Our Hope is Christ

 

Readings 092426

It is remarkable—

almost absurd—

how many people want to play God.  

Every year 

someone claims secret knowledge, 

a revelation, 

a date circled on heaven’s calendar.  

And now others, 

who have no faith at all, 

declare the world is ending 

because of artificial intelligence. 

 

Fear dresses itself in new clothes, 

but the heart beneath is always the same. 

 

Is it because so many have lost hope?

“Vanity of vanities… 

the sun rises and the sun goes down… 

one generation passes and another comes.”

 

The world keeps turning, 

and yet we chase shadows 

as if they were eternal.

The psalmist answers our restless hearts:  

“In every age, O Lord, 

you have been our refuge.”

Not our predictions.  

Not our anxieties.  

Not our cleverness.  

Our refuge is God—

steady, faithful, unchanging.

Even Herod, 

powerful and perplexed, 

kept asking, “Who is this?”  

He sensed a truth 

breaking into his world, 

a presence 

he could not explain.

That is our hope.  

Not the noise of false prophets,  

not the panic of a world 

losing its bearings,  

but the quiet, 

steady revelation of Christ—  

the One who enters every age, 

every fear, 

every generation  

and remains our refuge.

Walk today with confidence.  

The world is not ending;  

God is still speaking, 

still guiding, 

still holding His people 

in every age.

Prayer

Lord, 

Quiet the noise that steals our peace.  

Teach us to trust Your timing, 

not our fears.  

Steady our hearts 

when the world trembles.  

Let Your refuge 

be our daily resting place.  

And reveal Christ to us, 

with holy clarity.

Amen

That They May Be One

 

Readings 092326 - John 17

The Catholic Church professes 

apostolic succession—  

the mandate Jesus gave the Twelve,  

still alive, still moving,  

handed on through the laying of hands,  

generation to generation,  

mission to mission.

Jesus prayed for His Church:  

“I revealed Your name to those You gave me…  

the words You gave to me I have given to them…  

Holy Father, keep them in Your name,  

that they may be one.”

This truth stands firm,  

for every word of God is tested.  

We add nothing.  

We subtract nothing.  

We simply carry what was entrusted.

Jesus summoned the Twelve,  

gave them authority,  

sent them with nothing but courage,  

nothing but the Kingdom in their voice,  

nothing but trust in their sandals.

Apostolic succession means this:  

the same call still moves

through His Church—  

to preach,  

to heal,  

to lift the broken,  

to shake the dust when needed,  

to stay faithful to the work.

He shields those who take refuge in Him.

And even as a deacon,  

I stand in that long line of mission—  

my ministry,  

my responsibilities,  

my family, my community.  

Not perfect.  

Not finished.  

But carried by the same Spirit  

that carried them.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, 

Keep my heart

steady in Your truth.  

Guide my steps

in the mission You entrust.  

Strengthen my voice

to speak Your Word with love.  

Shield me when the road feels

thin and weary.  

Let Your Spirit carry me

farther than I can go alone.

Amen

“The Ones Who Hear and Act”

 

Readings 092226

I am a deacon 

because I heard the voice 

of One greater than I calling me.  

A quiet summons… 

steady, unmistakable…  

drawing me into service.  

And when I visit the sick,  

or sit beside someone who is struggling,  

I see Christ looking back at me—  

in their eyes, 

in their wounds, 

in their hope.  

That is why I go.  

That is why I serve.

I am a spiritual director 

because I hear the cry  

of those carrying moral injury,  

those wounded by trauma,  

searching for the Divine Physician  

who heals 

what no human hand can reach.  

And I walk with them  

because the Lord tests hearts,  

and teaches us 

doing what is right and just  

is more pleasing to Him  

than anything we might claim 

as our own righteousness.

Scripture warns us gently:  

He who shuts his ear to the cry of the poor  

will one day cry out  

and not be heard.  

So I keep my ear open,  

my heart open,  

my life open—  

because mercy is not optional in the Kingdom.

And then the Gospel brings it all together.  

“Your mother and your brothers are outside,” they said.  

Jesus replied,  

“My mother and my brothers  

are those who hear the word of God  

and act on it.”

To hear…  

to act…  

to belong to Christ  

living His mercy 

toward every person 

He places before us.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, 

Open my ears to the cries of those

You place before me.  

Let my heart be steady, humble,

and ready to serve.  

Heal the wounded ones

who seek Your mercy.  

Make my life a quiet answer

to Your call.  

And draw us all into the family

of those who hear Your word

and act on it.

Amen

For Those Called

 

Readings /092126 

Feast of St. Matthew, Apostle & Evangelist

One of the greatest gifts  

God has shown to me  

is the Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius—  

a way of praying that steadies the soul,  

a quiet path  

that deepens our relationship with God  

and with one another.

For those who struggle to hear  

the whisper of the Spirit,  

these exercises become tools of grace—  

simple, steady practices  

that teach the heart  

to find God in all things,  

even in the moments  

when God feels far away.

And today, on the feast of Saint Matthew,  

we remember that grace is given  

to each of us  

according to the measure  

of Christ’s own gift.

Matthew knew that gift well.  

A tax collector,  

a man others avoided,  

a soul the world had written off—  

yet Jesus saw him,  

called him,  

loved him.

“Those who are well  

do not need a physician,  

but the sick do.  

I desire mercy, not sacrifice.  

I did not come to call the righteous  

but sinners.”

So today we pray:  

Lord, give us Matthew’s courage  

to rise when You call,  

Ignatius’s wisdom  

to listen when You whisper,  

and hearts wide enough  

to receive the mercy  

You never stop giving.

Prayer

Lord Jesus Christ, 

Let courage rise in us today.  

Let calm wisdom steady our hearts.  

Teach us to hear Your whisper

in the quiet places.  

Draw us close

when we feel far from Your grace.  

And fill us with mercy

that mirrors Your own.

Amen

St. Matthew, pray for us.

The Pink Flamingo Parable

 

Readings 092026

Blessed be God.  

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

Come Holy Spirit—fill us with joy, 

set our hearts ablaze 

with Your presence. Amen.

Friends… the Lord has always given me simple, 

everyday ways to explain the Gospel—

little stories tucked into ordinary life 

that suddenly shine with grace. 

And this week, 

He handed me one 

too good not to share.

It’s not a parable about vineyards.  

It’s not a parable about wages.  

It’s the parable of the pink flamingo.

If you’ve ever raised children—

young or grown—  

or watched your grandchildren tussle over toys or treats,  

you already know something about jealousy, envy,  

and that little streak of pettiness  

that can run right through a family.

Just the other day, 

my daughter came home from a week‑long trip.  

She brought gifts for the kids.  

And mercy… there was a racket.

She didn’t get them all the same thing.  

She got a bright pink flamingo for my granddaughter  

and two stuffed alligators for the youngest boys.

Well, my grandson—

who loves pink flamingos so much  

we’ve got metal ones stuck in the backyard—  

looked at his mama with 

big wounded eyes and said:

“Why didn’t I get a pink flamingo?  

You know how much I love them.  

You must not love me.”

And suddenly—

jealousy, envy, childish pettiness—  

all rising up like a storm.

Friends… 

that same spirit shows up in today’s readings.  

It’s the very spirit Jesus exposes 

in the parable of the vineyard workers—  

a quiet thread woven through the story,  

and one that rises in our own hearts  

more often than we’d like to admit.

It leads us to a question that stings a little  

when we finally face it:

Are we envious because God is good?

Isaiah doesn’t soften the blow.  

He speaks a straight, sharp truth of God:

“My thoughts are not your thoughts,  

nor are your ways my ways, says the LORD.”

Isaiah is telling us plainly:  

God doesn’t operate the way we do.  

We measure. We compare.  

We keep score.  

We decide who deserves mercy and who doesn’t.

But God…  

God pours mercy out like water.  

He forgives generously.  

He draws near to anyone who calls upon Him.  

And sometimes—

if we’re honest—

that bothers us.

Because deep down,  

we want God to be fair 

according to our standards.  

We want Him to reward the ones 

who work hard,  

who show up early,  

who do things the “right” way.

And when He blesses someone 

we think hasn’t earned it…  

something tightens inside us.  

A little resentment.  

A little envy.  

A quiet whisper: “Lord… why them?”

But Isaiah reminds us:  

God’s ways rise higher than ours—  

higher than the heavens above the earth.

His mercy isn’t a reward.  

His generosity isn’t a prize.  

His forgiveness isn’t rationed out like scarce food.  

He gives because He is good—  

because goodness is His very nature.

Saint Paul turns that truth inward:

“Christ will be magnified in my body,  

whether by life or by death…  

For me, life is Christ.”

Paul isn’t competing with anyone.  

He isn’t comparing blessings.  

He isn’t asking why God gives more to one  

and less to another.  

He simply wants Christ to be magnified—  

whatever it costs,  

whatever it looks like.

Paul tells us:  

“Conduct yourselves in a way worthy of the gospel of Christ.”

That means letting go of envy.  

It means celebrating God’s generosity—  

even when it seems unfair.  

It means trusting that His goodness toward someone else  

does not diminish His goodness toward us.  

It means believing that mercy is not a limited resource.

The psalm gives us the heart of it:  

“The Lord is near to all who call upon him.”  

Not just the holy.  

Not just the disciplined.  

Not just the long‑timers in the vineyard.  

All who call upon Him.

Now for my grandson, 

that pink flamingo isn’t just a toy.  

It’s a reminder.

God’s gifts don’t always look equal.  

They don’t always look fair.  

But they are always good.  

Always intentional.  

Always rooted in love.

And sometimes the gift He gives someone else—  

the flamingo we didn’t get—  

is meant to teach us trust, humility,  

and the freedom that comes from letting go of comparison.

The question remains:  

Are we envious because God is good?  

Or can we rejoice that His goodness  

is bigger than our expectations,  

wider than our judgments,  

deeper than our sense of fairness?

Because if God were only as generous  

as we think He should be…  

none of us would stand a chance.

But because His ways are higher,  

because His mercy is abundant,  

because His forgiveness is extravagant—  

we live,  

we hope,  

we rise again.

Be good. Be holy.  

Preach the Gospel by the way you live your life.  

Love one another.  

Forgive freely.  

Let Christ shine through you.

Praise be to Jesus Christ, 

now and forever. Amen.