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

Held by the God Who Comes Close

 Feast of the Presentation of the Lord

Readings 020226 

In our faith formation group, we talked about something close to every heart—
what does a personal relationship with God really look like?
Some name it as faith.
Some feel it as salvation.
Some sense it as a quiet presence that never quite lets go.

But today’s feast gives us the clearest picture of all:
God comes personally—
not from afar,
not in power,
but in humility.
He steps into our world, into our flesh, into our ordinary days.

And the Catechism helps us see the shape of that relationship.
The Creed tells us what we believe.
The Sacraments show us how we worship.
Morality teaches us how we live.
Prayer becomes how we speak to God, heart to heart.

And the sacraments—
they are not just holy moments.
They are God’s own proclamation:
“I desire relationship with you.”
Baptism says, “You belong.”
Eucharist says, “I am with you.”
Reconciliation whispers, “Come home.”

So on this feast of the Presentation, we remember:
The God who made the stars lets Himself be held.
The King of Glory enters His Temple in the arms of Mary.
And He comes to meet you the same way—
personally, humbly, lovingly—
inviting you into a relationship that shapes
what you believe,
how you worship,
how you live,
and how you pray.

 Prayer

Lord Jesus,
You come to us in humility and love.
Open our hearts to recognize Your presence,
to trust Your nearness,
and to walk in the relationship You desire for us.
Hold us close,
and lead us deeper into faith, worship, and love.
Amen.