The Heart God Calls Home

 

Readings 021026  

There is a truth running quietly through Scripture today—
a truth as old as Solomon’s temple
and as new as the breath you’re taking right now.

God does not seek a building.
God seeks a heart.

Solomon knew it.
He stood before the altar, hands lifted to heaven,
and dared to ask the question every believer eventually asks:
“Can it be that God dwells on earth?”
The heavens cannot contain Him—
yet He chooses to draw near.
Not because the temple is impressive,
but because the people are beloved.

And as the story unfolds,
Jesus steps into the scene
and makes the truth unmistakable:
God’s dwelling is not in the ritual,
but in the heart turned toward Him.

The Pharisees had clean hands but cluttered hearts.
They honored God with their lips
but kept Him at a distance inside.
Jesus wasn’t rejecting tradition—
He was rescuing it.
He was reminding them, and us,
that God is not moved by the shine of our actions
if our hearts remain untouched.

And this is where the message lands in our lives.
We abandon prayer when life gets hard.
We pull away from church
when the results aren’t quick or clear.
We drift toward whatever is easier, louder, faster—
whatever promises comfort without conversion.

But God does not dwell in the quick fix.
God dwells in the heart that stays.
The heart that listens.
The heart that bends.
The heart that keeps showing up
even when the feelings fade
and the answers are slow.

Holiness isn’t about performing perfectly.
It’s about returning faithfully.

God is not waiting for a flawless temple.
He is waiting for an honest heart—
a heart that says,
“Lord, I am here.
I am listening.
I am yours.”

Because the most beautiful dwelling place God desires
is not made of stone or gold—
it is made of you.

Prayer

Lord, make my heart Your home.
Clear what keeps me distant from You.
Teach me to stay when life grows heavy
and to listen when Your voice is soft.
Turn my wandering back to Your mercy
and steady me when I drift toward easier paths.
I offer not perfection, but a willing heart.
Be in me, dwell in me, and make me Yours.

Amen

When God Stands Right in Front of Us

Readings 020926 

God desires to dwell with His people—
and He does.
Not far away.
Not hidden.
In Jesus Christ, God draws near.
God chooses to be with us.

I learned that again this week.

After the storm, I went to check on my investment property.
Ice had taken down limbs everywhere—so many that I needed a chainsaw just to reach the door.
Somewhere in all that cutting and dragging,
my glasses slipped off my head.
Gone.

I looked and looked.
I came back the next day.
And the next.
My wife came twice.
We retraced every step, every cut, every pile of limbs.
Still nothing.

Sunday, after bringing the Blessed Sacrament to the Veterans Home,
we stopped by one last time.
Standing where we had stood so many days before, I finally said,
“We’re just not going to find them.
Tomorrow I’ll get a new pair.”

We turned toward the truck—
and before I could take a step,
there they were.
My glasses.
Right in front of me,
as if a light had been shining on them the whole time.

And I thought:
isn’t that how it is with God?

In the Gospel, when Jesus steps off the boat at Gennesaret,
the people recognize Him immediately.
They run to Him.
They bring the sick.
They reach for even the tassel of His cloak.
And all who touched Him were healed.

They saw Him.
They knew He was near.

But so often, I search everywhere
except the place He actually is.
Yet still—He stands right in front of me,
waiting for the moment my eyes finally open.

God is not distant.
God is here.
And when we turn, even slightly,
He lets Himself be found.

Prayer

Lord, You dwell so near,
closer than the storms that scatter our days.
Open my eyes to the places I overlook You,
the moments where grace stands right in front of me.

When I search in all the wrong places,
shine Your quiet light upon the way.
Heal what is hidden, steady what is shaken,
and draw me close enough to touch the hem of Your mercy.

Let me recognize You, Lord—
and be found by You again.

Amen

Mercy in Motion - Homily Reflection 02/08/2026

 Readings 020826 

Blessed be God.
Praise be to Jesus Christ, forever and ever. Amen.
Come, Holy Spirit—fill us with joy, set our hearts ablaze with Your presence.

Friends, there are certain things you hear from me every week,
because the Gospel keeps saying them to us.

First, I give praise and thanks to the Blessed Trinity—
the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit—
and I ask them to be present with us and in this message.

Second, I always end with the same call:
Be good.
Be holy.
And preach the Gospel of Jesus Christ
by the way you live your life
and love one another.

And that matters, because look around us.
We live in a world of “personal truths,”
a world that treats spirituality like a mood,
that thinks light is just a feeling
or some inner glow you manufacture on your own.

But the Word of God cuts through all of that.
It tells us something far more real,
far more demanding,
and far more beautiful:

God’s light enters the world
through the concrete, humble, self‑giving love
of His people.

Not ideas.
Not eloquence.
Not spiritual vibes.
Mercy lived.
Justice practiced.
Wounds tended.
Bread shared.

Isaiah doesn’t say,
“Go be spiritual and then you’ll shine.”
He says:
Share your bread.
Shelter the homeless.
Clothe the naked.
Stop accusing.
Stop the malicious talk.
Satisfy the afflicted.
Then your light will break forth like the dawn.

In other words, private spirituality alone never touches the world.
But love that rolls up its sleeves—
love that reaches out and actually touches the world—
that is where God’s light breaks through.

Light is not a feeling.
Light is mercy in motion.
Holiness is not an escape from the world.
Holiness is love poured into the world.

The Psalmist echoes it:
the just person, the generous person,
the one who trusts in the Lord—
that person doesn’t have to try to shine.
Goodness simply glows.
A merciful life becomes luminous.

And Paul reminds us why.
He says, “I didn’t come with brilliance or polished words.
I came in weakness and fear and trembling,
so your faith would rest not on me,
but on the power of God.”

Christians do not shine in their own strength.
It is Christ’s light passing through our brokenness.
The light we carry is never our own.
It is always, always His.

And Jesus brings it all together:
“You are the salt of the earth.
You are the light of the world.”
Not “Try to be.”
Not “Work your way up to it.”
You are—because He is in you.

And why does He want your light to shine?
Not for admiration.
Not for praise.
Not so people follow you.
But so they may see your good deeds
and glorify your Father in heaven.

Our good works are meant to be sacraments of God’s presence—
visible signs of His invisible love.

Remember:
The world doesn’t need more arguments.
It needs more bread shared.
The world doesn’t need more “spiritual talk.”
It needs more wounds tended.
The world doesn’t need more people trying to shine on their own.
It needs people who let Christ shine through them.

And when you live that way—
when mercy becomes your motion—
God’s own light begins to break forth through you.
And through that light,
the world finally gets a glimpse of Him.

Let Christ’s light shine through you—one act of mercy at a time. A personal truth found in Christ.

Be good.
Be holy.
Reach out—
and go preach the Gospel.

Praise be to Jesus Christ, forever and ever. Amen.

Prayer 

Lord,
Let Your light move through our hands today.
Make mercy our rhythm and compassion our way.
Turn our hearts toward the wounded and the weary.
Let justice rise where we step,
and kindness shine where we speak.
Break open our fear with Your strength,
and break open the world with Your grace.
Let Your light pass through us,
so all may see You.
Amen.