatness, he declared that all his works were “like straw” compared to the reality of God.
What Can We Learn From This?
First, it’s not about how much we know, achieve, or own. The world measures success by wealth, recognition, or influence, but God measures success by how we use our gifts to serve Him and others. Some are called to great things that many will see, while others are called to quiet acts of faithfulness that only God sees. Both are equally valuable in His eyes. That might mean small, unseen acts of kindness—praying for someone who hurt you, helping a struggling neighbor, or taking time to listen to someone in need. It’s in these moments that we truly align ourselves with God’s will.
Second, we are called to trust in God’s purpose, even when it’s unclear. Thomas’s classmates couldn’t see his potential, and maybe we, too, sometimes doubt our own worth or contributions. But God sees what others don’t. He works through both the great and the small. What we might see as insignificant can be transformed into something golden in God’s hands.
A Challenge for You
Take a moment to reflect: What gifts has God given you? Are you using them for your own success, or are you seeking to reflect God’s love and truth? St. Thomas teaches us that the value of our lives is not measured by worldly accomplishments but by how closely we conform to God’s will.
If someone as brilliant as St. Thomas could see his greatest works as “like straw” before God, perhaps we, too, should reconsider what truly matters. It is not the size of our achievements but the depth of our love and faithfulness that make a life well-lived.
May we all seek to live in a way that echoes the words of Christ: “Whoever does the will of God is my brother, sister, and mother.”
Amen.
In today’s Gospel, Jesus redefines family, saying, “Whoever does the will of God is my brother, sister, and mother” (Mark 3:35). This echoes the message from Hebrews, where we are reminded that Jesus fully offered Himself to the Father, surpassing the old sacrifices of the law. Christ’s life was an act of complete surrender to the will of God. St. Thomas lived this truth as well. He recognized that his intellectual gifts were not for his own glory, but for the service of God. Near the end of his life, after writing some of the most profound theology ever recorded, he had a vision of God that left him speechless. Overwhelmed by God’s greatness, he declared that all his works were “like straw” compared to the reality of God.
What Can We Learn From This?
First, it’s not about how much we know, achieve, or own. The world measures success by wealth, recognition, or influence, but God measures success by how we use our gifts to serve Him and others. Some are called to great things that many will see, while others are called to quiet acts of faithfulness that only God sees. Both are equally valuable in His eyes. That might mean small, unseen acts of kindness—praying for someone who hurt you, helping a struggling neighbor, or taking time to listen to someone in need. It’s in these moments that we truly align ourselves with God’s will.
Second, we are called to trust in God’s purpose, even when it’s unclear. Thomas’s classmates couldn’t see his potential, and maybe we, too, sometimes doubt our own worth or contributions. But God sees what others don’t. He works through both the great and the small. What we might see as insignificant can be transformed into something golden in God’s hands.
A Challenge for You
Take a moment to reflect: What gifts has God given you? Are you using them for your own success, or are you seeking to reflect God’s love and truth? St. Thomas teaches us that the value of our lives is not measured by worldly accomplishments but by how closely we conform to God’s will.
If someone as brilliant as St. Thomas could see his greatest works as “like straw” before God, perhaps we, too, should reconsider what truly matters. It is not the size of our achievements but the depth of our love and faithfulness that make a life well-lived.
May we all seek to live in a way that echoes the words of Christ: “Whoever does the will of God is my brother, sister, and mother.”
Amen.