Reunion. Cleansing of Temple (2025-11-09, St. John Lateran Basilica)

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[November 9, 2025 (St. John Lateran) ●● Ezekiel 47:1-2, 8-9, 12 ●●  Psalm 46 ●●  1 Corinthians 3: 9c, 11, 16-17 ●● John 2:13-25 ●● ]  Homily on John 2:13–25 — Parish Anniversary, 2025

Zero.Introduction. Significance of the Lateran Basilica and Parish Anniversary

The date of “November 9” is our parish’s founding anniversary.   The same day is also the Catholic feast of the Dedication of the Basilica of St. John Lateran in Rome (November 9). It marks the dedication of this cathedral church of Rome by Pope Sylvester I in 324.  Last year, as we celebrated our 110^th Anniversary, this Basilica had its 1,700^th Anniversary.

The Basilica of St. John Lateran in Rome carries profound historical importance as it is situated on land granted to the Christian community in the fourth century by Emperor Constantine. This event marked a significant turning point when Christianity shifted from being an illicit faith to becoming the official religion of the Roman Empire. While St. John Lateran might not have been the very first place of Christian worship in Rome, it is recognized as the city's inaugural major place of worship.  (The name “Lateran” is not a surname for St. John but rather the family by whom the property of the church was originally owned.  The patron of the church is St. John the Evangelist).

It's noteworthy that the Basilica of St. John Lateran (324) predates St. Peter's Basilica, the construction of which spanned two centuries: 1506 to 1626.  St. Peter’s Basilica actually fulfills both criteria of late antiquity churches in that it was built over a martyr’s tomb (St. Peter) and it follows the plan of a Roman basilica.  St. John Lateran is different.

As the Catholic Encyclopedia reports: “[St. John Lateran] has no saint buried beneath it, since it was not, as were almost all the other great churches of Rome, erected over the tomb of a martyr. It stands alone among all the altars of the Catholic world in being of wood and not of stone, and enclosing no relics of any kind. The reason for this peculiarity is that it is itself a relic of a most interesting kind, being the actual wooden altar upon which St. Peter is believed to have celebrated Mass during his residence in Rome”

 We are at Lourdes, having built also upon the sacrifices of our fathers and mothers and predecessors in faith. We give thanks for what they have left us. The practice of our faith today also calls us not simply to solve every problem we encounter but also to leave a legacy for the children and young people and our brothers and sisters to follow.

1. A Familiar Reunion and an Unfamiliar Challenge

On Friday night, I attended a reunion with classmates, some whom, I hadn’t seen in over 40 plus years. We needed name tags to recognize each other, but before long we were acting exactly the same way – and had the familiar mannerisms and word as we had in 8^th grade — it was a time of familiar stories and also familiar personalities, almost as if no time had passed. We became the people we were….

Driving home, I wondered: Is it always good to resume our old ways?

In today’s Gospel, Jesus walks into the Temple of Jerusalem and finds people who have also resumed their “old ways.” The holy place meant for prayer has become a marketplace. He fashions a whip of cords, drives out the merchants, and overturns the tables. To the startled onlookers He declares, “Zeal for your house will consume me.”  Zeal means dedication or devotion.

That zeal is not anger —it is love on fire. It is the burning passion of One who cannot bear to see what is holy corrupted. Jesus doesn’t destroy the Temple; He restores it. Every divine cleansing — whether of a sanctuary or a soul — is love refusing to settle for half-hearted worship.

2. The Parish: A Living Temple

Today we celebrate 111 years of faith at Our Lady of Lourdes Parish, founded in 1914 under Monsignor Nicholas Marnell. From Cherry and Chestnut Streets to this church built in 1964, the Lord has continued to build not just walls but hearts.

The Psalmist reminds us: “Unless the Lord builds the house, in vain do the builders labor.” (Ps 127)
We are those builders. Every prayer whispered, every candle lit, every meal shared, every confession made — each is a beam in a spiritual cathedral that time cannot erode.

Saint Augustine taught that zeal for God’s house means letting our hearts be purified so that we ourselves become His dwelling. And as the Catechism (CCC 593) tells us, the true Temple is Christ’s Body — and through Baptism, we are joined to that living Temple.

3. Before Beauty, Demolition

If you’ve ever watched a home-makeover show, you know that before the beauty comes the dust: walls torn down, floors ripped up, debris everywhere. The crew doesn’t destroy for destruction’s sake; they clear space for something stronger and new.

That’s what Jesus does in the Temple — and what He wants to do in us. His zeal overturns not furniture but false attachments, not tables but tired routines of faith. He clears space in our hearts so grace can rebuild.

 

The other day I spent about half an hour cleaning “the temple” of my car before driving my parents to New York for a routine doctor’s appointment.

I made space for a wheelchair and walker, checked the seatbelts, got everything just right or so I thought.

Before we even left, my father was loading the car, bumped his head on the door frame, and said, “This car is too small—too low to the ground!”
I was displeased. I couldn’t make the “building of the car” or temple fit his desire.
And I’ve bumped my own head on that same door frame more than once.
Sometimes I wish the car—and even the Church—were built more to my own liking!
At times I’ve wished the Gospel were a bit more adapted to me, rather than me having to adapt to it.

Still, off we went. ****

On the highway, a car came speeding up behind us, so I moved to the right lane.

My dad asked, “Why’d you move? Let him go around.”
We started to argue. And in that moment I realized: I had cleaned the car, but not my heart. I was impatient, resuming my old ways.

So I took a breath, stopped responding, and just focused on driving.
To be honest, peace didn’t come right away.

I actually didn't feel good right away about restraining myself. It took a day for me to feel good about what I had done. Sometimes it takes time to realize that we've done something right or done something wrong. Conversion, like a true remodel, takes more than a single afternoon, and every sacrament in the church is

This also why we are called to confess our sins, to cleanse our hearts, to make room for something more, someone more, a love greater than we can create on our own.

4. The Pattern of Christ’s Renovation

When Jesus says, “Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up,” He reveals Himself as the new and everlasting Temple. His cleansing of the Temple foreshadows His Passion and Resurrection — before the glory comes the demolition, before Easter comes the Cross.

In every sacrament, that same rhythm continues:

·        Baptism, the old life is buried so new life can rise.

·        Confession, sin is put to death, so we can live!.

·        Marriage, 2 people die to independence so a new union can be built.

·        Eucharist, we are united to the Body of Christ — the living Temple not made by human hands (cf. CCC 1329).

The Lord is the true Builder who never stops renovating us. And each act of divine cleansing is not punishment, but preparation for resurrection.

5. What We Are Building — The Zeal That Lives in Ordinary Service

A parish anniversary is a time to look around and ask, What have we been building all these years?
We know it’s more than bricks and mortar. Yes, we repair roofs, patch plaster, change lights, and someday, God willing, we’ll even find heavenly parking! But what really lasts are the hands and hearts that keep this parish alive.

I see your zeal – your devotion so many ways. Those who come early to prepare the altar, arrange the plants, make sure everything is in order for Mass. In our volunteers and catechists who teach our children the faith, sometimes after a full day’s or week’s work, week after week. In the volunteers who count the collection, clean the church, decorate for Advent and Easter,  in lectors who proclaim the Word, in choir members and musicians, ushers, those visit the sick, take in food donations. and keep the parish running behind the scenes.

Each act — large or small — is a beam in the house God continues to build here.
Every contribution, every sacrifice, every humble task adds another stone to the living temple that is Our Lady of Lourdes. The parish is not only what we see around us; it is what we do together, in love.

Our faith is not a static monument —it’s a living renovation. The Church endures because love endures. And the zeal that consumed Jesus in the Temple must continue to burn here, in us, every time we serve, forgive, and begin again.

6. Conclusion — Every Renovation Becomes a Resurrection

When Jesus overturned the tables, He was already preparing the altar.
When He spoke of the Temple’s destruction, He was already promising Resurrection.

His zeal —the fire of divine love — tears down what is false so that He may build what is true.

As we mark 111 years of worship at Our Lady of Lourdes, may that same zeal consume us —not with anger, but with love. May our hearts, our homes, and our parish be continually renewed until every renovation becomes a resurrection.

Ad Multos Annos!
Our Lady of Lourdes, pray for us.

All Souls. Intercession (2025-11-02)

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 [November 2, 2025 ]  All Souls 2025: The Communion of Interceding Hearts

Gospel: John 6:37–40  “This is the will of my Father, that I should lose nothing of what He has given me, but that I should raise it up on the last day.”

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1. What It Means to Intercede

To intercede is to stand in the gap for another—to lift up someone’s need before God, just as the saints do for us.

The Catechism says, “Intercession is a prayer of petition which leads us to pray as Jesus did” (CCC 2634).
In today’s Gospel, Jesus speaks of the Father’s will that none be lost. He reveals Himself as the great intercessor, the one who stands before the Father for us, offering His own life.

This moment in John’s Gospel—often called the Bread of Life discourse—is not just about receiving Communion; it is about being in communion. Jesus prepares Himself and us to give and receive love through His Body and Blood. He intercedes for us by making Himself VULNERALBE –  through the sacrifice we receive, so that we might be united with Him and with one another.

This act of divine intercession continues a long tradition reaching back through salvation history. Think of Joseph, the son of Jacob: betrayed and sold by his brothers – also VULNERABLE - yet later raised to power in Egypt so that he could save the very family that had abandoned him. Joseph, the rejected one, becomes the rescuer.

So it is with Christ—the VULNERABLE intercessor par excellence—who feeds and redeems those who once rejected Him.

And in Christ, the Church herself becomes an interceding Body: praying, waiting, and standing in love for the living andlthe dead.

 

2. Christ the Great Intercessor and His Body, the Church

Jesus says, “Everything that the Father gives me will come to me, and I will not reject anyone who comes to me.”  This is the heart of divine intercession: the Son standing before the Father for the sake of humanity.

The Catechism teaches, “In the age of the Church, Christian intercession participates in Christ’s, as an expression of the communion of saints” (CCC 2635).
Through baptism we become members of His Body—the living, the departed, and the saints in glory—joined in one unbroken communion.

When we pray for the faithful departed, we exercise that bond of charity that death cannot destroy. The Church commends the dead to God’s mercy, offering prayers—especially the Eucharistic sacrifice—on their behalf (CCC 1055).

At the altar, heaven and earth meet. The saints intercede for us; we intercede for the dead; and Christ offers Himself for all.

One image that often captures this communion for me is the wedding. Here at Our Lady of Lourdes, it my hope and plan that the groom arrives at the church before the bride—standing at the altar rail, smiling, waiting. The bride, too, is waiting in her own place. Both are longing for the same moment of union.

That is what love looks like: waiting, watching, interceding for the other. Marriage becomes a living parable of the Church’s communion—a reminder that we are always waiting for one another, both in time and in eternity.

On this All Souls Day, we remember that same kind of waiting: the living praying for the dead, and the saints praying for us, all joined in Christ who bridges every distance.

 

3. Everyday Intercession and the Saving Name

Intercession does not belong only to saints and priests—it unfolds in the ordinary spaces of life:

·        a parent praying for a struggling child,

·        a caregiver offering the exhaustion of the day,

·        a friend lighting a candle for someone sick or gone.

Years ago, I was driving with my father across the George Washington Bridge on our way to City Island in the Bronx. This was long before GPS—no cell phones, no digital maps. My father had E-ZPass; I didn’t. He drove through his usual lane—toll number 64—and went ahead of me while I waited to pay cash.

By the time I crossed, he was far ahead. But I knew he was thinking of me, checking his mirrors, worrying whether I’d make it. When I finally arrived, there he was—standing at the gate, waiting. He had gotten there first, but he hadn’t forgotten me.

That is what intercession looks like: getting there first, but waiting for others to arrive; remembering those who are still on the way.

And that is what we do today. We pray for those who have died—not because they are forgotten, but because they are remembered in the mercy of God.

Pope Francis reminds us, “Praying for the dead is an act of mercy and hope. It entrusts our loved ones to God’s mercy and opens us to eternity.” (General Audience, Feb 2, 2022)
Each prayer, fast, or act of charity participates in that same redemptive love.

Our intercession is not anxious pleading; it is confident trust in Christ’s promise:

“This is the will of my Father, that I shall lose nothing of what He has given me.”

4. Saying the Name, Praying the Name

When I was ten years old, my family spent a week at the Jersey Shore. One morning, my little brother Michael—just four years old—got lost on the beach.

Panic broke out. Lifeguards were called, police notified, people fanned out along the shoreline. In those days there were no cell phones or photos to share—only a name. So we shouted it over and over: “Michael! Michael!”

Half an hour later he was found—frightened but safe.

Even decades later, that memory reminds me of intercession—people calling out, searching, refusing to rest until the lost is found.
All Souls Day is like that: we call out the names of our beloved dead before God—parents, children, friends, the forgotten and the cherished—trusting that love does not end with death.

Each name becomes a prayer.
Each prayer becomes an act of communion between heaven and earth.
We may not know where each soul stands on the journey, but we know this: God knows their name, and Christ will not lose them.

It is, as Scripture says, “a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from their sins” (2 Maccabees 12:46).

And this is where the Church’s teaching on Purgatory gives hope.
One of my seminary professors once said:

“In a world that believes everything is a gray area, we Catholics believe in one great gray area—Purgatory.”

Purgatory is not despair or punishment. It is the mercy of God—the place where His fire purifies, where His love prepares the soul to see Him face to face. Saint Thomas Aquinas called it “a fire that purifies, so that the soul may be made worthy of heaven.”

Pope John Paul II reminded us that the souls there “are helped by the acceptable sacrifice of the altar.”
Every Mass offered, every prayer spoken for the departed, every act of charity done in their memory participates in that cleansing mercy.

Even as we call out their names, God calls theirs in return. The chasm between life and death is crossed not by our power, but by His grace.

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5. Conclusion: A Communion of Hope

Every name we speak today is a story still unfolding in God’s mercy.
We pray for them, and they, in turn, will one day pray for us.

This is the mystery of the Communion of Saints—the circulation of love that never ends.
We do not stand alone at the altar; we stand with those who have gone before us and those who will come after us.

At every Mass, heaven and earth join in one great act of intercession. The saints are present. The souls in Purgatory are remembered. Christ, the great Intercessor, offers Himself once more.

We are not just at the 11:30 Mass here on earth—we are also at the heavenly liturgy, joined to the saints at God’s throne.

So as we read the names of our beloved dead today, let it be an act of faith and love.
Let us entrust them to the Lord who promises:

“Of those You have given Me, I have lost none.”

And may our prayer echo across heaven and earth:
Lord, remember them. Lord, remember us. Bring us all to the joy of resurrection.

All Saints (2025-11-01)

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 [__ver-05_]   Homily –  Nov 1, 2025  /  All Saints Day

● Revelation 7:2-24, 9-14 ●   Psalm 24 ● 1 John 3:1-3 ●  Matthew 5:1-12 a ●

 Ordinary People with Heavenly Aspirations

1. The Three Days of Faith and Communion

Today we celebrate the Solemnity of All Saints, the great festival of heaven. It is part of a beautiful three-day devotion that unites heaven and earth:

·        All Hallows Eve (or All Saints’ Eve) on October 31,

·        All Saints’ Day today, November 1,

·        and All Souls’ Day tomorrow, November 2.

These days remind us that our faith unites the Church in heaven, on earth, and in purgatory—the living and the dead. We pray for those who have gone before us, those still being purified, and those already in glory. At our 5:30 p.m. Mass for All Souls, we’ll read the names of our beloved deceased. But today is about the saints—the countless holy men and women, known and unknown, who reflect the radiance of Christ’s glory.

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2. Who Makes the List?

If I asked, “Who are the top five basketball players of all time?” you might say LeBron James, Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, Karl Malone, Kobe Bryant, Michael Jordan.
Or, “Who are the top five singers?” Rolling Stone once listed Aretha Franklin, Whitney Houston, Sam Cooke, Billie Holiday, Mariah Carey.

But those lists never capture the full story. There are thousands of athletes, thousands of singers who have given joy and inspiration without fame. Their names may not appear in any Hall of Fame—but their contributions matter deeply.

All Saints Day reminds us of something similar.
The Church has her “famous names”—St. Joseph, St. Patrick, St. Joan of Arc, Mother Teresa, St. John Paul II, Mary Magdalene. But the holiness of God runs far deeper than a list. There are countless saints without feast days, statues, or songs—ordinary people who lived extraordinary love.

Even in our own parish, Our Lady of Lourdes, many have prayed, served, and given what they could—some we remember by name, many we do not. They sat in these same pews. They became saints quietly, faithfully.

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3. The Diversity of Holiness

Fr. Ronald Knox once asked, “Why do we have this feast of All Saints?”
He answered: to remind us of the diversity of holiness.

Not all saints are monks or martyrs. Some are parents, teachers, carpenters, accountants, students, scientists, even lawyers.
Some practiced heroic virtue by forgiving enemies, others by caring for the sick, others by giving the little they had—like the widow who offered two coins.

Saints are not specialized professionals in holiness. They are ordinary people who loved God with all their heart and neighbor as themselves—sometimes even loving those who persecuted them.

That means we should never imagine saints as superstars above us. They were people of flesh and blood—ordinary in appearance, extraordinary in love. Their greatness was not in their achievements but in their aspiration toward heaven.

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4. A Modern Role Model: Blessed Carlo Acutis

One of the most radiant examples of recent times is Blessed Carlo Acutis, a fifteen-year-old from Lombardy, Italy.
He loved soccer, video games, computers, and pizza—just like many young people. But from an early age he said, “I want to be close to Jesus.”

He went to daily Mass, spent long hours in adoration, and said, “The Eucharist is my highway to heaven.”
Carlo used his gift for technology to serve the faith. He built a website cataloging Eucharistic miracles from around the world, using the internet as a tool of evangelization. Pope Francis later called him a model for young people who seek to bring light into the digital world.

Though his family was comfortable, Carlo lived simply. He shared with the poor, befriended the lonely, and kept his eyes fixed on heaven. His motto was: “Not I, but God.”

Carlo reminds us that sanctity is not out of reach. Holiness is the possible response of anyone who gives God a generous “yes” in daily life.

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5. Practicing Holiness Like a Sport

Think of how we imitate great athletes. You can wear Michael Jordan’s jersey or buy his shoes—but that doesn’t make you Jordan. You must practice as he did.

Likewise, holiness is not achieved by memorizing saints’ biographies. It is learned by practice: prayer, charity, perseverance, forgiveness.

Blessed Carlo practiced holiness like a sport—training his heart in the gym of grace: Mass, Adoration, and service. He was ordinary, but he let God make him extraordinary.

And this is where the Magisterial truth meets our experience: salvation is God’s initiative. Grace comes first.
We do not “earn” heaven by effort alone; we receive God’s life through baptism, the Eucharist, reconciliation, and prayer.
Our “practice” is our cooperation with the grace already offered.
As the Catechism teaches, “The initiative belongs to God in the order of grace; no one can merit the initial grace of forgiveness and justification” (CCC 2022).

So holiness is not self-improvement—it is self-surrender to grace. The saints simply allowed grace to bear fruit in them.

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6. The Psychology of Role Models

On a practical, everyday level, we learn holiness much the same way we learn goodness or excellence in life—by encountering role models.

Think of two common experiences:

1.     Someone you know receives a promotion or honor.
Our natural instinct may be envy—“Why not me?” Yet when we overcome that jealousy, when we allow the goodness of another’s achievement to inspire rather than threaten us, we are already being reshaped by grace.
Such goodness is not entirely our own doing—it’s God shaking us out of self-centeredness.

2.     Someone forgives us.
When another person extends mercy, we encounter holiness firsthand. Do we dismiss it as unattainable, or do we let it challenge us to imitate it?

In both cases, grace is at work psychologically as well as spiritually. The saints are not abstract models; they show us that moral and spiritual growth is relational—we are changed by those who love, forgive, and inspire us.

Jesus Himself is the model par excellence—the one whose example is both humanly imitable and divinely transformative. Through His grace, He makes possible what would otherwise seem beyond reach.

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7. Ordinary People, Extraordinary Grace

All Saints Day teaches us that sanctity is not about being famous but being faithful. Heaven is not a Hall of Fame where people are voted in; it is a communion where Christ invites us to belong forever.

Every baptized person has the same calling: to become holy right where we are.
Many of us will never be known beyond our families or parish—but every act of love, every quiet prayer, every hidden sacrifice is a seed of eternal glory.

 “Carlo reminded us that we are called to be originals, not copies”

The saints are the originals—they lived their unique mission with love. And so can we, by receiving and responding to the grace God continually offers.

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8. Walking the Highway Together

Let us then walk this highway to heaven together.
Like Blessed Carlo, let us make the Eucharist the center of our lives, use technology to spread goodness, and share what we have with those in need.

Let us also remember: the saints are not distant heroes—they are our brothers and sisters, cheering us on.
They remind us that God’s grace meets us in ordinary life—in our workplaces, families, and friendships—and transforms our efforts into something eternal.

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9. Prayer

Lord Jesus, you are the Bread of Life.
As Blessed Carlo taught us, may the Eucharist be our highway to heaven.
Help us to use our gifts—our minds, our hands, even our screens—to bring your love to others.
Through the intercession of Blessed Carlo and all the saints,
make us ordinary people with heavenly aspirations,
and let your grace perfect what our efforts begin. Amen.

Winner (2025-10-26, Sunday 30th)

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Homily for the 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time (Luke 18:9–14)

“The Winner and the Loser in God’s Eyes — and the Truth of Our Bodies”

1. Two Prayers, Two Hearts

It’s the World Series in baseball right now between the Toronto Blue Jays and Los Angeles Dodgers. I hate to remind you that the New York Mets nor New York Yankees is playing this year — but among my family and friends, we’re still watching baseball. The first thing my father said to me on Saturday was, “You know, the Blue Jays won Game 1 against the L.A. Dodgers last night.”

We all like to know who wins and who loses — in sports, in elections, even in cooking contests. There’s something in us that wants to see who comes out on top.

But today, Jesus tells a story that flips our idea of winning.

Two men go up to the temple to pray — one a Pharisee, the other a tax collector. Everyone assumes the Pharisee will “win.” He is disciplined, religious, well-respected. The tax collector, meanwhile, is despised as corrupt and unworthy.

Yet Jesus declares that the tax collector — the supposed “loser” — goes home justified, while the Pharisee does not. The difference lies not in what they have done, but in how they pray.

The Pharisee stands tall and recites his résumé: “I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all I possess.” He thanks God — but only for himself.
The tax collector stands far off, cannot lift his eyes to heaven, and simply says, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

And then Jesus delivers the shocking twist:

“Everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, and the one who humbles himself will be exalted.”

Saint Augustine called that broken-hearted prayer “the key to heaven.” Pope Francis says it plainly: “Humility is the necessary condition to be raised by God.”

2. Competing Well — Humility as the Real Victory

In life and in faith, we all want to compete well. Saint Paul writes, “I have fought the good fight; I have finished the race.”
But in the Christian life, the true winner isn’t the strongest or most impressive — it’s the one who kneels.

Even in sports, the best athletes aren’t just those who break records; they’re the ones who respect the rules, play with integrity, and honor the game. God’s commandments are like those spiritual rules — not to restrict us, but to make love and freedom possible. They teach us how to “play” with joy and discipline and creativity.

The Pharisee tries to win by self-promotion. The tax collector “wins” by surrender. And in God’s eyes, that surrender is the real triumph — because humility opens the door for grace to enter.

It takes courage to pray like that — to say, “Lord, I need you.” Pride builds walls; humility opens doors. And once that door opens, mercy rushes in.

3. The Body’s Theology — Learning Humility in Our Flesh

This same truth shines in the Theology of the Body taught by Saint John Paul II.
He said that the human body reveals the person — it’s not a shell but the visible sign of the invisible soul. The body has a spousal meaning: it’s made to give and to receive love.

But before the body can become a gift, the person must recognize his or her limits — just as the tax collector did before God.
The Pharisee’s pride treats body and soul as trophies of self-achievement.
The tax collector’s humility sees both as a gift — fragile, yet chosen and loved.

Only when we accept our dependence on God can our bodies become vessels of authentic love.
That’s why John Paul II said that the awareness of our creaturely limits is at the heart of chastity: self-mastery that frees us for self-gift.

Humility, then, isn’t weakness — it’s the foundation of love, because it acknowledges that love comes from God, not from self-invention.

4. Body and Soul — “What God Has Joined”

Today many people ask, “Who am I, really?” Society often answers that identity is self-defined or self-negotiated. But the Gospel tells us something different: identity is received, not constructed.

The Catechism teaches, “By creating the human being man and woman, God gives personal dignity equally to both… each should acknowledge and accept his sexual identity.” Our biological reality is not a label; it participates in the dignity of being made in God’s image.

And just as Jesus said of marriage, “What God has joined, man must not separate” (Mt 19:6), so too in each of us, God has joined body and soul. To separate them — to treat the body as disposable or meaningless — is to divide what God Himself has united.

This is not about ideology or condemnation; it’s about mercy grounded in truth. When the Church upholds the goodness of the created body, she isn’t excluding anyone — she’s defending everyone’s dignity.

5. Parents and Children — The School of Humility

This calling begins at home.
Parents, your vocation is holy. You are your children’s first teachers of humility, tenderness, and forgiveness.

Children learn about God’s mercy by watching you. When they see you admit a mistake or say, “I’m sorry,” they discover that dignity isn’t lost by humility — it’s deepened by it.
When they hear you pray, “God, be merciful to me, a sinner,” they learn that even the strong rely on a greater strength.

You are, in a sense, your children’s “coaches for confession.” You teach them not only how to say the Act of Contrition, but how to believe in God’s mercy.
And when your children see that you, too, depend on grace — that you return to confession, that you forgive and ask forgiveness — they learn that humility is not weakness but the heartbeat of faith.

In a world that prizes perfection, you show them that integrity grows through humility, not through a perfect record. You teach them that being male or female, body and soul, is not a limitation but a blessing — a sign of God’s creative love.

6. Living the Humble Truth

How can we apply this …:

·        Examine your prayer. Does it sound like the Pharisee’s résumé or the publican’s plea?

·        Listen before you speak. “Be quick to listen, slow to speak” (Jas 1:19).

·        Practice small acts of humility: say “thank you,” “please,” “I forgive you.”

·        Teach your children, and one another, that the body and soul together are God’s masterpiece — not to be divided or redefined, but received with gratitude.

·        And return often to confession, that sacred space where humility meets mercy — where we, like the tax collector, go home justified.

7. Conclusion and Prayer

The Pharisee came to the temple full — and left empty.  The tax collector came empty — and left full of grace.  True dignity honors the unity of body and soul.

True freedom is found not in self-definition, but in self-gift.
True love begins with the humble prayer: “God, be merciful to me, a sinner.”

Lord Jesus, be merciful to us, sinners.
Teach us humility before You.
Help us to receive our bodies and our identities as gifts, not burdens.
Strengthen parents and children to live as men and women made in Your image, and to find in Your mercy the greatest freedom of all.

May we, like the tax collector, go home justified — not by our merit, but by Your love.

Faith.Friendship (2015-10-19, 29th Sunday)

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29^th Sunday, 2025-October-19   ●● Exodus 17:8-13 ●● Psalm 121 ●● 2 Timothy 3:14-4:2  ●● Luke 18:1-8 

 Persevering Friendship — Love That Never Gives Up

1. The Widow Who Would Not Give Up

In today’s Gospel (Luke 18:1-8), Jesus tells us about a widow who refuses to give up.
Again and again she stands before an unjust judge — a man who “neither feared God nor respected any human being.” Yet her persistence wears him down, and finally he grants her justice.

Why does Jesus tell this parable? “That we ought always to pray and not lose heart” (Luke 18:1).
This is more than a story about persistence — it is a lesson about friendship with God and about the courage to keep believing in goodness when the world grows tired of waiting.

The Catechism reminds us of “the need for prayer that never ceases and for patient faith in God’s mercy” (CCC 2613). Faith is not proven by how quickly prayers are answered, but by how faithfully we continue to ask.

2. The Friend at Midnight

Jesus tells another story (Luke 11:5-8). A man knocks at his friend’s house at midnight, asking for bread to feed a traveler. At first the friend says, “Don’t bother me; the door is locked.” But because of his persistence — his shameless insistence — the friend gets up and gives him what he needs.

Both parables show the same truth: true friendship and true faith persevere.
They don’t stop loving when love becomes inconvenient. They don’t stop knocking when heaven seems silent. Pope Francis calls patience and perseverance “the virtues of the valiant.” They are the quiet strength of those who keep knocking at the door of God’s heart.

3. Persevering Love in Family Life

Recently, my parents celebrated 60 years of marriage. That’s perseverance. But whether it’s six months or sixty years, it takes courage to stay faithful, to keep forgiving, to keep listening, to keep loving.

Persevering love doesn’t mean we never struggle; it means we keep showing up. That’s true of every lasting friendship and every disciple of Jesus.

4. Friendship in Action — The Officer and the Air Jordans

A friend once told me about his father, George, a police officer in West Orange. One day in the 1980s, George was called to a shop-lifting incident: a teenager had tried to steal a pair of Air Jordan sneakers.

What did the officer do? He went home, opened his own son’s closet, took out a pair of Air Jordans, and brought them to the boy — not as a reward, but as a gesture of mercy. He reconciled with him, teaching the boy a lesson about dignity, forgiveness, and hope.

That act of compassion has stayed with me. It mirrors today’s Gospel: the widow who keeps pleading, the friend who keeps knocking until mercy opens the door. It shows what persevering friendship looks like — love that intercedes, love that refuses to walk away.

Pope Francis reminds us that forgiveness must go hand-in-hand with the defense of human dignity (Fratelli Tutti §241). Mercy and justice are not opposites; they meet in love.

5. Christ, the Faithful Friend

That’s what Jesus does for us. He is the Friend who stands before the Father on our behalf.
As Saint Paul writes, “Christ Jesus… intercedes for us at the right hand of God” (Romans 8:34).

In the Sacrament of Reconciliation, we meet that Friend again — the One we have wounded, yet who welcomes us home. As the Psalmist prays:

“A humble, contrite heart, O God, you will not spurn” (Psalm 51:17).

There, Jesus reshapes the heart. In the Eucharist, He sends us forth to live what we have received — to forgive, to reconcile, to build peace. Persevering friendship with God must become persevering friendship with others.

 

6. The Saints: Friends at Midnight

Two saints who remind us of this persevering friendship are Saint Carlo Acutis and Saint Thérèse of Lisieux. Both died young — at 15 and 24 — but their short lives burned brightly with prayer and love.

Thérèse’s confidence in God’s mercy shows that even in weakness, His arms are always open. Carlo’s devotion to the Eucharist teaches us that friendship with Jesus transforms ordinary life.

A saint “is the friend at midnight” who intercedes for us says the Catechism. (CCC 956). The saints “share in the living tradition of prayer and constantly care for those whom they have left on earth” (CCC 2683). They invite us to do the same — to pray not only for those who love us, but also for those who misunderstand or even reject us.

Jesus commands: “Pray for those who persecute you” (Matthew 5:44). This is the friendship of the Gospel.

7. Perseverance for the Sake of Peace

Our world needs that kind of friendship. Pope Francis teaches that “patience and dialogue are the virtues of the valiant.”
Saint John Paul II added that “there can be no true peace without justice, and no justice without forgiveness.”

The widow’s relentless plea for justice mirrors the Church’s own prayer before the world — pleading for mercy, dignity, and peace even when those in power refuse to listen. Peace is not automatic, but it is possible — a grace entrusted to those who persevere in prayer, compassion, and hope.

8. Prayer, Fasting, and Acts of Mercy

How do we live this perseverance?
By giving our faith a body — through prayer, fasting, and works of mercy.
Every Rosary prayed for peace, every fast from comfort or indifference, every act of forgiveness is a midnight knock on the world’s door saying:

“Lord, give us the bread of peace, the bread of justice, the bread of mercy.”

When we fast and pray, we join the cry of the hungry, the broken, and the forgotten. This is the rhythm of persevering friendship: love that never stops interceding, never stops knocking, never stops believing.

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9. Love Never Fails

Saint Paul says it best:

“Love is patient, love is kind… It bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails” (1 Corinthians 13:4-8).

The key to perseverance is not stubbornness, but love. Saint Augustine wrote, “All prayer is an exercise of desire — and what we desire most is love, because love never fails.”

The widow’s persistence, the friend’s midnight knock, and Christ’s intercession all reveal the same truth: persevering friendship is love that endures the silence until love itself becomes the answer.

10. Conclusion — Keep Knocking

The widow never gave up.
The neighbor never stopped knocking.
Neither can we.

Their stories invite us to pray always and not lose heart, to believe that God’s friendship is stronger than human indifference, and to trust that His mercy is greater than any of our sins.

Where charity and love prevail, there God is ever found.

11. Closing Prayer

Lord Jesus, faithful Friend,
teach us to keep knocking at Your door.
When the night is long and hope grows dim, strengthen our hearts to pray and to love.
Turn fear into courage, comfort into compassion, and strangers into neighbors.
Grant us love that never fails,
so that Your peace may dwell among us —
for where two or three gather in Your name, there You are in our midst. Amen.

Turning Back (2025-10-12, Sunday 28th)

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 28^th Sunday, 2025-October-12   ●● 2 Kings 5:14-17  ●● Psalm 98  ●● 2 Timothy 2:8-13   ●● Luke 17:11-19  ●●

Turning Back to Give Thanks

This past week, on October 4, we celebrated the feast of St. Francis of Assisi.  We usually picture Francis smiling among birds and sunlight, a saint of peace and simplicity. But his conversion didn’t begin in a peaceful forest — it began in fear.

One day, as a young man riding through the countryside near Assisi, Francis encountered a man suffering from leprosy. The sight and the smell horrified him. His instinct was to turn away. He later wrote, “What had made me sick became the source of my spiritual consolation.”

That moment changed him. He dismounted his horse, approached the man, and embraced him. The one he had feared — the one he was, as we might say today, freaked out by — became for him the face of Christ.
That’s the moment gratitude entered his life — not for comfort or health, but for the grace of seeing God in the one he feared.
Francis was no longer freaking out; he was seeking out God in his neighbor.

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The Gospel Moment

In today’s Gospel, Jesus meets ten lepers who cry out from a distance,

“Jesus, Master, have mercy on us!”   He tells them, “Go, show yourselves to the priests.”
As they go, they are healed.

But only one — a Samaritan, a double outsider — stops, turns back, falls at Jesus’ feet, and gives thanks.
And Jesus asks the haunting question:

“Were not ten made clean? Where are the other nine?”

It’s not only a question for them. It’s a question for us.
After we’ve received the gift — the healing, the help, the answered prayer — do we turn back?
Or do we, like the nine, simply move on?

Pope Francis once said,

“The heart of a Christian is a grateful heart. Without gratitude, faith becomes cold and blind.”

Without gratitude, our relationship with God can turn into a transaction — I ask, He gives, and I move on.
But faith that remembers to give thanks becomes a relationship, not a deal.

 

The Humorous Truth

Maybe you’ve heard a version of this story.
A man is driving in New York City, late for an appointment, circling the block again and again. Finally, he prays out loud,

“Lord, if You help me find a parking space, I’ll start going to Mass again and volunteer at church!”

Just then, a space opens right in front of him. He pulls in quickly and says,

“Never mind, Lord — I found one myself!”

We laugh because we know ourselves in that story.
We bargain with God when we need something — and then forget the bargain when things go well.
It’s what psychologists call self-attribution — taking credit for what was really a gift.
Spiritually, it’s the illusion of self-sufficiency.

But when we remember that the parking space — or the healing — was never our doing, we rediscover joy.

Grace in Waiting

Sometimes, God’s greatest gift isn’t the answer, but the waiting itself.
I learned that lesson as a teenager sitting in a hospital emergency room waiting for a few stitches.
Across the corridor I noticed a classmate volunteering with the ambulance corps.
He saw me, came over, and sat down to talk. Nothing miraculous happened — just a friendly face in a tense place.
But it changed the room. It turned waiting into a moment of mercy.

The Catechism says:

“Every event and need can become an offering of thanksgiving.” (CCC 2638)

Even the waiting room. Even the unanswered prayer.

Gratitude at the Altar

That’s what we celebrate here — every Sunday, at this altar.
The very word Eucharist means thanksgiving.
Here, like the Samaritan, we turn back to Jesus to say:

“Thank You, Lord, for noticing me. Thank You for healing me. Thank You for your mercy.”

At baptism, we were brought to the font by others — parents, godparents, the Church.
We didn’t begin this life of grace alone, and we don’t live it alone.
Every sacrament is a communal act of gratitude, and the Eucharist makes the Church a people of thanksgiving.

As Pope Francis reminds us,

“Without gratitude, we are closed in on ourselves.”

And as Benedict XVI once wrote, true conversion begins when we “slough off the illusion of autonomy.”
Gratitude does exactly that. It opens us to the truth that I didn’t make myself. I didn’t heal myself. I didn’t even park myself.

Living Thanksgiving

So what might it mean this week to turn back and give thanks?

It could be as simple as saying grace before every meal — even when you’re eating alone.
Or thanking someone you usually take for granted.
Or when something good happens, pausing for just a moment and whispering,

“Thank You, Lord. I know this was You.”

Every act of gratitude is a small conversion — a turning of the heart back to God.

When St. Francis embraced the leper, he found joy.
When the Samaritan turned back, he found salvation.
And when we stop to thank God, even for a heartbeat, we find ourselves walking in their footsteps.

May we always be the one who turns back.
And may our whole lives become a living thank you to God —
grateful hearts that remember,
grateful hands that serve,
and grateful voices that praise.