Eyes on Christ, Not Politics

 

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I don’t talk about politics.
It’s not what I’m called to do.
My call is to proclaim Christ—
to work for God’s Kingdom,
to lift up His mercy, His peace, His love.

In our world today, we need to remember some simple truths.

The Pope carries the weight of every soul on earth.
He is the Vicar of Christ,
the shepherd who guards the unity of the Church,
the servant of the Prince of Peace.

Civil leaders are entrusted with seeking the common good
and guiding the people they serve.
The President carries the weight of leading a nation.

Different missions.
Different responsibilities.
Different perspectives.

But the enemy loves confusion.
He stirs division.
He twists what people see and understand.
He works to pull our eyes and hearts away from Christ.

So believers must remain strong
and preach Jesus Christ—
not power,
not party,
not nation,
but Christ.

“You are my rock.
You are my fortress.
You will lead and guide me.”

Stephen shows us the way.
Filled with the Holy Spirit,
he looked up and saw the glory of God
and Jesus standing at the Father’s right hand.
Even in conflict, his eyes stayed on heaven.

And Jesus gives us the promise our hearts long for:
“I am the bread of life.”
Not the bread of politics.
Not the bread of power.
The Bread that gives life to the world.

Prayer

Lord, keep our eyes on You.
Make us steady.
Make us faithful.
Make us hungry for the Bread that never fails.

Amen

Many Preachers, Few Servants

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This weekend my wife and I were talking—
just the two of us—
about ministry…
about the way I pour myself out.

She told me she was proud of me.
But then she said something gentle,
something true:
“Sometimes you give too much of yourself,
and you don’t keep enough for yourself.”

And I felt that.
Because I see so much need.
So much sorrow.
So much pain.
Too few priests,
too few ministers,
too few hands to lift people toward Jesus.

Acts tells us Stephen was filled with grace and power—
one man
in a world of need—
and still he served.
He spoke with the Spirit.
His face shone like an angel
because he belonged to God.

And in the Gospel,
the crowd chases Jesus across the sea
looking for more bread.
But Jesus says,
“Don’t work for food that perishes.
Work for the food that endures.”

"This is the work of God, 

       that you believe in the one he sent."

There are many preachers,
but not enough servants.
Many voices,
but not enough hearts willing to break open.

So today I pray
to serve with wisdom,
to speak with the Spirit,
and to rest when God asks me to rest—
so the little I give
can become the food that endures.

Prayer

Lord Jesus, 

Teach me to serve with a steady heart.
Let my giving flow from Your strength, not mine.
Hold me when I grow tired from the needs around me.
Fill me with the Spirit.
Make me a servant.
Help me rest when You whisper “enough for today.”
And let all I offer become food that endures.

Amen

On the Road With Christ

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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.

I’ve got a GPS on my phone.
I type in where I want to go,
and it maps out the best direction.
When I traveled for work, I depended on that little voice—
warning me when I was speeding,
when something was in my path,
when danger was ahead.
It kept me from getting lost.
It showed me the way.

Lately, I’ve been laughing at myself.
I connected that app to my new truck,
and now—everywhere I drive around Monroe—
I hear the same message:
“Approaching a railroad crossing ahead.”
No hazards. No police.
Just railroad crossings… again and again.

But as I prayed with today’s Scriptures,
that little voice echoed in my heart.
Because the Psalm says,
“Lord, You will show us the path of life.”
God’s law isn’t a burden—
it’s a light for our steps.

We all need guidance.
We all need Someone to warn us
when we’re drifting,
when we’re going too fast,
when something is blocking the road.

The disciples on the road to Emmaus
were walking with their own warning lights flashing—
grief, confusion, disappointment, fear.
They thought the story was over.
And then Jesus comes alongside them—
quietly, gently, patiently—
even when they don’t recognize Him.

He opens the Scriptures.
He opens their hearts.
And they say,
“Were not our hearts burning within us?”

That’s the moment—
the burning, the recognition—
that the One who died for us
is alive and walking beside us.

And He still does it.
Every Mass.
Every time the Word is proclaimed.
Every time the Bread is broken.
Christ is truly, really, substantially present—
the living God placed in our hands.

He shows us the path of life.
He slows us down when we’re speeding past grace.
He stands in our way when sin is about to derail us.
He puts Himself right in our path
so we cannot miss Him.

So maybe that little warning in my truck
isn’t so silly after all.
Maybe it’s God whispering:
“Crossing ahead.
Pay attention.
Grace is coming.
I am here.”

Friends, be good. Be holy.
On the roads you travel,
preach the Good News of Jesus Christ
in the way you live, forgive, and love.

Praise be to Jesus Christ forever and ever. Amen.

Prayer

 Lord Jesus, walk with me on every road I travel.
Open my eyes when Your presence feels hidden.
Steady my heart when fear and confusion rise.
Let Your Word burn within me like holy fire.
Guide my steps when the path grows uncertain.
Feed me with Your Body, the Bread of Life.
Keep me close until I recognize You in all things.

Amen

When God Asks You to Step Up

 

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A quiet tug begins the call—
a small stirring in the heart,
a whisper that stays,
a gentle pull toward something holy.

The apostles once asked the community
to choose seven good men—
men filled with the Spirit,
men ready to serve.
And somehow, in God’s own way,
my call grew in that same pattern.

Through people who noticed something in me
before I ever noticed it in myself.
Through moments of helping the poor,
visiting the sick,
standing beside those who felt unseen.
Through a growing desire
not just to hear God’s Word,
but to live it
and share it.

I never thought I was smart enough,
holy enough,
or worthy enough to be a deacon.
I always feared I’d be asked to step down.
But God—
God asked me to step up.

Then came the laying on of hands—
that ancient sign,
that quiet blessing,
that moment when I knew
I was joining a long line of servants.

And the Word of God continued to spread.

That is the heart of the diaconate:
when a deacon serves, the Word spreads.
When he teaches, the Word spreads.
When he prays with the grieving,
or lifts up the needs of the people,
or simply shows up with love—
the Word spreads.

And that is my hope:
that through my hands,
my voice,
and my presence,
God’s Word keeps finding new places
to take root.

Prayer
Lord, 

Let my heart stay open to Your call.
Fill my hands with gentleness and strength.
Let my steps move toward those who feel unseen.
Let my voice carry Your comfort and Your truth.
Shape my service with simple, steady love.
Plant Your Word wherever You send me.
And let Your Spirit guide every act of my day.

Amen

He Knows What We Bring

 

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The truth about God is that He knows us.
Not the polished version we try to present—
but the real us.
The tired us.
The anxious us.
The hopeful us.
The us who only has “five loaves and two fish” to offer.

In the feeding of the five thousand, the miracle begins in such a human way.
A boy—probably dusty from running,
hands not exactly clean,
pulling out bread and fish he had tucked into the folds of his cloak.
People sitting on the grass,
waiting, hungry, unsure.
And Jesus takes what is small,
what seems useless—
“What good are these for so many?”—
and He blesses it.
He breaks it.
He multiplies it.
He wastes nothing.
Even the leftovers are gathered with care.

That is how God works with us.
He takes the little we have,
the little we are,
and He makes it enough.
More than enough.

And when something truly comes from God—
when grace is at work—
no one can destroy it.
As Gamaliel warned,
“You may even find yourselves fighting against God.”

So today, offer Him your smallness.
Your loaves.
Your fish.
Your ordinary life.
He already knows you.
And in His hands,
what you bring becomes abundance.

Prayer 

Lord, 

You know the truth of who I am.
Take my small loaves, my little fish.
Bless what I bring, even when it feels too little.
Gather the pieces of my scattered heart.
Let nothing in me be wasted by Your grace.
Make my offering more than enough in Your hands.
Keep me walking in whatever truly comes from You.

Amen

The Love of Christ Alive in Us

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Today’s readings
give us something simple,
and something strong:

When you know you are loved by Christ,
you can be brave.

The Apostles knew that.
They spoke the name of Jesus
even when it cost them.
They stood before leaders
who told them to be silent.
And still Peter said,
with a steady heart,
We must obey God, not men.

That courage
did not come from personality.
It came from love—
the love of Christ
alive in them.

And we know this life too.
We carry responsibilities.
We try to be faithful
in our homes,
our work,
our parish life.
And sometimes
we meet resistance,
or fatigue,
or quiet discouragement.

But the same truth
that held the Apostles
holds us now:

Jesus loves you.
Jesus is with you.
Jesus will help you.

In the Gospel,
Jesus tells us
that the love He shares with the Father
is poured into our lives—
freely,
constantly,
without hesitation.

That love becomes strength.
It becomes clarity.
It becomes courage
to choose truth,
to act with mercy,
to stand firm
even when the path feels uncertain.

So today,
let the love of Christ
be your courage.
Let it steady your voice.
Let it soften your heart.
Let it guide your steps.

Because His love
is not a feeling—
it is a light that does not fade,
a strength that does not fail.

Prayer

Lord Jesus

Stay close to my heart today.
Let Your love make me brave in all I do.
Fill my steps with Your light and Your peace.
Stand beside me when I feel small or afraid.
Guide my hands to kindness and my words to truth.
Hold me steady in every moment of this day.
Keep me safe in Your love that never ends. 

Amen.