Jesus Comes Home to The Heart

 

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I thank God for Jesus’ sacrifice—
for the forgiveness of my sins.
Because there was a time in my life
when sin was a second thought,
a shadow I refused to look at,
a truth I didn’t want to face.

There was an emptiness in me—
a hollow place I kept trying to fill
with anything but God.
The consequences of my choices
never crossed my mind.
I had a list of what I wanted…
and God wasn’t at the top.
Some days, He wasn’t even on the page.

So I pray,
Lord, forgive the wrong I have done.
Forgive the wrong I have chosen.
Forgive the wrong I have loved.

And I hear Him say,
“My sheep hear my voice.
I know them.
They follow me.”
Not because they are perfect—
but because they finally stop running.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus goes home—
to His own people,
His own streets,
His own synagogue.
And instead of welcome,
He meets resistance.
They question His wisdom.
They question His power.
They question His identity.
They take offense at Him—
the very One who came to save them.

And Jesus is amazed
at their lack of faith.

It makes me wonder—
how many times has Jesus come to me,
to my familiar places,
to my comfortable routines,
and I didn’t recognize Him?
How many times did I push Him aside
because He didn’t fit the life
I was trying to build without Him?

Yet still—
He calls.
He knows.
He forgives.
He leads.

And after many years,
with a grateful heart,
I chose to follow.

Prayer

Lord Jesus,
You found me when I was far from You.
You called my name when I was running.
Forgive the wrong I have done
and the wrong I once loved.
Fill the empty places I tried to fill alone.
Open my eyes to recognize You
in the familiar corners of my life.
Strengthen my faith,
that I may follow You with a grateful heart.

Amen

The Weight of the Bridge

 

Readings 020326. 

There is a certain silence on a winter highway—
a silence that feels heavy and waiting.
I met that silence when I was ten,
in a car on a bridge
as my aunt suddenly began to seize.
Fear wrapped around my young heart,
and I prayed, “God… never let me face this again.”

But God doesn’t shape us
by giving us what we want.
He shapes us
by giving us what will transform us.

Years later, when my wife began having seizures,
the very fear I tried to outrun
became the place where I prayed,
“Lord, take this from her.
If there is a lesson here, let it fall on me.”

That cry—“If only it had been me instead of you”—
is the ache of human love.
We would trade places in a heartbeat
for the ones we cherish.

And in today’s Gospel,
a suffering woman and a desperate father
reach the same truth:
human love can stay,
human love can grieve,
but only Divine Love can save.

Jesus takes a little girl by the hand
and speaks life into her:
“Little girl, arise.”
Where King David could only wish
he could die in his son’s place,
Jesus actually does it—
entering our sickness, our fear, our death—
to pull us through to the other side.

My wife has been seizure‑free for years now.
And looking back, I see the deeper grace:
God was teaching me
that blessing isn’t only in the healing,
but in the presence of the Healer
while we are still on the bridge.

So if you find yourself suspended today—
between fear and faith—
hear the whisper of Jesus:

“Do not be afraid; just have faith.”

Christ steps into the dark,
takes us by the hand,
and brings us back to life.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, meet us in our fear.
Take us by the hand and steady our hearts.
Where our strength ends, let Your grace begin.
Where the night feels long, be our light.
Hold us close on every bridge we cross.
And whisper again: Do not be afraid.

Amen