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!

Not Why...But How Can God Be Glorified Here? (4th Sunday of Lent, Year A)

  One of the incredible privileges of priesthood…something I’ve mentioned before…is being able to walk with people and families during the most important moments of their lives. So many of those experiences are joyful: baptisms, weddings, the good news of a surgery going well, or the healthy birth of a baby. In the course of a single week of priestly ministry, you often witness the whole cycle of human life. And many nights, before I go to bed, I simply thank God for allowing me to be some small part of those moments.

But of course, there are also the difficult moments. Perhaps a parishioner’s loved one dies suddenly, someone receives a devastating diagnosis or a child becomes seriously ill. In those painful situations, almost everyone eventually asks the same question. “Why?” Why is this happening? Whose fault is this? What did I do to deserve this?

It’s a very human reaction. When we encounter suffering, in our own lives or in the lives of people we love, our instinct is to look for someone or something to blame. Even though we rarely get a satisfying answer, we keep asking that question over and over again.

That is exactly the question the disciples ask in today’s Gospel. Jesus and his disciples pass by a man who was born blind, and the disciples immediately assume there must be a moral failure to blame. “Rabbi, who sinned, this man or his parents, that he was born blind?” In other words, they are posing the same question we often ask: Whose fault is this?

But Jesus gently shows them that they are asking the wrong question. “It was not that this man sinned or his parents, but that the works of God might be made visible through him.” Jesus is teaching his disciples…and us…that when we encounter suffering, the first question should not be why did this happen or who is to blame. The better question is: What is God going to do here? And how can I help reveal God’s goodness in this situation? That is a completely different way of looking at the world.

The first reading today hints at the same truth. When Samuel goes to choose the next king of Israel, he assumes the oldest, strongest, and most impressive-looking sons of Jesse must be the ones God wants. But the Lord corrects him with those famous words: “Not as man sees does God see, because man sees the appearance, but the Lord looks into the heart.” Human beings look at the surface. God sees the deeper story.

From a human perspective, the man in today’s Gospel looked like a tragedy. He was blind from birth. In that culture, he would have been pushed to the margins of society, assumed to be cursed or punished by God. But Jesus sees something completely different. He sees a man whose life will reveal the glory of God. Jesus heals him but the miracle goes even deeper than that. Once he receives his sight, the man becomes a witness. The very people who thought they had nothing to learn…the religious authorities, the experts…are challenged by the faith of the man who had once been blind.

The irony of the Gospel is wonderful! The man who was physically blind sees clearly who Jesus is. Meanwhile, the Pharisees, whose eyes function fine, remain blind in their hearts. If we’re not careful, that same blindness can creep into our own lives. Far too often we look at people the way the disciples first did. We see someone struggling, someone who has made mistakes, someone who seems broken or lost and we assume their affliction is due to their guilt. But none of us can see into another person’s heart.

Only God has that power and insight. When Jesus looks at a person…when he looks at you and me…he does not see a failure or someone beyond hope. He sees a person capable of holiness, someone whose life can reveal the glory of God. Which brings us back to the question Jesus is teaching us to ask.

Instead of asking “Why is this happening?”, he invites us to ask: “How can the works of God be made visible here?” When someone we love is suffering, the question is not simply why. The question becomes: How can God bring grace out of this moment? When we encounter someone who seems broken or lost, the question is not what went wrong with them. The question becomes: What does God see in this person that I may be missing? And when we face struggles in our own lives, the question is not why me but rather: How might God be working through this in ways I cannot yet see?

Faith doesn’t always give us the answer to the “why.” But it does teach us where to look. It teaches us to look for the work of God, even in places where the world only sees darkness. It lays the foundation for the hope and expectation that whatever we are suffering is no match for the saving power of God. That hope is at the heart of our faith and the beginning of miracles. Nothing…not sickness, not suffering, not even death itself…is stronger than the power of God. The resurrection of Jesus proves that.

Today’s Gospel invites us to pray for something very simple: the gift of clear, spiritual sight. The ability to see people as God sees them. The ability to trust that even in the darkest moments of life, God is still at work. The ability to recognize the work of God even when it appears in the most unexpected places. The real tragedy in today’s Gospel wasn’t the man who was born blind. The real tragedy was the people who could see but refused to recognize the work of God standing right in front of them. Let’s make sure we don’t become one of them but instead serve as witnesses to Jesus’ infinite power over the pain, suffering, and darkness of this world!

Seeing Beyond Generalizations, Categories, and Worst Mistakes (3rd Sunday of Lent, Year A)

  This Sunday we hear the wonderful story of Jesus’ conversation with the woman at the well. Jesus has sent his disciples off to get food when this woman comes to draw water. The impact of this story can be lost on us 2,000 years later, but by the cultural standards of that time this woman would have been considered completely unworthy, even of a simple greeting. The fact that Jesus not only acknowledged her but had an extended conversation with her, and asked her for a drink of water, was shocking…both to the woman and to his followers.

Why?

First, she is a woman, and interactions between men and women who were not family were discouraged in the time of Jesus. The idea of strangers exchanging small talk could be seen as improper. Also, this woman arrives at the well at the hottest point of the day. Normally women gathered water early in the morning or later in the evening when it was cooler. Coming alone at noon suggests she was avoiding the others and likely living in the shadows of her community.

Second, she is a Samaritan. As she herself points out, Jews didn’t associate with Samaritans. Because of centuries of political and religious conflict, many Jews saw them as outsiders, traitors, and avoided them completely. There was deep hostility between the two groups.

And third, this woman has a personal history that makes her a pariah even within her own village. Jesus reveals that she has had five husbands, and the man she is living with now is not her husband. Even today that would raise eyebrows. In her own community she was very likely a shamed and isolated person.

So when the disciples return and see Jesus speaking with her, they are stunned.

It might help us to think about a time in our own lives when we were judged or placed into a stereotype based on an incomplete understanding of our life or history. We know how horrible it feels to be judged harshly. Human beings are quick to rely on stereotypes, rash judgments, and generalizations to dismiss people we disagree with, feel uncomfortable around, or simply find inconvenient.

The woman at the well was exactly that kind of person in the eyes of society. She had been labeled, categorized, and written off. People felt justified ignoring her as though she didn’t exist; the ancient version of canceling someone.

But if we truly believe Jesus is our example, then we want to learn to treat people the way he does. To love as he loves and act as he does, especially when we encounter people who would be easy to ignore or dismiss. Living that way is what distinguishes us as Christians. So what do we learn from this encounter?

First, Jesus does not see this woman as a stereotype or a category. He refuses to reduce her to a label. Instead, he sees her as a unique individual.

We do the opposite sometimes. We meet someone and quickly place them into a category. Maybe it’s politics. Maybe it’s the school they attended. Maybe it’s something truly serious…like being a Cubs fan or coming from a rival parish we competed against in grade school. But Jesus refuses to do that. He sees her as 1 of 1. He speaks to her. He respects her dignity. Even while recognizing her wounded past and sinful choices, Jesus sees something deeper…the image of his heavenly Father within her.

And the beautiful thing is that he does the same with us. God does not lump us into some general category of “sinners.” He doesn’t say, “Once I’ve dealt with one sinner, I’ve dealt with them all.” Each one of us receives his full attention, his personal love, and his desire to draw us closer to himself. He loves and guides each of us without comparison. How difficult that can be to do for others…and how wonderful it is when we experience that kind of love ourselves.

The second thing we see Jesus do is just as powerful: he refuses to define this woman by her worst moment.

He acknowledges her past, but he does not reduce her to it. Despite her failures, he does not see her as unclean, unworthy, or beyond redemption. Instead, Jesus speaks to her as someone who has a future. In fact, he sees something in her that no one else seems to notice. By the end of the story, this same woman: the outcast, the embarrassment of the town, runs back and tells everyone about Jesus. She becomes the first evangelist to her village. Jesus saw not only who she had been, but who she could become.

That can be very hard for us to do with one another. How easily we define people by their failures or the worst decision they’ve ever made! Imagine how different our families, friendships, and our world would be if we learned to see people the way Jesus does: with grace, with hope, and with a desire for the good in each person to be highlighted.

This Gospel also invites us to look honestly at ourselves. At one point Jesus gently leads the woman to acknowledge the many relationships she has had. Some spiritual writers suggest we can think of those “five husbands” as the different things she had tried in order to find happiness…relationships, pleasure, approval, security. In other words, she had been searching everywhere for the living water that only God can give. Don’t we often do the same thing? We look to success, relationships, comfort, or recognition to fill that deep thirst within our hearts. These things are good, but none of them can truly satisfy us the way God can. Only Christ offers the living water that our thirst.

The beautiful thing about this story is that Jesus meets this woman exactly where she is. He listens to her. He respects her dignity. He invites her to something better. And he transforms her life.

He wants to do the same for us. May we allow Christ to meet us honestly, to heal the places where we are wounded, and to satisfy the deepest longing in our hearts. And like the Samaritan woman, may we leave that encounter ready to lead others to the same living water.

Don't Just Hear, Listen! (2nd Sunday of Lent, Year A)

  One of the most common themes in storytelling is simple: someone with wisdom… a parent, mentor, or guide, gives important advice meant to protect or bless. The counsel usually comes with the emphasis: “Whatever you do, don’t…” or “Make sure you always…” And the funny thing is, even while the warning is being delivered, you just know the character is going to ignore it and mess everything up.

For example, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the children are told, “no touching, no meddling, no tasting.” Naturally, that’s exactly what they do and chaos follows. In Gremlins, Gizmo comes with three rules: keep him dry, avoid bright light, and never feed him after midnight. Every rule gets broken, and the results are basically the destruction of the town. In Finding Nemo, a fish father warns his clownfish son not to stray from the safety of the reef. Nemo tries to impress his friends, wanders off, and suddenly he’s far from home in a dangerous adventure that nearly sends him to sleep with the humans.

Hearing but not listening is not just a well-worn movie theme; it’s a summary of the human condition and commentary on our relationship with God!

Last week we heard the story that set the pattern for the book of Genesis. Adam and Eve were given one command in the Garden of Eden. Just one, don’t eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil. When they refused to listen, the effects spread quickly: violence enters the world, pride grows, division deepens. Sin moves fast, and it always carries consequences. Scripture and Tradition consistently show us something we don’t always love to hear: obedience to God is rarely easy, but it is always life-giving.

In the first reading, God asks Abraham to do something incredibly difficult. He’s told to leave behind his homeland, his security, his familiar world…everything he knows. And he’s not a young adventurer setting out on a bold journey. He’s seventy-five years old. No children. No guarantees. Just a promise from God: “I will make of you a great nation… I will bless you… your name will be a blessing.”

It would have been perfectly reasonable for Abraham to say, “I think I’ll stay where I am.” But he listens. He obeys. He steps into uncertainty, trusting the One who called him. And through that obedience, God begins something far greater than Abraham could have imagined or would see in his lifetime. And yet today, we know that every part of the promise has been fulfilled!

The Gospel shows the same pattern. On the mountain, the apostles see Jesus transfigured in glory. Then they hear the voice of the Father: “This is my beloved Son… listen to him.” That command comes with a hidden challenge. To listen to Jesus will mean following him not only to glory, but also toward suffering and the cross. Trusting him will not always feel safe or comfortable or certain. Yet the apostles are invited to believe that even when the path is hard, it is still the path that leads to life.

The second reading makes this even clearer. Saint Paul tells Timothy not to be ashamed of bearing hardship for the Gospel, but to rely on God’s power. Listening to God and obeying him will involve sacrifice. In some way, God’s faithful will experience loss, struggle, and suffering. But difficulty is not a sign that we are on the wrong path. Sometimes it is precisely how God shapes us, strengthens us, and leads us toward something greater than comfort could ever produce. Doing God’s will is not always the easiest choice but it is always the right one.

This theme of obedience is not something reserved for Abraham or the apostles! God is calling each of us to obey his plan and law in our own lives. He continues to speak to us in prayer and through the Church, asking us to draw closer to his beloved Son and listen to him. He is inviting us to leave behind our old way of life, those things in which we place our trust, and re-establish our faith in his divine promises. He wants to make us a part of that great nation of believers and to make our lives a blessing. But we can only experience these good things if we embrace obedience to his will. We can take comfort knowing that God never breaks his promises, he  makes the impossible, possible, and the more we trust him, the more he blesses us. We have today’s readings as a reminder of this powerful truth.

So the question for us today is simple and personal: where is God asking us to listen like Abraham and apostles? Is he asking for a greater fidelity to the Catholic teaching on difficult topics? Could he be asking you to consider the possibility of expanding your family through openness to life or adoption? Is it by being more generous in sharing the blessings you have received with those who are less fortunate? Maybe he’s inviting you to let go of habits or comfortable routines that keep you from growing. Maybe he’s calling you to be more patient and present to the people who need you. Maybe obedience looks like forgiving when it’s hard, persevering when you’re tired, or choosing what is right even when it costs something.

One thing is certain: obedience to God never goes unnoticed or unrewarded. Today we ask for the grace to hear his voice, to trust his promises, and to follow his Son, even when the path is demanding. And with the psalmist we pray: “Lord, let your mercy be on us, as we place our trust in you.”