Called. Good Shepherd. (2026-04-26, 4th Sunday Easter)

🎧 [Listen to  Homily: Audio]    

📺 [Watch Mass: YouTube Video]   

[Easter 4^th Sunday 2026 April 26]

Homily: Good Shepherd Sunday – Hearing His Voice

On this 4^th Sunday of Easter, Good Shepherd Sunday, we hear Jesus say:

“My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me.”

At the heart of every vocation—every calling to follow Jesus—is this:
learning to recognize the voice of the Good Shepherd.

Whether it’s marriage, being a mother or father, priesthood, religious life, or simply living as a faithful disciple, we are all learning to recognize His voice among many competing voices for our attention.

And that recognition doesn’t happen all at once.
It happens slowly… over time.

---

You know, there’s a phrase many people recognize—it was the title of a television show: “How I Met Your Mother.”

It’s the kind of story people want to hear, because it tells you where everything began—how a relationship started, how something meaningful came into your life.

In a certain sense, my vocation story is like that.

It’s not just the story of how I became a priest.
It’s really the story of how I came to know the Church—

and that’s how I met your mother… the Church.

Because the Church is our mother. And like any good mother, she helps us learn to recognize the voice of her Son, the Good Shepherd.

But I didn’t always recognize that voice clearly.

---

When I was a teenager, I was part of a parish youth group. One day we went on a trip to an amusement park—Vernon Valley, Action Park. Some of you might remember it.

We were told to be back at the bus at a certain time.

But a few of us decided we knew better.

We stayed longer… missed the bus… and found another way home.

At the time, I knew I was in trouble.

And when we got back, the priest—Father Tony—spoke to us.

He wasn’t angry. But he was clear.

He told us we had made a bad decision.
He told us there would be consequences.
And he told us because he cared.

At the time, I didn’t fully appreciate it.

I thought, “That’s over. He’ll forget about it.”

But months later, I was giving a talk on a retreat, and I mentioned that experience—how I had given in to peer pressure.

Afterward, Father Tony came up to me and said how much that had stayed with him.

That surprised me.

But that’s when I began to understand something:

A priest doesn’t forget his people.
And more importantly,
the Good Shepherd doesn’t forget His sheep.

That priest showed me something that day.

I lacked courage—
I gave in to peer pressure.

But he had the courage
to speak the truth—
not harshly, but honestly.

He corrected us…
but he didn’t abandon us.

He stayed with us.

And without realizing it at the time,
that moment made a deep impression on me.

Because I began to see:

this is what a priest is meant to be
for the parish family.

And maybe…
that was one of the first times
I was hearing the voice of the Shepherd—
even if I didn’t recognize it yet.

---

As I got older, there were other voices.

Career.
Relationships.
Plans for the future.

By the time I was in my early 30s, I had a stable job and what looked like a promising future.

And that made the decision harder.

Because I started asking myself:

“What if I leave this behind and it doesn’t work out?”
“What if I fail?”
“What if I’m making the wrong decision?”

There were even moments of irony along the way.

At one point, I was dating someone who was a faithful Catholic, from a good family—and her brother was a priest.

And I remember thinking, I can’t get away from this.

It was as if the idea of the priesthood kept coming back into my life—again and again—sometimes in unexpected ways.

Those are real experiences of discernment.

But what finally helped me move forward was this:

I didn’t need complete certainty.
I just needed the courage to respond.

I came to a point where I could say:

“Even if this doesn’t work out… it’s worth trying.”

Because I believed the Shepherd might be calling me.

And that was enough.

---

Another important part of that process was silence.

I was never pressured into the priesthood. No one forced me.

But I did spend time in prayer. I went on retreats. I allowed myself moments of quiet.

And it was in that silence—not in noise, not in pressure—that I began to recognize God’s voice more clearly.

Our world is full of noise and distraction.

But the voice of the Good Shepherd is usually heard in silence.

---

A couple of years after I was ordained, I had an experience that taught me something more about courage—and about following the Good Shepherd.

I received a call that a family in the parish had suffered a devastating death in the family.

I was asked to go to their home with another priest – Father Jim Chern - and be there when they were told.

I was scared. I didn’t feel prepared.

There was no time to get ready.

But I went.

And I followed the lead of the other priest—watching how he spoke, how he was present, how he stayed with the family.

And I realized something important:

The Good Shepherd doesn’t call us because we are ready.

He calls us—and then teaches us how to follow.

That day, I didn’t have the right words.

But I learned that sometimes vocation is simply this:

to be present…
to stay…
and to trust that the Shepherd is leading.

---

So why did I become a priest?

Ultimately, because I wanted to know Jesus Christ—and to follow His voice.

But I didn’t come to know Him all at once.

I came to know Him through the life of the Church—through priests, through the sacraments, through the community of faith… through you.

And looking back now, I can say it again:

that’s how I met your mother.

I met Christ through the Church, who received me, formed me, and taught me how to listen to His voice.

And that’s true not just for priests.

It’s true for all of us.

---

The Good Shepherd is still calling.

The question is:

Are we listening?
And are we helping others to listen?

As a Church, we have a responsibility—not to pressure anyone—but to pray for vocations.

To pray that young people will be open.
To pray that they will recognize the Shepherd’s voice.
To pray that they will have the courage to respond.

So today, I invite you to do something simple but very important:

Pray by name.

Think of a young man in your life—a son, a grandson, a friend, a neighbor—someone with generosity, with faith, with goodness.

And pray for him.

Not to force anything.
Not to decide for him.

But simply to ask:

“Lord, if you are calling him, help him to hear your voice.”

Because Jesus tells us:

“The harvest is abundant, but the laborers are few.”

So our role is clear:

Ask the Lord of the harvest to send laborers.

And to trust that the Good Shepherd is still calling.

Amen.

Unread. Message. Emmaus (2026-04-19, Easter 3rd Sunday)

🎧 [Listen to  Homily: Audio]    

📺 [Watch Mass: YouTube Video]   

 [Easter 3^rd Sunday 2026 – April 19, 2026, v. 04]

Homily – 3rd Sunday of Easter (Luke 24:13–35)

I’ve noticed something recently with my phone.

My inbox will tell me that I have one unread message—
and I’m convinced I’ve read everything.

I go back, I look again, and I can’t find it.

And that one unread message becomes a distraction.
It troubles/bothers me… until I finally open and read it.

That’s a helpful way to understand today’s Gospel.

On the road to Emmaus, two disciples are living with something like an unread message.

They know the facts—the Cross, the empty tomb.
But they do not yet understand the meaning.

---

The Gospel begins with them walking away from Jerusalem—
not with hope, but with disappointment.

They had hoped Jesus was the one.
And now everything feels unresolved.

As they walk, they talk, trying to make sense of it all.

And that is where Jesus meets them.

He does not overpower them.
He does not shame them.
He does not force them to believe.

He listens.
He asks questions.
And then He corrects them:

“How slow of heart to believe.”

This is not weakness.

This is meekness.

Meekness is strength under control.
It is truth spoken with patience.
It is the courage to stay in relationship while leading others to what is right.

And then Jesus does something powerful:

He opens the Scriptures.

He helps them understand not only what happened—
but what it means.

And that is the pattern of the Christian life:

Jesus walks with us,
He speaks to us,
He opens our hearts,
and He reveals Himself.

---

And that matters for us today.

Because we live in a time of confusion and tension.

We hear strong words.
We see division among peoples and nations.
Even among leaders, there can be sharp disagreements.

And we are tempted:

to react quickly,
to speak harshly,
or to withdraw.

But the Gospel shows us something deeper.

Peace is not simply the absence of conflict.

Peace must be built.

It is what Scripture calls shalom:
right relationship with God and with one another.

And that kind of peace begins with hearts that have been changed by Christ.

That is why the Church calls us—especially now—
to pray and to fast for peace.

Because this is how Christ continues to walk with us,
to correct us,
and to transform us.

So we are called to pray:

for the Church,
for the Holy Father,
for civil and government leaders of nations and peoples,
and for peace in the world.

Because without conversion of heart,
there can be no lasting peace.

---

There is one more “unread message” in this Gospel.

And it is this:

What is the meaning of suffering?

Jesus tells the disciples that the Messiah had to suffer
and then enter into His glory.

And that can be hard for us.

We think:
Does it have to be this hard?
If I suffer now, will things be easier later?

Sometimes that is true in small ways—
like learning a skill or building discipline.

But the deeper truth is this:

There is no real love without sacrifice.

Every form of love—marriage, family, friendship—costs something.

But Christianity does not say that suffering is good by itself.

It says that when our suffering is united to Christ,
it is transformed.

It becomes part of His Cross.

And instead of leading only to frustration,
it can lead to strength, to patience, and to holiness.

---

It’s a little like the love of a parent—or a spouse.

Parents are called to sacrifice for their children.
Spouses are called to sacrifice for each other.

But they don’t do this to make the other person love them.
And they don’t do it to make themselves look good.

They do it for the good of the other—
often quietly,
sometimes without being noticed at all.

Because real love always costs something.

And that sacrifice is not about themselves—
it is an investment in the relationship.

And in a similar way, when we suffer with Christ,
we are not trying to prove something
or earn something.

We are growing in love.

We are deepening our relationship with God.

---

That unread message on your phone—it bothers you until you open it.

Today, Christ gives you a message to read:

His Cross.
His Resurrection.
His love.

So let Him open that message for you.

Let your heart burn.
Let your eyes be opened.

And then say with the disciples:

“Stay with us, Lord…
for it is nearly evening…
and the day is almost over.”

Mercy. Unlocked (2026-04-12, Divine Mercy Sunday)

🎧 [Listen to  Homily: Audio]    

📺 [Watch Mass: YouTube Video] 

[Easter 2^nd Sunday 2026 – April 12, 2026] 

Law and Love Gospel: John 20:19–31 ….. a special welcome to our Confirmation candidates and your families. Today is a joyful day for our parish.

---

In the Gospel, the disciples are behind locked doors. They are afraid. They have been on the run. They are back in the upper room where the Last Supper took place, and they don’t know what comes next.

And Jesus comes to them—not with judgment—but with a gift and with friendship:

“Peace be with you.”

This is mercy.
Peace with God after sin.
Peace within ourselves after failure.

---

The Gospel reminds us that the Christian life is not just about being a good person. It is about living according to God’s law. But today we see something deeper:

that this law is fulfilled in mercy.

Because the truth is, in life, we don’t always stay on the right path. We make mistakes. We commit faults. We forget what we are supposed to do—or where we are supposed to be.

And when that happens, we need forgiveness.

In the Bible, one of the meanings of sin is simply this:
to be off the mark, off the path.

---

I remember an example of this from many years ago when I was in college. I worked as a waiter in a large banquet hall—weddings, big events, things like that. Every night was a little different, and every night we had a meeting beforehand where the boss explained what we were supposed to do.

One night, the instructions were very clear:
serve the food, fill the water glasses—and then leave the dining room.

We were not to stay in the room, because there would be entertainment, a singer performing, and we were not supposed to be walking around while that was happening.

You think I remembered that?

I didn’t.

So there I was, standing in the dining room—right where I was not supposed to be.

And then I saw my boss walking toward me across the floor.

And at that moment, I remembered.

I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

---

It’s a simple example—but it says something important:

God doesn’t just call us to do well—He calls us to follow a path.
And when we step off that path, we are called to repentance—and to mercy.

---

Thomas, in the Gospel, wasn’t there the first time. He struggles. He’s not in the right place at the right time—like those moments when we realize we’re not where we should be.

But when Jesus comes again, He meets Thomas where he is.

And Thomas responds:

“My Lord and my God.”

That’s the goal—not that Thomas is recognized, but that Jesus is recognized.

And sometimes we worry about whether we are going to be recognized. But the real question is:

Is Christ being recognized in us?

---

And that brings us back to that moment in the banquet hall.

When I realized I had done something wrong, I left the dining room as quickly as I could—and my boss followed me out.

What I remember most is not that he corrected me—I deserved that.

What I remember is how he did it.

He spoke to me one on one.

Not in front of everyone.
Not to embarrass me.
But personally.

And I’ve never forgotten that.

Because that is what mercy looks like.

---

That’s also what happens in confession.

God doesn’t expose our faults in front of a crowd.
He meets us personally.
He speaks to us one on one.
He forgives us.
And He restores our peace.

---

And at this point, some people might ask a very honest question:

Why do I need to go to confession at all? Why can’t I just go directly to God?

That’s a fair question.

But in the Gospel today, Jesus says:

“Whose sins you forgive are forgiven them.”

He gives the apostles a real ministry of forgiveness.

And so from the beginning, forgiveness was meant to be something personal, something spoken, something shared within the Church.

---

There’s a difference between saying quietly to yourself,
“I made a mistake”…
and actually saying it out loud.

There’s something honest about it. Something human.

And that’s what confession is meant to be:

a place that is private,
a place that is personal,
and a place that is penitential—

where you can speak one on one
and hear the words: you are forgiven.

---

Now, I also know that for some people, going to confession can feel unfamiliar… or even a little uncomfortable at first.

And if that’s the case, I would just gently encourage you—don’t let that stop you.
Try it. Take that first step. Even speak to a priest or to me on the phone or in person beforehand if that helps.

Because the sacrament itself is a place of mercy

A place where you are met personally.
Where nothing is repeated.
Where you can begin again.

And where Christ speaks to you—not in general—
but one on one:

“I forgive you.”

---

Mercy means forgiveness.

And forgiveness changes how we live.

It means we don’t hold on to past wrongs.
We don’t keep reopening wounds.
We learn, slowly, to let things go.

Because the mercy we receive
becomes the mercy we give.

---

And for our Confirmation candidates, this is especially important.

Today, you are saying:

“This faith is mine.”

Not just something you were given—
but something you now choose.

A personal relationship. A personal “yes.”

And like Thomas, you are called to say with your life:

“My Lord and my God.”

---

The disciples were locked in fear.
Thomas was locked in doubt.

And in our own lives, we sometimes find ourselves behind locked doors—fear, failure, uncertainty.

But Jesus comes anyway.

He comes not with judgment—but with mercy.

And He says:

“Peace be with you.”

---

And today, that same Jesus comes to us in the Eucharist.

The One who forgives…
the One who restores peace…
the One who meets us personally…

comes to us here at this altar.

Not to condemn us—
but to strengthen us.

So that we can leave this place renewed…
forgiven…
and ready to live differently.

---

So this week:

When you recognize that you’ve made a mistake…
when you find yourself off the path…

remember that Christ meets you personally.

He speaks to you.
He forgives you.
He restores your peace.

So that others may not just see you—

but come to recognize Christ in you.

And say with Thomas:

“My Lord and my God.”

Vigil. Easter (2026-04-04)

🎧 [Listen to  Homily: Audio]    

📺 [Watch Mass: YouTube Video] 

[Easter Vigil 2026]

Welcome to Our Lady of Lourdes, to this most holy night—the Easter Vigil.

The word vigil means to watch – as you know .. to stay awake at night because we are afraid—like the image from the Song of Songs, the warrior with his sword at his side because of fears in the night. But more often, we stay awake in anticipation. Think of Christmas Eve… the night before a wedding… the night before something beautiful is about to happen.

Tonight, the Church asks us to stay awake—not out of fear, but out of hope.

The early Church Fathers said that we keep vigil so that we may be alert for God. As Athanasius writes, “We watch not as mourners, but as those who wait for the Lord.”

And tonight, we are waiting.

But we are not waiting passively. We are watching for something very specific.

We are watching to receive God… to be received by Him… and to receive one another.

---

1. Vigilance: Being Received

Many years ago, before I entered the seminary, I had a job that required a lot of travel. I would go from city to city, usually staying in hotels, often eating alone.

One trip brought me to Atlanta, where I had family—my aunt and uncle and my cousins. I called them to let them know I would be in town. I didn’t know what to expect.

They didn’t ask many questions. They simply said:
“Dinner’s at six. We’ll see you.”

That was it.

And I remember how much that meant—to be welcomed.

There’s a line from a poem by Robert Frost that defines this:
“Home is the place where, when you go there, they have to take you in.”

That is what it means to be received.

And that is what God does for us tonight.

In baptism, in the Eucharist, in His mercy—God receives us. Not because we have earned it. Not because we are perfect. But because we belong to Him.

We hear that same invitation in the Gospel story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. As evening approaches, they say to the stranger walking with them,
“Stay with us for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over.”

And He went in to stay with them.

Tonight, God says the same to us—and we say the same to Him:
Stay with us, Lord.

And in a special way tonight, we pray for Parker and Jessica, who are about to be received fully into the Church. This night is not just symbolic. It is personal. God is receiving you. And we, as a parish, receive you as well.

---

2. Vigilance: Acting in Faith

But vigilance is not only about being received. It is also about how we respond.

John Henry Newman says that faith gives us a kind of spiritual sight—it allows us to recognize God and understand what we are called to do.

But then he asks an important question: how do we know that our faith is real?

And he answers with the words of the First Letter of John:
“Hereby we know that we know Him, if we keep His commandments.”

In other words, faith is not just something we feel. It is something we live.

That’s why St. Joseph is such a powerful example. Joseph didn’t always understand what God was doing. He didn’t have the full picture. But when God showed him what to do, he acted. He obeyed. His faith was visible in his actions.

And the same is true for us.

The full picture may take time to become clear.

A few weeks ago, before the St. Patrick’s Day Mass here at the parish, there was a lot going on—music, preparations, visitors, everything coming together at once. And just before Mass, I noticed an unmarked cardboard box sitting outside on the church steps.

No label.

I picked it up and brought it inside. A few people offered to help—very kindly—and I declined, which in retrospect may not have been the best decision.

But the real problem was this: I didn’t know what to do with the box until I opened it.

When we finally opened it, we discovered it contained programs for the Mass and parade—and suddenly we knew what to do.

Seeing brought clarity.

But in the life of faith, it often works the other way around. We act first—and understanding comes later.

And I also remember that two people who offered to help me that day are here tonight—Jessica and Parker. And they weren’t just offering to help me—they were already living that spirit of service among you.

This is vigilance.

---

3. Vigilance: Following the Light

Years after that first trip to Atlanta, I returned—this time for my uncle’s funeral. I flew in, rented a car, and started driving to where my family was staying in a remote area.

At first, everything was fine. But then my GPS stopped working. No signal. Dark roads. No streetlights. I had no idea where I was going.

I called my brother, who was already there. He stayed on the phone with me, guiding me turn by turn.

And finally, when I was close—but still lost—he said:
“Don’t worry. I’m coming out to the road with a flashlight. Just look for the light.”

And that’s what I did.

In the end, I couldn’t figure it out on my own. I had to follow the light that was given to me.

And that is what Jesus does for us.

He is not simply like a light.
He is the Light.

And tonight, in this Easter Vigil, we see that light in a very real way—in the Paschal candle, in the waters of baptism, in the grace of the sacraments.

Even if your baptism was many years ago, that light is still in you. Christ continues to guide you, to illuminate your path, to call you forward.

---

Conclusion: A Vigilant Life

So tonight, we are invited to live a life of vigilance.

To receive God—making space for Him in prayer, in the sacraments, in our daily lives.
To trust that we are received by Him—even in our weakness, even in our failures.
And to receive one another—with patience, with generosity, with love.

This is the way Jesus lived.

He was vigilant in love—loving the Father with all His heart, mind, and strength… and loving us, His neighbors, to the very end.

And now He calls us to do the same.

“Stay with us for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over.”

So as we continue this Easter Vigil, and as we renew our baptismal promises, let us ask:

Am I awake to God in my life—or am I going my own way?

Because if we stay vigilant…
if we stay awake in faith…
then we will not walk in darkness.

We will walk in His light.

Tonight we keep vigil.
We stay awake.
And we follow the Light.

And that light will lead us home.

Holy Thursday Mass of the Lord's Supper (2026-04-02)

🎧 [Listen to  Homily: Audio]    

📺 [Watch Mass: YouTube Video] 

Holy Thursday 7 pm NIGHT  (updated)

1. The Passover That Becomes the First Mass

Tonight, we remember the first Mass—the Lord’s Supper.

It was also the Last Supper.

And it was a Passover meal.

In the first reading, we hear very specific instructions about that meal. Even down to how the lamb is to be shared—if a family is too small, they must join with another household.

These details show us something:

This moment matters.

Even if the people living it didn’t fully understand it yet.

They would only understand it later.

Just like Peter, who doesn’t understand why Jesus is washing his feet—until later.

---

2. More Than a Beginning: What Comes After

Sometimes we measure important moments by how they begin.

A wedding day.
A baptism.
A milestone birthday.

We put a lot of effort into getting the moment just right.

I remember when we were planning a surprise party for my mother’s 70th birthday. It took months of preparation, and we worked hard to keep it a secret.

My father, especially, was worried he might say something and give it away. He told me later there were many times he almost did.

On the day of the party, he wanted to go out with my sister and brother-in-law to check on the restaurant, so he told my mother they were all going out to look at / shop for golf clubs—which wasn’t true. And he was nervous the whole time that he had said too much.

My mother didn’t notice at all. She was just happy everyone was doing what they needed to do.

In the end, the surprise worked.

And my sister said something beautiful at the party—that my father’s anxiousness was really a sign of his care, his precision, his love.

But what we were celebrating wasn’t just my mother’s life in the past.

We were celebrating her life still being lived…
and the life still to come.

---

3. The Last Supper That Continues

And that’s what tonight is about.

The Last Supper is not just something that happened once.

It is something that continues.

At that meal, Jesus does something astonishing.

He takes bread and says:

“This is my body, given for you.”

He takes the cup:

“This is my blood, poured out for you.”

And then He says:

“Do this in memory of me.”

That moment did not end in the upper room.

It continues every time we come to Mass.

---

4. Not Just a Meal: The Living Eucharist

The Eucharist is not just a symbol.
It is not just a reminder.
And it is not just a meal.

In an ordinary meal, we eat food that is no longer alive in order to sustain the life that is already in us.

But in the Eucharist, something very different is happening.

We receive the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ—who is alive.

And instead of the food sustaining our life,
He gives us His life.

He comes to dwell within us.

And that is what a sacrament is:

An outward sign that makes present an inward reality.

What we see is bread and wine.
But what we receive is Jesus Himself—
His Body, His Blood, His life.

---

5. The New Commandment: Love Like Christ

But Holy Thursday is not only about the Eucharist.

It is also about how we are called to live because of it.

Because right after giving us the Eucharist…

Jesus kneels down and washes the feet of His disciples.

The Master becomes the servant.

And then He gives us a new commandment:

Love one another as I have loved you.

---

6. “The Master Has Need of You”

Several years ago, I heard a homily by Bishop Robert Barron about a line from the Gospel:

“The Master has need of it.”

He first noticed that line on a newly ordained priest’s prayer card.

Just that one line.

“The Master has need of it.”

The Lord chooses to rely on others.

He chooses to work through what is ordinary.

And that includes us.

The Master has need of you.

As a husband.
As a wife.
As a parent.
As a friend.
As a disciple.

---

7. Learning to Listen and Share in Mercy

Years ago, before I ever thought seriously about the priesthood, I had an experience that didn’t seem important at the time.

I was on a plane coming back from Washington, D.C., and sitting next to me was my hometown pastor.

We started talking, and he told me he was leaving his parish for a new assignment. In fact, I was the first person he was telling.

And I listened.

But honestly, I didn’t really understand what he was going through. I didn’t understand priestly life or the diocese. If you asked him, he’d probably tell you how clueless I was.

But I was trying to listen.

Looking back, I see that moment differently.

What felt like a coincidence…
was actually a moment of grace.

I was being invited to listen.
To care.
To enter into someone else’s experience.

And that is exactly what Jesus does for us.

“We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness.”

Jesus understands us.

And tonight, He asks us to do the same.

---

8. Becoming What We Receive

Because the Eucharist is not just something we receive.

It is something we are meant to become.

When Jesus says:

“This is my body, given for you,”

those are not just words for the priest.

They are words for all of us.

They are the words of a parent for a child.
The words of spouses.
The words of someone caring for a loved one:

“This is my life, given for you.”

So the question tonight is simple:

Are we living those words?

The people in our lives don’t need us to be perfect.

They need us to show up.
To listen.
To forgive.
To love.

And the good news is this:

God does not choose us because we are strong.

He chooses us because He loves us.

And He is faithful.

So tonight, as we receive the Eucharist,

we don’t just remember what Jesus did.

We receive who He is.

And we are sent to live like Him.

Because the Master still has need of you. 

Holy Thursday Midday Prayer (priests, 11 am)

🎧 [Listen to  Homily: Audio]    

Holy Thursday Morning Reflection at 11 am for Priests 

On this Holy Thursday morning, the Church gives us a moment to pause before we enter the Triduum and remember who we are as priests.

Today is not only about what Christ did.

It is about what He entrusted:

The Eucharist.
The priesthood.
And the command to love as He has loved.

---

We tend to measure important moments by how they begin.

A wedding day.
A baptism.
A milestone birthday.
Ordination day.

We remember the planning, the details, the celebration.

But what really gives those moments meaning is not how they begin…
but what follows.

---

I remember advice from a brother priest, Jim Moran, now gone home to God. And today is a good day to remember and pray for the priests who formed us.

He said:

“Don’t worry too much about the details of your ordination or your first Mass. People may enjoy all of that… but that’s not why they came.

They came to see you. To see you as a priest.”

At the time, I thought—surely they came because of their faith. And that’s true.

But he was right.

They came to see you.

Or better— they came to see Christ in you.

---

That is what Holy Thursday brings us back to.

Not simply the memory of ordination…
but the reality of what we are still called to be.

Because priesthood is not something we look back on.

It is something we live.

---

At the Last Supper, Jesus gives Himself:

“This is my body, given for you.”
“This is my blood, poured out for you.”
“Do this in memory of me.”

That moment did not end that night.

It continues every time we stand at the altar.

So today is not only about remembering that we were ordained.

It is about asking:

Are we still living what we were ordained for?

We say, “This is my body, given for you.”

Are our lives becoming that?

---

There is a line from the Gospel that Bishop Barron once reflected on—he said it was printed on a newly ordained priest’s ordination prayer card:

“The Master has need of it.”

The Lord chooses to rely on others.
He chooses to work through what is ordinary and limited.

The Master has need of you, brothers.

---

I was thinking recently about something that happened to me years before I entered the seminary.

At the time, it didn’t seem important.

I was coming back from Washington, D.C., sitting on a plane, just living my life, not seriously thinking about priesthood.

And next to me was my hometown pastor, Monsignor Tom McDade.

We started talking.

He told me he had just accepted a new assignment in Washington, working for the U.S. bishops—and that I was the first person he was telling.

He spoke about the change, the uncertainty, the weight of leaving his parish.

And I listened.

But honestly, I didn’t really understand what he was going through. I didn’t understand priestly life or “the diocese ”. If you ask Tom McDade himself, he will probably tell you how clueless I was.

But I was trying to listen….

---

Looking back now, I see that moment differently.

What felt like a coincidence…
was actually an invitation.

I was being given a glimpse into the life of a priest.

I was being drawn into sympathy with someone carrying a burden I didn’t yet understand.

---

The Letter to the Hebrews says:

“We do not have a high priest who is unable to sympathize with our weakness…”

Before we are priests who act,
we are men who are called to sympathize.

To listen.
To stand with people.
To enter into their experience.

Even when we don’t fully understand it.

---

That moment on the plane was, in its own quiet way, an experience of mercy.

Christ was already at work, forming something in me that I didn’t yet recognize.

And that is often how He works.

Not in dramatic ways,
but in small encounters that shape us over time.

---

The people entrusted to us come in moments of joy—but more often in moments of need.

They come in confusion, in sin, in grief.

And whether they can say it or not, they come for one reason:

They need Christ.

And somehow, in His mercy,
He has chosen to make Himself present through us.

---

Our priesthood is not measured by visible success.

It is measured by fidelity.

Fidelity to the Eucharist.
Fidelity to our people.
Fidelity to Christ.

---

So today, brothers, we look forward.

Not back to ordination,
but toward the priest we are still being called to become.

Are we still men of the Eucharist?
Men of prayer?
Available when the Master has need of us?

---

The people do not need perfect priests.

They need faithful ones.

Priests who show up.
Who listen.
Who forgive.
Who offer the Sacrifice.

---

As Deuteronomy reminds us:

The Lord chose us not because of our strength,
but because He loves us—
and because He is faithful.

That is our story.

---

So as we enter these sacred days, let us renew our yes.

Not a perfect yes.
But a faithful one.

---

Lord Jesus Christ,
you have called us to share in your priesthood
and entrusted to us your people and your mercy.

Renew in us the grace of our ordination.
Make us faithful stewards of your mysteries.
Teach us to be close to your people
and to share in their weakness.

And remind us, when we forget:
that you still have need of us.