Not Leaving. Staying (2026-05-10, Easter 6th Sun)

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[ 6^th Sunday Easter ● ● Acts    ● ● Psalm  ● ● ● ●  John 14:15-21 ● ● ]

1. “I Will Not Leave You Orphaned”

In today’s Gospel, Jesus says:

“I will not leave you orphaned; I am coming to you.”

Those are deeply personal words.

Jesus speaks them at the Last Supper, on the night before his Passion, when the disciples are anxious and afraid because they know suffering is coming. Separation is coming. Their world is about to change.

And Jesus does not say to them:
“You are on your own.”

Nor does he merely say:
“Be confident in yourselves.”

Instead, he says:

Whatever comes, we do not face it alone.
Whatever lies ahead, Christ does not ask us to face it by ourselves.

“I will not leave you orphaned.”

That is the promise.

The Holy Spirit—the Advocate, the Consoler, the Spirit of Truth—is the fulfillment of that promise. The Holy Spirit is not merely a feeling or vague inspiration. The Holy Spirit is the abiding presence of God with us and within us.

And on this Mother’s Day weekend, we recall that Jesus speaks here with the language of a parent.

A loving mother or father not only gives life, but continues to accompany the child with prayer, sacrifice, encouragement, and love.

A loving parent says:
“I will come looking for you if you are in trouble.”
“I will stand behind you when you are discouraged.”
“I will not abandon you when you are afraid.”

2. The Love That Does Not Abandon

Now this does not mean parents are perfect.

As we grow older, many of us can probably think of things our parents could have done differently. I certainly can.

But at the same time, I also look back with gratitude for what my parents did do for me—and even some of the things they didn’t do for me.

Sometimes we can thank our parents for what they did not do:
for not solving every problem,
for not always telling us exactly what to do,
for allowing us to struggle while continuing to pray for us,
for allowing us to grow.

But they were present.

And now, looking back, I can see that through their patience, sacrifice, encouragement, and love, God was caring for me through them.

Not because parents are the Holy Spirit.
They are not.

But because mothers and fathers can become instruments of the Holy Spirit—signs of the faithful love of the Father who says:

“I will not leave you orphaned.”

And perhaps that is why Mother’s Day touches people so deeply.

Whether our mothers are living or deceased, whether our relationships were easy or complicated, we recognize something sacred in the love that continues to care, continues to pray, and continues to look out for us.

And the Lord does the same thing with us.

Jesus says:

“I am coming to you.”

Not:
“Come find me if you can.”

But:
“I am coming to you.”

3. The Holy Spirit in the Midst of Suffering

Now sometimes people hear promises like this and wonder:
if God is with us, then why is there still suffering?
Why illness?
Why tragedy?
Why death?

Pope Benedict XVI once reflected that the deepest question is not simply why God allows suffering and death. The deeper question is:
What will our response be?

Because very often, it is precisely in moments of sorrow and tragedy that the love of God becomes most visible.

We see it when families gather around someone who is sick.
We see it when people sacrifice themselves for another person.
We see it when someone remains faithful through grief.
We see it when people forgive, comfort, encourage, and persevere.

Sometimes we even see someone who is suffering deeply continue to care lovingly for another person who is struggling even more.

In other words, we often see the Holy Spirit most clearly not by escaping suffering, but by the way love appears in the midst of suffering.

The Holy Spirit does not promise that we will never experience pain.

The Spirit promises that suffering and death will not have the final word.

4. Saint Marianne of Molokai

It is fitting on Mother’s Day weekend to remember Saint Marianne Cope, who worked alongside the much more widely known Saint Damien of Molokai.

Most people know Father Damien because he gave his life serving people suffering from leprosy on the island of Molokai in the Hawaiian islands in the Pacific Ocean.

But in the 1800s, Molokai was not known as a place of tourism or beauty. It was known as a leper colony—a place where people suffering from leprosy were isolated, abandoned, and often separated from their families.

And Sister Marianne Cope did not abandon them.

Unlike Father Damien, who went to Molokai as a young missionary priest, Marianne was already well established in religious life. She was respected, experienced, secure in her vocation, and a leader in her religious community.

But at the age of 45, she left all of that behind to go and serve people whom society had largely rejected and forgotten.

The people on Molokai were not officially orphans, but in many ways they had been treated like orphans.

They were isolated.
Rejected.
Feared.
Separated from family.
Often left without dignity or hope.

And Sister Marianne remained with them.

She helped organize hospitals and schools.
She cared for children.
She formed choirs.
She helped restore dignity to people who felt forgotten.
She reminded suffering people that they were still loved by God.

In other words, she lived the words of today’s Gospel:

“I will not leave you orphaned.”

5. Consumed by Love

The Church often speaks about the Holy Spirit through images of wind and fire.

At Pentecost, the Spirit comes as a strong driving wind and tongues of fire.

And recently, I was reminded of that in a very concrete way.

Every year in the Church, we renew the sacred oils used in the sacraments. There was some remaining chrism oil from a previous celebration that needed to be disposed of properly. Since it is sacred oil, it is traditionally burned or buried.

So I wiped the remaining chrism oil into a paper towel and brought it outside.

I put a match to it.

And honestly, I was surprised.

That one small flame caught quickly, and the oil-soaked paper towel burned steadily and beautifully until the entire towel had been consumed.

And I stood there thinking:
that is what the Holy Spirit is meant to do in us.

That same chrism oil is placed upon us at Baptism.
At Confirmation.
At Ordination.

The Holy Spirit is meant to burn within us—not destructively, but as the fire of divine love.

The fire that purifies.
The fire that strengthens.
The fire that gives light.
The fire that enables us to give ourselves completely to God.

And perhaps that is what happened in the life of Saint Marianne Cope.

She was consumed in love.

Not dramatically.
Not loudly.
But faithfully.

Holiness often looks like that.

Remaining faithful when we are tired.
Sacrificing quietly for others.
Continuing to hope when life becomes heavy.
Refusing to abandon another person.

And sometimes all it takes is one small spark:
a small prayer,
a small act of charity,
a small act of forgiveness,
a small return to God.

The Holy Spirit can work powerfully even through what seems very small.

And that is the great promise of today’s Gospel.

We are not abandoned.
We are not orphaned.
We are not alone.

The Advocate remains with us.

And Christ still comes looking for us.
Still caring for us.
Still refusing to leave us orphaned.

Troubled Hearts and a Promise

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[ 5^th Sunday Easter ● ● Acts 6:1-7 ● ● Psalm 33 ● ● 1 Peter 2:4-9 ● ●  John 14:1-12 ● ● ]

5^th Sunday of Easter —

1. Troubled Hearts and a Promise

When Jesus speaks in today’s Gospel, the apostles are unsettled.

They sense something is changing.
They know he is leaving.
And they are troubled.

So Jesus says:  “Do not let your hearts be troubled.  Believe in God, believe also in me.”

And then he gives them a promise:  “I go to prepare a place for you… so that where I am, you also may be.”

That is good news.  But here’s the problem:  they don’t really receive it—not at first.

And that can happen to us.

---

2. The Message That Was Misplaced

Earlier this week, something unusual happened at the rectory.

Several of us received an email from someone we know at the Archdiocese—someone who regularly sends important messages.

But this time, it didn’t show up in the inbox.

It went straight to the spam folder.

Now you know what that means.

Spam is where suspicious messages go.
Messages you’re told not to trust or open.

So at first glance, it looked like something to ignore.

But something didn’t seem right.

So we called her.

“Did you send this?”

She said, “Yes—it’s real.”

And it turned out, it was a real message—
something we needed to act on.

But the system filtered it out.

Why?

Because it was sent to many people.
It didn’t seem personal enough.

So it was treated as something to ignore.

We almost missed it completely.

---

3. How We Filter the Gospel

And that’s when it struck me:

We can do the same thing with the Gospel.

Jesus speaks clearly:

• forgive your enemies
• do not let your hearts be troubled

And most of us agree with that—in general.

But when it becomes personal?

That’s where the filtering happens.

“Forgive your enemies…”
That’s a good idea—but this situation is different.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled…”
That sounds nice—but I have real worries.

And little by little,
we don’t actually delete the Gospel—

we just leave it in the spam folder, unread.

Not because it isn’t true,
but because we don’t fully receive it.

---

4. Why We Need Others

And here’s something important.

The only reason we found that email
was because one person saw it and said,
“This might matter.”

That matters.

Because in the Christian life,
we don’t come to faith alone.

We need others:

• to be witnesses to us,
• to help us recognize what is true,
• to walk with us as we try to live it out.

Sometimes the very thing troubling us
is something we need to say out loud.

And that’s why the Church gives us the sacrament of confession.

Not just to list sins,
but to speak honestly,
to be heard,
and to hear the truth spoken back to us.

To be reminded:
this is real.
God is present.
Don’t ignore Him.

That’s why, in Acts, the apostles say:

“We will devote ourselves to prayer and to the ministry of the word.”

Because the Word of God must not be neglected.

It must not be filtered out.

---

5. A Real-Life Example

Let me give you a real-life example.

Over the past few years, my siblings and I
have been helping my father with his affairs.

That includes difficult conversations.

Conversations like:

“Dad… what happens when you’re not here?”

“What’s the plan for this? For that?”

No one wants to start there.

But they are necessary.

And to his credit, my father has been open.

Sometimes he says, “That’s enough for today.”
And we stop.

But we come back to it.

Because it’s real.

Because life doesn’t last forever.
And love requires responsibility.

---

6. Two Ways to Respond

I remember a friend of mine whose father was dying.

His father would say similar things.

And my friend said:

“I think he’s being too dramatic.”

But he wasn’t being dramatic.

He was being realistic.

7. The Gospel Is Reality

And that’s the point.

Jesus is not being dramatic in today’s Gospel.

When he says:

“I go to prepare a place for you…”

He is telling the truth.

There is a life beyond this world.

There is a place prepared.

There is a future with God.

The question is not whether the message is real.

The question is:

Will we receive it?
Or will we filter it out?

---

8. Conclusion: Receive the Message

So today, Jesus speaks directly to you:

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.
Believe in me.”

Where have I been filtering this out?
Where have you been filtering this out?

The message is real.
The place is prepared.

And Jesus is not trying to take anything from you—

he is reaching out so that you may know
his love has always been there,

and calling you personally
to believe,
to follow,
and to come home.

How I Met Your Mother. (2026-04-26, 4th Sunday Easter)

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[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)

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 [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)

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[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.”