Lessons From Mom (Mother's Day, 2026)

  Any preacher who dares to get up and speak on Mother’s Day faces at least three dangers. First, the danger of sounding like an “expert” on motherhood. You’ve heard the story of the priest who preached at great length about the glories of being a mom. After Mass, a woman came up to him and said, “Father, I wish I knew as little about being a mother as you do.”

Second, the danger of holding up Mary as the model in a way that feels… a little out of reach. A priest did that once, and afterward a woman, with one baby in her arms and several more trailing behind, said, “Well, it was easy for her… she only had one!”

And third, the reality that this is a mixed congregation. Not everyone here is a mother. Some are not married, some have longed to be mothers, some carry wounds connected to that word. But every single one of us has had a mom. Every one of us has experienced, at least in some way, the blessings of a mother’s love.

And that’s why it’s worth talking about. So first, to all our moms: thank you! One day is not enough, but this weekend we at least say it out loud…we are deeply grateful for you.

As we thank God for the gift of motherhood, we also have to be honest: the dignity of women and motherhood is not always honored in our culture. We see it in the way people are reduced to objects. We see it in broken homes and domestic violence that goes unseen. We see it in the confusion among some about what it even means to be a woman. It’s a strange contradiction in our culture; we set aside a day to honor mothers, while at the same time tolerating attitudes and practices that diminish them.

But rather than staying there, I want to focus on what is good, true, and holy, because that’s what has shaped my life. I could say a lot, but I’ll keep it to three things I experienced growing up.

The first motherly quality that shaped my life was dependability. I remember countless times when we got hurt or something went wrong; probably most significantly for me was the time I tore open my knee falling off a bike. There was total panic on my end. My mom later told me that she was also panicking too…but I didn’t know it. She stayed steady. 

As kids, it always felt like mom was available and somehow stayed operational, even when we were sick, tired, or frightened. Meals were ready, clothes were clean, transportation provided, problems were handled. At the time, it felt like magic…like things just somehow got done. But it wasn’t automatic or inevitable. It was love. Quiet, consistent, dependable love.

The second motherly quality that shaped my life was teaching. My mom was literally our teacher since we were homeschooled. And while we would complain that we never got a break from her, it was equally true from her point of view. Let’s just say, we didn’t always make her role of teacher easy. There were days we looked less like eager students and more like stubborn mules. But she taught us anyway. Day after day. 

As grateful as I am for that education, the lessons I value most weren’t academic; instead, the ones that stick with me are the lessons of the heart. Mom taught me how to care about people. How to be patient. How to show mercy. How to notice when someone is hurting and actually do something about it. As a priest and as a human being, I use those lessons every single day. That kind of wisdom doesn’t come from a textbook, although mom also taught us how to use a textbook as a motivational device! Some lessons can only be properly taught by a mom!

The third motherly quality that shaped my life was sacrificial love. There is no such thing as motherhood without sacrifice. From the very beginning of conception, a woman gives from her own body so that another can live. And that’s just the start. I remember when I realized my mom didn’t do her countless mom things because they were her favorite activities. She didn’t wake up excited to make endless sandwiches, clean up messes, referee arguments, and be interrupted every five minutes. She did it because she loved us. 

A mother’s love gives without keeping score. It doesn’t constantly ask, “What am I getting in return?” It gives, and gives, and gives again. Scripture uses that kind of love as an image of how God loves us…strong and tender, personal and limitless at the same time. The only real way to respond to that kind of love… is to love in return.

Knowing how much we’ve received, it should concern us when we see motherhood and womanhood diminished or re-defined. Women have an irreplaceable role in the family, in the Church, and in the world. Men and women are different and that is part of God’s wisdom! Those unique qualities are meant to complement each other, not compete. From the very beginning, God created man and woman in His image. When that harmony is lost, everything else starts to unravel. That’s why it’s so important that we support, protect, and pray for the women in our lives: especially our mothers!

So today, mothers… we thank God for you…you are a treasure. You are not replaceable; no one can step into your role. What you bring to our lives and to our Church…your strength, your intuition, your capacity to love…is a gift from God! We ask Him to strengthen you, to console you, and to remind you how deeply you are loved. May we never take our mothers for granted. Let’s honor them not just today, but in the way we live…by praying for them, respecting them, and loving them in return. Because through them, in so many ways, we have encountered the love of God. And for that, we are forever grateful.

Living Stones (5th Sunday of Easter, Year A)

  One of the great parts of my first assignment at the Cathedral Basilica was giving tours to friends and family. My favorite was taking someone who had never been there before and watching their reaction as they walked in for the first time. They’d look up at the mosaics, the massive domes, the beauty of it all and almost without fail there would be this quiet, involuntary “wow.” In that moment, something changed. Their tone softened. Their posture shifted. The way they carried themselves became more reverent than it had been outside. They instinctively knew they were standing on holy ground.

Anyone who has entered a place like our Cathedral, or something like Notre-Dame Cathedral or St. Peter's Basilica, understands that feeling. Even if they cannot fully explain it, they know this is not just another building. Everything about it communicates something before a single word is spoken: this place is different. God is here.

That is exactly the kind of image St. Peter is working with in today’s second reading. He says, “Come to him, a living stone… and like living stones, let yourselves be built into a spiritual house.” For the people hearing those words, that image carried enormous weight. St. Peter was referring to the one and only temple in Jerusalem which was not just another structure. It was where God’s presence was encountered. It was a place of refuge, holiness, peace, and worship. If you wanted to encounter the living God, the temple was where you went. St. Peter says: now you are that.

Imagine hearing those words for the first time. It would have been inspiring…but also intimidating. Inspiring, because there was no place more sacred than the temple. Intimidating, because most people only approached its outer courts and kept their distance from its holiest spaces. And yet St. Peter is not speaking symbolically; he means it! Our lives are meant to offer to others what the temple once offered to Israel. Through Christ, God’s presence is meant to dwell in us and radiate through us.

So when people encounter you and me, what do they experience? Do they find light, peace, joy, and goodness? Can they find refuge in our friendship, truth in our conversations, and hope in our example? Or are we more like a nondescript buildings: unremarkable, blending into the landscape, reflecting the same anxieties and values as everyone else?

Peter is pressing us to ask whether our lives actually look different because Christ lives in us. If we are meant to be a spiritual house, then we should be places where God can be found. It’s worth noting that St. Peter doesn’t call us stones in a monument; he calls us living stones. There is a difference! A monument is static and lifeless. It simply sits there. But living stones are dynamic, active, and unique. A living temple is not cold or rigid; it is vibrant, responsive, and full of grace. Each stone is distinct, but all are joined together for one purpose.

That is why St. Peter calls us “a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation.” This is not private spirituality. It is shared identity and common mission. We are united to God’s holiness and sent into the world so that others may know, love, and serve the Lord.

We see exactly what that looks like in the first reading. The early Church is growing, and with growth comes new needs. In this case, widows are not being cared for properly. It is a real and urgent problem. 

The apostles recognize that something must be done. But they also understand if they abandon the ministry of prayer and preaching, the Church will lose the very thing that gives it life. So they do not choose one over the other. Instead, they adapt and establish the office of deacon so the widows are cared for and the Gospel continues to be proclaimed.

They do not abandon the mission…with the help of the Holy Spirit, they expand its reach! That is what living stones do. The mission stays the same, but the structure becomes more effective. The purpose remains, but the way it is carried out develops to meet real needs. A living temple responds to the cries of the people in the here and now.

In the Gospel, Jesus says, “In my Father’s house there are many dwelling places.” Many rooms, but one house. Many callings, but one mission. Many gifts, but one Spirit. Not everyone serves in the same way, and not everyone has the same strengths. But all belong in the same household. When each of us offers our gifts in holiness and love, the whole house becomes stronger. The Church grows not because everyone does the same thing, but because everyone does what they are called to do. That is how the Father’s house becomes a place with room for all.

So the question for us is not simply whether we belong to the Church, but whether we are helping build it.

Are we offering our lives as acts of worship? Are we becoming places where God can be found? Are we staying rooted in prayer and faithful to our calling, while remaining flexible enough to meet the changing needs of our parish and the world around us?

May we not settle for being ordinary structures shaped by society, but become what we were made to be: a living temple, a spiritual house, a people through whom others can encounter the living God.

Hearing My Call (Good Shepherd Sunday, 2026)

 Below is an outline of my homily, to hear the full thing, listen to the 10:30 Mass here.

Good shepherd Sunday:

Jesus is the Good Shepherd not only when he was here on earth but after when he established his church. 

This particular Sunday is a chance for us to pray for vocations to the priesthood in particular, that God will help young men hear his invitation to serve as shepherds for his church.

In Stl, we are encouraged to share our vocation story with you for a couple of reasons:

1. Priests don’t come from some mystical, magical land. They come from homes and families just like yours! Knowing how your priests came to their decision may help those who are wondering if they are called!
2. There are young men here in this parish who are being called to the priesthood. But it is not something many people think about, so talking about it helps that conversation happen.
3. While every vocation story is different, most of them are founded on lots of little moments and invitations, rather than one big event. Knowing how our priests were called can help us in our own listening to the Lord and his plan for us!

So…my story…grew up in hazelwood, small house, big family. Great childhood, lots of outside time and adventures. Probably from the time I was 7 or 8, I thought about the priesthood and felt like it was a pretty good thing. Even had my own church in our backyard shed, lots of neighbor parishioners. Very strict, had to create miracles to keep the flock in line until the great scandal…

From time to time, people would ask me if I had thought I should be a priest and some people even said they thought I would be a good one! Lots of serving at the parish…

Then discovered tools and girls (in that order) and felt like I wanted to have my own family and be some sort of builder/tradesman.

Mom’s NDE and Theresa…The the retreat… death and caring for others…At that retreat:”Feed my sheep”

I knew at that moment without a doubt and started seminary a few months later…hs, college, theology.

Now been a priest just about 18 years, in 4 different parishes and sometimes feel like I’ve lived multiple lives with all the people I’ve worked with and gotten to know.

It is a wonderful life! Difficult at times and sacrificial but I have yet to hear of a vocation or life that has meaning that doesn’t involve those things…

I suppose in closing I would want to mention just a few things I hear that keep some men from considering the priesthood:

1. The majority of men who enter the seminary, do so with less than supportive families. There is a fear among many parents that their son will not be happy as a priest. That giving up family, wealth, or possessions will lead a life of misery. But priests tend to be pretty happy people and if that is what your son was called by God to do, then his gifts, personality, and so much else will come alive in that calling! And you will be blessed too. God never takes more than he gives and my parents have been blessed by letting me go and be the priest God calls me to be!
2. People think that being a priest is dull, boring, unfulfilling. Nothing could be further from the truth. I did not become a priest for the excitement and experiences but wow, I’ve already had so many funny, amazing, exciting, rewarding, and profound moments in my life. (Bulldozer) Every day is different and so much of each day is incredibly meaningful. I often tell people that I have one of the best jobs in the world because so much of priestly ministry makes a meaningful and direct impact in people’s lives. And that feels amazing to have a part in that and for God to trust me enough to ask me to help him in helping his people. If you or someone in your family is thinking about the priesthood, encourage them to at least check it out…they won’t regret it.
3. Pray for your priests and teach your kids to do the same. Growing up, my parents didn’t always see eye to eye with our priests but they were always respectful and never shared those disputes with us as kids. So we had a respect for the office of priesthood and we prayed for them as a family often, as if they were a close friend or family member. Just like anyone else…if you like your priests, pray for them; if you don’t like your priests, pray for them even more. If that is the formula Jesus gives us for our enemies, how much more is it true for our shepherds?!
4. Invite men to think about the priesthood. 9 out of 10 priests say they they discovered their vocation because someone they trusted encouraged them to consider it. If you know someone who seems to have the budding qualities of a priest, encourage them to consider the call and promise to pray for their discernment. And God doesn’t wait until men are out of college to invite. I started thinking about it in early grade school and I am so grateful my parents didn’t dismiss the idea or tell me to ignore it. We wouldn’t do that with a child that wanted to be a doctor, teacher, or scientist at a young age so we shouldn’t do it with sacred callings either. 

I am encouraged by the fact that Incarnate Word has had 6 sons ordained to the priesthood in the last 20 years: Fr. Chris Martin, Fr. Jim Theby, Fr. Aaron Nord, Fr. Alex Nord, Fr. John Nickolai, and Fr. David Hogan. Other men have spent time in the seminary to see what God might be saying to their hearts. Nick Reinagel and Andrew Rain are two men currently in the seminary. 

Let’s continue to pray for Good Shepherds to bring God’s truth, teaching, and sacraments to our parishes. Let’s foster homes where God’s call can be heard, supported and nurtured! It is through the priesthood that Jesus’ mission is accomplished in a special way; that all may have life and have it abundantly!

Jesus Is Never Absent...Sometimes He Is Just Unrecognized (3rd Sunday of Easter, Year A)

There’s something deeply human and easily relatable about the Road to Emmaus story. Two disciples are walking away from Jerusalem; away from everything they had hoped for just days before. They’re confused, discouraged, and heartbroken…trying to make sense of something that didn’t turn out the way they thought it would. They had invested years of their lives into Jesus, believing he was the messiah. Some of them had even walked away from their livelihoods and homes to follow him. They were all in…and then the shocker of Good Friday happened and their whole world fell apart. They are reeling and need to clear their heads, so they try to find answers elsewhere where the pain, trauma, disappointment isn’t so strong. As a priest and pastor, I see this story played out powerfully and personally in the people I serve. Many of you are on the road to Emmaus, now or in the recent past! Perhaps because of a diagnosis you didn’t expect, which turned your world and your future upside down. Maybe it is the sudden loss of someone you love, a job that feels uncertain or unexpectedly terminated, or a family conflict that escalated and won’t resolve. In these jarring moments, we start asking the same questions: “Where is God in this? What is He doing? Has he abandoned me? Was it all a lie?”

The beautiful part of today’s Gospel is that Jesus is already walking with them. They’re not alone, not abandoned, not forgotten. They just don’t recognize Him yet. And that’s the part which can help us find hope in our own walk through uncertainty and heartbreak. How often is that true in our lives? We think God is absent when in reality He’s just unrecognized. He’s there in the hospital room, in the funeral home, in the stress and uncertainty, walking right alongside us…even when we’re too overwhelmed or discouraged to see Him.

How does Jesus minster to his faithful ones who do not recognize him? He doesn’t scold or preach at them. He walks with them patiently, quietly listening, allowing them to express everything on their hearts and then begins to explain. He opens the Scriptures, he connects the dots, little by little, to show that every mystery had meaning. Nothing was wasted or coincidence. With hindsight, they realize the moment it all started coming together, the moment they started seeing with the eyes of faith, and they say, “Were not our hearts burning within us?” That’s the beginning of recognition. Not total clarity, not complete understanding, but something inside them starts to come alive and hope again. And that’s exactly what can happen to us, especially here at Mass. Every time we come to the Eucharist, we walk with Jesus, whether we realize it or not. If we do so with faith, every Mass opens the Scriptures for us in some way, God speaks into our lives, and little by little, our hearts begin to recognize that He’s been there all along.

Just that would be good enough but, incredibly, it gets even better! Next comes the turning point…the breaking of the bread. Suddenly what was hidden becomes visible. What was confusing becomes clear. The disciples recognized Jesus in that moment. We believe the same thing happens here; not symbolically, but actually. Christ makes Himself known and present in our midst. Which means if we want to recognize Him in the confusion of our lives out there, we need to learn to recognize Him in here. That’s the value of Mass; not just once in a while, but every week, even every day if we can. This is where our eyes are trained to see.

Of course the story doesn’t end at the table even though Jesus disappears the moment they recognize Him. Without hesitation, the disciples get up and go back. Seven miles on the same road they had just walked, tired and discouraged. Now they run it in the dark. It’s inconvenient. It’s uncomfortable. It costs them something. It would have been easy to say, “We’ll go tomorrow… this can wait… it’s not necessary.” But they don’t. Because when you’ve really encountered Christ, delay feels more like disobedience. Besides that, trying to contain truly Good News is next to impossible; it has to be shared as soon as possible! When they arrive back in Jerusalem, they find that the Lord had already appeared to Simon Peter and their testimony adds to it. Piece by piece, witness by witness, the Gospel starts gaining unstoppable momentum.

This is where the Emmaus story hits home and challenges us. We know how easy it is to make excuses. We’ve experienced moments of grace, clarity, and real encounters with God…and yet how often do we tell ourselves, “I’ll share that later… it’s not the right time… they probably wouldn’t be interested anyway.” Meanwhile, people in our lives are walking their own road to Emmaus: confused, discouraged, or overwhelmed. They don’t even realize Christ is with them. Often, the way He wants to reach them is through us, through our simple witness that might require us to take a risk or be vulnerable.

So my invitation this week is simple but also a little uncomfortable: ask for the grace to see where Christ is be walking with you, even if you haven’t recognized Him yet. Stay close to the Mass, because this is where our eyes are opened. And when you do recognize Him…even in a small way…don’t keep it to yourself. Be willing to go back and share your moment when you saw Jesus even though it would be easier to keep it to yourself. The same Jesus who walked with those disciples is walking with you right now. And the good news He’s explaining to you isn’t meant to stop with you, it’s meant to spread for the good of His Church and the salvation of the world!

 

Want Mercy? Give Mercy!

  Twenty-five years ago, St. John Paul II designated the Sunday right after Easter as Divine Mercy Sunday. He did this intentionally, because you can’t really understand Easter without understanding mercy. The resurrection only makes sense if we understand forgiveness. No matter who you are, there’s not a single person here who doesn’t want mercy. We’ve all needed it… we’ve all asked for it… some of us have begged for it.

Kids, know what I’m talking about. You get grounded, and suddenly the very things that are taken away: the phone, the Xbox, the car…those are the only things you can think about. And what do you say? “Mom, come on… just one show?” “Dad, I know I’m grounded, but all my friends are going out…” You’re not asking for justice, you’re asking for mercy.

Or if you’ve ever been driving and you look in the rearview mirror and see those flashing lights… your heart drops a little. And as the officer walks up, all of a sudden we become very polite, slightly confused people. “Officer, I didn’t realize how fast I was going…” “I thought the light was still yellow…” Translation: please have mercy on me.

Same thing after a bad test. Suddenly we’re negotiating: “Can I retake it? Is there extra credit? Maybe a curve?” Especially if we think it wasn’t entirely our fault…because we had a game the night before, weren’t feeling well, or simply blanked on the answers.

In all of these moments, we want a break. Even if we don’t fully deserve it, we want someone to go easy on us. And when they do…when the officer gives a warning, when the teacher bumps the grade, when a parent lightens the punishment…it feels amazing. It’s like a weight gets lifted.

I remember one of my first experiences of mercy. I was probably six or seven, playing outside, and I broke our neighbor’s window. Completely shattered it. I was convinced my life was over. I had no money to replace it, no way to fix it; I honestly thought I was going to jail. So I ran inside, told my mom, and waited for the handcuffs to be slapped on.

A little while later she came back and said, “You’re not in trouble. The neighbor said don’t worry about it.” No anger. No demand for payment. Just… mercy. And I still remember that feeling; the weight of the world taken away.

As powerful as those moments are, they’re only a tiny glimpse of God’s mercy. God’s mercy isn’t just a feeling or an action…it’s actually a person: Jesus Christ. He didn’t have to become one of us. He didn’t have to suffer. He didn’t have to go to the cross. But he chose to, out of love for us. Out of mercy. 

That’s why Easter and Divine Mercy are inseparable. The resurrection is the proof that mercy wins. Sin doesn’t. Death doesn’t. God’s mercy has the final word. And it’s being offered to every single one of us. Christ’s arms are still open. He’s ready to forgive and heal but he won’t force it. We have to come to him.

That’s why the sacraments matter so much, especially confession. It’s not just a ritual; it’s an encounter with mercy and a movement towards God. How often we put it off! We say, “I’ll go later… next month… eventually.” But why wait? If God is offering freedom, why keep carrying the weight?

But here’s where it gets a little more challenging. Mercy is not just something we receive. It’s something we have to give. Jesus is very clear about that: we are forgiven in the measure that we forgive others. The way we give mercy… is the way we receive it.

That might make us pause for a second. Because if I’m stingy with mercy…if I hold grudges, keep score, refuse to let things go….then I shouldn’t be surprised if my experience of God’s mercy feels pretty limited. But if I’m generous… if I go out of my way to forgive, to give people the benefit of the doubt, to let things go… then I’m opening myself up to receive that same generosity from God.

This is where Divine Mercy really pushes against our culture. We live in a world that demands perfection from everyone else… but makes excuses for ourselves. When someone else messes up? We want justice. We want accountability. We want consequences. But when we mess up? “Well, you don’t understand… I was tired… I was stressed… it’s complicated…” It’s the exact opposite of what Jesus is offering.

Jesus is saying: come receive my mercy but do not fail share it with others. The world says, “be easy on yourself, and hard on everyone else.” We have to decide which voice we’re going to follow.

Each of us has people in our lives right now who need our mercy. Maybe it’s someone who hurt us. Maybe it’s someone who annoys us. Maybe it’s someone we’ve just quietly written off. And we justify holding onto it by telling ourselves they don’t deserve forgiveness. They probably don’t. But neither did we. And yet God gives it to us anyway.

So if we want to live the joy of Easter…if we really want to experience the power and freedom of the resurrection…then our lives have to become a cycle of mercy: receiving it from God, and giving it away to others, over and over again, until it becomes who we are.

Start small. It doesn’t have to be dramatic. A kind word when you’re irritated. Letting something go instead of bringing it up again. Being patient with someone who gets on your nerves. Giving someone the benefit of the doubt. Every time we do that, we’re not just being nice, we are becoming more like Christ.

Moving forward, let’s ask God to help us become icons of Divine Mercy. Not just asking for it but giving it often, generously, even when it’s difficult. that’s how God treats us. Give thanks to the LORD for he is good, his love is everlasting.

Congratulations on Your New Home! (Easter, 2026)

  First of all, on behalf of the clergy and staff of Incarnate Word, I want to wish you a very holy and happy Easter! To our parishioners, I hope this time of rejoicing in Christ’s victory offers you countless graces and renewed hope. And to all of our visitors who are here with family and friends…welcome! We are truly glad you are here. Whether it’s here or back home when your visit is over, we hope you will always feel at home in the Catholic church where we strive to make God’s love, joy, and victory visible.

Now, in comparison to what Jesus has done for us, everything else fades; but there is still a tremendous amount of work that goes into celebrating these Easter liturgies. Our musicians and choir spend long hours preparing. Our lectors practice and pray over the readings. Our servers navigate the unique rhythms of the Triduum. And then there’s our decorating team, who in less than 24 hours transform a bare church into something vibrant and alive, filled with flowers and color.

It might seem simple; just get a bunch of flowers and spread them around, but working with florists doesn’t always go as planned.

I heard about a real estate agent who sent flowers to a client who had just closed on a new home. Instead of a thank-you call, the client called, confused, asking what message the flowers were supposed to convey. The agent asked for a picture…and sure enough, it was a funeral arrangement, with a ribbon that read, “Rest in Peace.” After apologizing, the agent called the florist to complain. The florist responded, “It could be worse… just imagine, today someone was buried with flowers that said, ‘Congratulations on your new home!’”

It’s good to laugh a little on Easter. Because in a sense, that’s exactly what’s happened. Death and the devil are the ones standing there looking foolish. Because the tomb is empty. Because Jesus Christ is risen. And everything has changed.

At the heart of our celebration today is not just the idea that Jesus went from “rest in peace” to “congratulations on your new home.” Through His Resurrection, He has changed the meaning of life and death for all of us.

Before Christ, death was the end. The final word: the unbreakable barrier. But now it becomes a doorway. It becomes the passage into eternal life. Now it becomes, for those who belong to Him, the beginning instead of the end.

Today’s celebration connects back to what we reflected on just days ago with Good Friday. We stood at the foot of the cross and remembered that Jesus took our place. Like St. Maximilian Kolbe stepping forward for another prisoner, Christ stepped forward for us…taking upon Himself the weight of our sins, offering His life so that we might live.

Today we celebrate the revelation of the whole story of salvation; the cross was not the end. The Resurrection is the plot twist. The proof that His sacrifice was not in vain. The proof that sin has been defeated. The proof that death does not and cannot win. It also shows that self-giving, sacrificial love, united with faith, has the final word.

I came across an example of this resurrection faith recently in the story of of a local sports figure. Some of you may have heard of Eduard Löwen, a player for St. Louis City SC. Recently, his wife Ilona passed away at just 28 years old, after a long battle with cancer. By any measure, it is a devastating loss; the kind of suffering that shakes a person to the core and causes some to question God.

And yet, in interviews and in the words he shared at her funeral, what stood out was not despair, but faith. Not hopelessness, but hope. He said, “My world has been shattered. And still I can say with confidence that God is enough.” He acknowledged the depth of his grief, calling her “the most precious thing” in his life…and yet he also said, “As much as I loved her, there is someone I love more, and that is Jesus.” And perhaps most strikingly, he spoke of the future…not with uncertainty, but with conviction: “I will meet her one day.”

That is not denial. That is not pretending the pain isn’t real. That is resurrection faith. That is what it looks like when Easter is not just something we celebrate but something we live. The Resurrection doesn’t take away the cross but it transforms it. It tells us that even the worst thing is never the last thing. It tells us that nothing is wasted: not our joys, not our struggles, not even our losses. God, in His power and love, can take all of it and use it to lead us to Himself and eternal life.

Which leads to a few reflection questions before we head off to our celebrations. Do we live as people who truly believe that life is a gift? Do we live with gratitude for what Christ has done? Do we live with the kind of faith that changes how we face suffering, loss, and even death? Or do we slip back into living as though this world is all there is?

Easter is not just a day to celebrate…it is a way to live. It is an invitation to see everything differently. To recognize that Christ has gone ahead of us and opened the way but we must follow. That death is no longer has the power to rule over us. That love is not destroyed. And that one day, for those who belong to Him, reunion is not just a wish but a promise.

So during this easter season, as we celebrate that Christ is risen, may it not just be words we say but a truth we live. An unshakeable truth that gives us hope in suffering, strength in hardship, and confidence in the face of death. Because the tomb is empty…and that changes everything. Amen. Alleluia.

He Fights For Us (5th Sunday of Lent, Year A)

  One of the things I used to enjoy doing to relax was watching movies, especially indie films, foreign flicks, and any production that was a little off the beaten path. There are some really great movies out there that fly under the radar and don’t have a single superhero or explosion in them! There’s one in particular I remember from years ago: Scott Pilgrim vs. the World. Now, full disclaimer, it’s been about 15 years since I’ve seen it, so I’m not necessarily recommending it… but the premise stuck with me.

Scott falls for this girl named Ramona. But before he can truly win her heart, he must defeat her seven evil exes. One by one, he faces them, each battle a kind of test, a proving of love, a refusal to give up. It’s quirky, it’s over the top, but at its core, it’s a story about love that fights… that perseveres… that refuses to walk away or be frightened by daunting challenges.

And as strange as it sounds, that’s not a bad lens for what we’ve been hearing these past weeks in the Gospel of John. St. John doesn’t just give us a random collection of miracles…he gives us 7 signs to prove Jesus’ credentials as Savior. There’s a progression, almost like a series of spiritual battles where Jesus fights the things that afflict our fallen human condition, everything that burdens us, everything that holds us back.

While we haven’t heard the first 4 signs at Mass during lent, you know them well. At Cana, when He changes water into wine, Jesus shows His power over quality…taking something ordinary and making it not just sufficient, but abundant and excellent. When He heals the royal official’s son, miles from his home, He shows His power over distance…that His word is not limited by space or time. He doesn’t even need to be physically present to bring life. When He feeds the five thousand, He shows His power over quantity…that our sense of “not enough,” is no problem for Him. When He walks on the water and calms the storm, He shows His power over nature…even chaos and fear are subject to His command.

Moving then to the final three signs, which we have heard over the last few weeks at Mass. When He heals the man born blind, He shows His power over illness…restoring what seemed permanently lost and revealing Himself as the Light of the World. When He encounters the woman at the well, He shows His power over shame and isolation…entering her wounded story and transforming it. She goes from hiding in the middle of the day to becoming a witness who brings others to Him. And finally, today, when He raises Lazarus from the dead, He shows His power over death itself…that He is, “the Resurrection and the Life.”

Isn’t it amazing to see what Jesus is doing? Step by step, sign by sign, he is confronting everything that afflicts us at the deepest level of the human heart. Emptiness. Distance. Limitation. Scarcity. Chaos. Brokenness. Shame. And ultimately, death. It’s almost like a series of battles…not against “evil exes,” but against the real enemies we all carry within us, things we once thought would make us happy.

Jesus doesn’t do this just to prove a point. He does it to win us. Jesus is not afraid of our past. He’s not afraid of our sins, our wounds, or the things we’ve chased after instead of him. In fact, those are exactly the places He goes. He steps into the mess. He speaks into the distance. He touches the broken. He calls out what is dead. And He does it because He desires us.

Now here’s where the comparison to Scott Pilgrim both helps and falls short in the best possible way. In that movie, there’s always a question: will he actually win? There’s uncertainty. You don’t know if he’ll make it through all seven battles. But with Jesus, there is no fear of that. We know how this ends; the final battle is not in doubt. What looks like defeat on the Cross is actually victory. What looks like the end is actually the beginning. The Resurrection is not a possibility, it is a promise. Jesus will triumph.

And that’s not all…He will take the things in our lives that seem like losses… our sufferings, our sins, our failures… and somehow, in a way only God can, transform them into glory. That’s what we remember and celebrate with Holy Week.

So now the question shifts from “Will He win?”(because He already has) to: will we let Him win us? Will we let go of the things that promised joy but never delivered? Will we trust that even the hardest parts of our lives are not wasted but can be redeemed?

Jesus is not fighting for us in some distant, abstract way. He is fighting for you, personally. He knows your story. He knows your burdens. He knows the places that feel too far gone, too broken, too buried. Just like He stood before the tomb of Lazarus, He stands before those places in our lives. And He calls us by name.

As Lent comes to its completion, that call becomes more urgent, more personal. This is not just a story we remember or a story about someone else. It’s a story we’re invited into. A love story…the greatest one ever told. The only part still unwritten is your answer and mine. Let us say ‘yes’ to the Lord who loves us so much and won’t ever stop fighting for us!