Journey of Faith: Finding God in All Things: An Ignatian Reflection - July 31, 2025 (St Ignatius of Loyola)

 

 Readings 

Take a breath. Slow down.
Where is God right now?

Scripture says Moses “did everything just as the LORD commanded.” No thunder. No spectacle. Just boards and curtains, arranged with care. And in that reverent routine, the glory of God came close.

This is our first invitation:
To say yes to God in the ordinary.
St. Ignatius reminds us—God is already here. In your morning email. In the meal you prepare. In the quiet check-in with a friend. These small offerings can become sacred spaces when placed with love.

But everyday life is messy.
Jesus tells a story about a net filled with “all kinds of fish.” Sorting doesn’t come first—it comes after. That’s discernment. And it’s our second invitation.

We’re invited to notice:
What lifts our hearts?
What drains our spirit?
What moves us toward love—and what pulls us from it?

Ignatian spirituality doesn’t rush the process. It teaches us to listen, to reflect, to trust the timing of grace. We find God not by forcing clarity, but by living awake.

And then, we live the third invitation:
To proclaim—not just in words, but in presence.
God leads us like a cloud by day and fire by night. Sometimes through prayer. Sometimes through a stirring in our gut. Sometimes through beauty, grief, or laughter.

St. Ignatius believed that God is not distant—but near. In all things. All seasons. All souls.
Even yours.
Even now.

So as we mark his feast, let your life be a living tent.
Let your routines become altars.
Let your questions be holy.
Let the presence of God fill the spaces you didn’t think were sacred.

Let’s pray:

Loving God,
You dwell in the ordinary—
in the rhythm of my day, the stirrings of my heart, the moments I almost miss.

As You filled Moses’ tent, fill mine.
Let me follow as Ignatius did:
with reverence in obedience,
with trust in discernment,
and with boldness in proclaiming Your Kingdom.

Let me find You in all things.
Amen.

Our Walk with God: Discovering the Kingdom in Unexpected Places- July 30, 2025

    

“The Kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field…”

“…like a merchant searching for fine pearls.”
(Matthew 13:44–46)

Every journey with God begins with a longing—and Jesus’ stories speak to that ache deep within. A seeker stumbles upon a treasure and rearranges their life to possess it. A merchant finds the pearl of his dreams and joyfully lets go of everything else. These parables aren’t about chance discoveries—they’re about holy clarity, where a heart recognizes what matters most.

On this walk with God, we’re not just travelers. We’re treasure hunters. And often, the treasure is disguised: in the face of someone forgotten, the cry for justice, or the quiet tug toward deeper purpose.

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🕊️ Human Dignity: The Treasure That Transforms

Our Chrstian faith tells us where to begin:
Every person is made in God's image. Every life is sacred. No exceptions.

On this journey of faith, justice is not a destination—it’s a response. We walk with God when we walk with the wounded. The field that holds the hidden treasure might be a life we’ve overlooked. The pearl could be the breathtaking truth that all people carry divine worth.

Justice doesn’t start with strategy—it starts with reverence. We stop. We notice. We honor.

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🔍 Listening for God as We Walk.

God speaks through desire—not duty. The merchant and the seeker are not guilt-ridden—they’re alive with joy.

As pilgrims walking with God, we ask:

• What stirs my soul? Is it healing, justice, belonging?

• What must I leave behind—my comfort, my fear, my need for control?

• Where is God whispering, “Come closer”?

Faith is not passive. It moves. It asks us to dig, search, and walk forward. The Kingdom is not locked in a sanctuary—it’s buried in ordinary moments, waiting to be uncovered by love.

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🌱 Walking with God, Step by Step

A Journey of Faith is not about giant leaps. It’s about choosing the path of mercy again and again.

Ask yourself:

• Who is God asking me to walk beside today?

• What hidden treasure have I found in the people I serve?

• Will I trade safety for joy? Indifference for compassion?

The walk may be slow. The road may be steep. But with every step taken in love, the Kingdom rises up to meet us.

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🙏 Prayer for the Road: Claiming the Pearl of Justice

Lord Jesus,
You spoke of fields and treasures,
of seekers transformed by grace.
Let me walk with You in this sacred way:

Give me eyes to see holiness in every face.
Give me courage to release what numbs me.
Give me faith to follow Your footsteps
into the places where dignity needs defending.

May I walk in mercy,
speak with tenderness,
and labor for justice not out of fear—
but from love awakened.

Let this journey be my joy.
Let this walk be my worship.
And may I find, beneath the surface of the world,
Your Kingdom rising.

Amen.

“Draw Near to Me, Friend” — A Reflection on Friendship, Loneliness, and the Nearness of Christ - July 29, 2025

🕊️ Memorial of Saints Martha, Mary, and Lazarus

 https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/072925.cfm

We were made for friendship.
Not just handshakes or polite small talk.
But the kind of love that notices. That stays.

Today, loneliness runs deep.
You can be surrounded by people and still feel unseen.
There’s a quiet ache—at kitchen tables, in hospital rooms, on Sunday mornings.
It’s the ache of wanting someone to say, “I see you. I care. I’m here.”

And God does.

Scripture reminds us:

“In many and various ways, God spoke to our ancestors…” (Hebrews 1:1)
And He still speaks.
He still draws near.

From the tent of meeting to the tomb of Lazarus, God has always wanted relationship.
In Jesus, that relationship becomes flesh.

💔 He weeps with Martha and Mary.
💉 He walks the hospital hallways.
🛑 He sits with the abandoned and the afraid.
🌍 He enters the sorrow of this world—not to fix it all at once, but to love it through.

Jesus doesn’t stand back. He comes close. He stays.
And His friendship transforms us.

So here’s the challenge I offer you:

• Who in your life needs someone to draw near?

• Is there a person who feels forgotten—a call you’ve been meaning to make, a door you could knock on, a pew you could linger by?

• Could you be the friend who shows up, like Jesus does?

Loneliness doesn’t disappear with one kind word—but it begins to crack.
And through those cracks, light gets in.

So pause.
Notice.
Reach out.

And as you do, let your kindness become resurrection.
Because nothing stays dead when Jesus is near.
And nothing stays the same when we choose love.

🙏 A Closing Prayer: Friendship That Heals

Lord Jesus,
You did not wait for perfection.
You drew near in our grief, our doubts, our ordinary days.

You wept.
You walked.
You stayed.

So today, as I carry my own aches and notice the loneliness around me,
give me the grace to draw near—to You, and to others.

Make me a friend who listens.
A presence who stays.
A soul who reflects Your mercy in every quiet act of love.

Amen.

Our Walk with God: One Faithful Step at a Time - July 28, 2025

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/072825.cfm

The Tablets, the Seeds, and Our Own Wild Hearts

Faith isn’t a straight path. It winds through joy and struggle, clarity and silence. And yet, God walks with us—in every twist, every stumble, every prayer.

We read of Moses, ablaze with righteous fury, casting down the stone tablets of God’s law. Why? Because the people—impatient, restless—built their golden calf. They wanted something visible, something immediate. That ancient rebellion lives on. In our own lives, how often do we trade divine mystery for man-made certainty? We shape our own idols from fear, control, and convenience. We all have a bit of wildness still pulsing in our hearts.

And then, Jesus. He doesn’t condemn. He speaks of mustard seeds and yeast—quiet things, small and unassuming. But they change everything. The Kingdom of Heaven isn’t loud or grand. It’s slow and steady. Transformative from the inside out. God is in the overlooked, the ordinary, the smallest stirrings of grace.

What holds these stories together? Mercy. Movement. A God who never gives up. Moses intercedes; Jesus encourages. God's love doesn't wait for perfection—it meets us in process. Forgives. Nourishes. Grows.

So, the invitation is clear:
🪔 Where are we building golden calves—placing trust in idols that cannot save?
🌱 Where might we be yeast—letting grace rise quietly in our homes, our relationships, our weary souls?

Faith is rarely flashy. But it's always fertile.
Let our hearts seek His will—and find joy in pleasing Him.
The Kingdom is rising within us.

One faithful step at a time.

Amen.🙏

Homily Reflection - “Lord, Teach Us to Pray” - Seventeenth Sunday in Ordinary Time — July 27, 2025

Genesis 18:20–32 | Psalm 138 | Colossians 2:12–14 | Luke 11:1–13

Praise God, Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen. Come Holy Spirit, Come.

Friends,

Sometimes we come to God with eloquent prayers. Other times, we come with nothing but a sigh. Either way, the Gospel today reminds us: God listens. Not because we say it perfectly, but because we dare to say it at all.

The disciples watched Jesus pray—not with performance, but with peace. They saw something they didn’t just admire… they needed. So they asked, “Lord, teach us to pray.” And Jesus gave them a prayer that begins not with ritual—but with relationship: Father. Not distant or formal. Close. Intimate. Family.

In Genesis, Abraham shows us a raw and honest prayer. “I am but dust and ashes,” he says. But he doesn’t walk away. He stays. He pleads for mercy. He negotiates like a father begging for his children’s safety. And God listens. Not because Abraham had it all together, but because he dared to draw near.

Let me tell you something personal. My father was a preacher. I grew up around sermons and Scripture. If asked, I could stand up and offer a spontaneous prayer. But the person who taught me to really pray from my heart… was my wife. It wasn’t in a pulpit—it was in a hospital room. In quiet nights when she was sick. I couldn’t fix it, couldn’t do much—but I could pray. And I did. Out of love. Out of helplessness. And out of faith in a God who never feels helpless.

Together, we taught our daughters to pray—not with big speeches, but with everyday grace. And now I watch them—grown women, mothers and wives—doing the same. They teach their children and husbands to pray. Not by words, but by example. By the way they love. By their faith. By their presence.

They sow the seed by their life. They water it with presence. They enrich the soil  with prayer..

Psalm 138 says, “Though I walk amid distress, you preserve me.” That’s not just beautiful language—it’s a lived truth. God is near to the lowly. God preserves the broken. God answers the fragile whisper as surely as the polished plea.

And in Colossians we hear something radical: even when we were spiritually dead—Jesus made us alive. God didn’t wait for us to be better. He met us where we were. On the cross. In the dark. In our sin. And He gave us life.

So here’s the heart of today’s message, friends:
Faithful prayer doesn’t require perfection—it requires presence.

If your prayer is cracked and clumsy, God hears it. If your faith is worn thin, God holds it. If all you’ve got left is a whisper, God leans in close.

Ask, and you will receive.
Seek, and you will find.
Knock, and the door will be opened.

Teach your children to pray by praying with them. Teach your spouse to pray by praying for them. And teach the world about Jesus by how you live, how you forgive, and how you love.

Let our prayer today be simple and true:
“Lord, teach us to pray.”
And may we be faithful enough to show up.

Be good, be holy, and proclaim the Gospel by the way you live your l2;ives and love one another.

Praise God, Praise be to Jesus Christ, now and forever. Amen.

Walking with God: Welcome the Word Planted in You - July 26, 2025 (Sts. Joachim & Anne, Parents of the Blessed Virgin Mary)

https://bible.usccb.org/daily-bible-reading

A Reflection on the Journey of Faith

"The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a man who sowed good seed in his field. While everyone was asleep his enemy came and sowed weeds all through the wheat, and then went off..."

We often picture faith as a sudden spark—a mountaintop conversion, a parting sea, a thunderclap of divine clarity. And yet, more often than not, faith begins in silence. In the hidden corners of our lives, in the daily surrender, in the decision to trust again—God’s Word is taking root.

From Sinai’s summit to the parable of the sower, Scripture reveals a sacred rhythm:
God speaks, we respond, and grace grows slowly in the soil of our lives.

Let’s walk through this together.

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God Moves First

Before we say a single “yes,” God is already reaching. The story of salvation is not a ladder we climb—it’s a gift we receive.

Moses didn’t invent holiness—he carried it. The sower in Jesus’ story scatters seed on all kinds of ground, not just the neat and fertile places. God doesn't hold back His Word waiting for our perfection. He sows it freely, generously, everywhere.

In every sunrise, in every quiet nudge of conscience, in every Scripture we hear and re-hear, God is planting.

The question isn’t, “Will God speak?”
The question is, “Will we be soil that listens?”

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Our “Yes” Is Imperfect—but Holy

The Israelites cried, “We will do everything the LORD has told us”—a stirring, sincere declaration of faith. But their story, like ours, is complicated. Full of wandering. Complaining. Beginning again.

Jesus tells us the wheat and weeds grow side by side. That’s not a metaphor to fix—it’s an invitation to honesty. Life with God is mixed. Messy. In progress.

Your consent to grow—even in failure—is not erased by your weakness. It’s honored by grace.

Your “yes,” whispered through doubt or fatigue, is still a seed.
And God treasures it.

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Sacrifice and Sacred Delay

Faith asks for everything. Moses rose early to build the altar. Blood was sprinkled. Covenants sealed. And then… they waited.

In the parable, the master resists the urge to rush. “Let them grow together,” he says. Because grace is not threatened by imperfection. It thrives in patience.

We live in a world that trims weeds, perfects appearances, and fears what isn’t finished. But to walk with God is to choose slow growth—to let the Word unfold beneath the surface.

Trust the hidden work.
God is growing something in you, even if you can’t see it yet.

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How Do We Welcome the Word?

Here are simple invitations for the journey:

• Listen slowly. Not just to Scripture, but to your life. God is speaking in both.
• Say “yes” again. Even when it feels hesitant or cracked with questions.
• Honor the slow work of grace. Fruit doesn’t rush. Neither should we.

Maybe today, the Word planted in you isn’t demanding proof or perfection. It’s simply asking for room.

Let it grow.

Walking with God—Bearing Fruit That Last - July 25, 2025 (St. James the Apostle)

 

https://bible.usccb.org/bible/readings/072525.cfm

“I chose you from the world, to go and bear fruit that will last.” — John 15:16

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God’s Daily Call

In today’s quiet moment of grace, we’re reminded that faith is not just something we hold—it’s something we live. It’s the rhythm of our walk with God: ordinary steps, extraordinary presence.

Saint Paul puts it simply:
“We believe and therefore speak.” (2 Corinthians 4:13)
Even in the quiet, our belief seeks expression—not always in grand gestures, but in daily acts of love, mercy, and truth.

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Chosen for the Everyday Mission

Jesus says: “I chose you.”
Not because you’ve achieved greatness. Not because you earned it.
But because grace always goes first.

And He calls us not just to stay close—but to go.
To bear fruit that doesn’t fade with time, but blesses others long after today ends.

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Let’s pause and ask ourselves:

• Where did I walk with God today?
• Did my faith express itself—in kindness, in courage, in compassion?
• What fruit am I being asked to bear—here, now, in the ordinary?

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Challenge for the Day

As we step into this day, let’s welcome God’s invitation:

• Speak from your belief, even if it’s just a whisper of encouragement or truth.
• Bear fruit in one simple way—through presence, trust, or mercy.
• Walk knowing that you are chosen—not to stay still, but to go.

Go and bear fruit that will last for God is moving. And grace is growing.