Our Journey of Faith: A Walk with God - When Jesus Enters the House

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There’s a rhythm to my evenings.
The sun begins to set, and I find myself standing in the kitchen, staring at the pantry.
No plan. No recipe. Just a quiet question: What can I make with what I have?

And more often than not, I reach for one of two things —ground beef or chicken.Simple, flexible, enough.
I chop onions, peppers, and celery. Always stir in some garlic. Maybe some cayenne if I want it spicy .
And as the skillet sizzles, something shifts.
The house begins to smell like comfort.
Like care.
Like presence.

It’s not fancy.
But it’s love—served warm.

Today’s Gospel begins in a kitchen, too.
Jesus enters Simon’s house.
No crowd. No sermon.
Just a woman in bed with fever.
And what does He do?

He comes close.
He stands beside her.
He rebukes the fever.
She rises.
She serves.

There’s no spectacle.
Just healing.
Just grace.

And I wonder—how many times has Jesus entered my house?
Not with thunder, but with quiet mercy.
Not with answers, but with presence.

St. Paul writes to the Colossians:

“We give thanks… for your faith and the love you have for all the holy ones.”

Faith and love—rooted in hope.
Hope that’s not vague or distant,
but reserved for you in heaven.
Hope that bears fruit in the ordinary.

This is the rhythm of discipleship:
Jesus draws near.
We are healed.
We rise.
We serve.

And then—like Jesus—we seek solitude.
We return to the quiet.
To prayer.
To purpose.

If we look we can find God in all things.
Even in the skillet.
Even in the fever.
Even in the moment we didn’t plan for.

So today, I invite you to reflect:
Where is Jesus entering your house?
What fever—physical, emotional, spiritual—needs His touch?
Where are you being invited to rise and serve?

And when the daybreak comes,
when the crowds press in,
when the mission feels heavy—
may you remember the rhythm.

He comes close.
He heals.
You rise.
You serve.

And in the quiet,
He reminds you:
This is why I was sent.

Amen.

When Jesus Enters the House

Lord Jesus,
You come quietly, not with thunder—
but with warmth, with mercy, with love.

You enter the places we least expect:
  You stand beside us.
You touch what aches.
You call us to rise.

Let Your presence fill our homes,
our hearts, our ordinary moments.
Make our lives a table of welcome,
a rhythm of healing and service.

When You enter, something good happens.
So come, Lord Jesus.
Come close.
Amen.

Our Journey of Faith: Walk with God - Children of the Day

 Reflection on Fear, Faith, and the End of the World

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I had a conversation recently that stirred something deep in me—a mix of memory, concern, and hope.
It reminded me how easy it is to get swept up in fear, and how important it is to walk with God in the light of truth.

I was talking with my brother.
I told him he needed to go to church more.
To consider the Catholic faith.
He said, “I follow the faith Daddy taught us. I’m a Bapticostal.”
I said, “Maybe that was wrong.”
He got mad.
Said he didn’t like being told he wasn’t raised right.
And I get it.
I was raised the same way.
I wasn’t raised wrong; but, maybe what I learned was incomplete.

Then he started talking about the end times—about the rapture, the Feast of Trumpets. 

His information comes from coworkers,late night TV preachers. And things he’d seen on the Internet,TikTok, on Facebook.  

People claiming visions, decoding secret messages, doing math with Scripture.
They say they’ve cracked the code.
They say they know the day.
Even though Jesus said plainly:
“You do not know the day or the hour.”

I listened.
Because fear wears many masks.
And sometimes it sounds like certainty.

Some dismiss what the Church has taught for two thousand years.
Some never learned it.
Some think they know better than the Church Jesus himself founded.
And some—let’s be honest—are just trying to scare us.

But Scripture speaks with a quieter voice.
Not dramatic. Not frantic.
Just steady.

“The day of the Lord will come like a thief at night.”
Not with countdowns.
Not with charts.
But like labor pains—sudden, real, and beyond our control.

And yet, we are not in darkness.
We are children of the light.
Children of the day.
We are not meant to be afraid.
We are meant to be awake.

So let us not be swept away by fear or fascination with predictions.
Let us be grounded in the steady truth:
that Christ is already with us,
that salvation is not a secret,
and that we are called—not to panic—but to presence.

Let us trust the One who walks with us in daylight.
The One who speaks not in riddles, but in love.
And when the world feels uncertain,
may we remember:
Christ is not hiding.
He is here.
In the Eucharist.
In the Church.
In the quiet places of our hearts.

We are children of the day.
Let us walk in light,
live in love,
and stay awake to the quiet authority of Jesus,
who comes not to frighten,
but to heal, to guide,
and to dwell with us—now, and always.

Amen

Prayer:

Lord Jesus,
You are our light and our peace.
When fear surrounds us,
remind us we are children of the day.

Keep us awake to Your presence.
Help us walk in love,
live in truth,
and trust that You are already here.

Amen.

Walking with God in Mercy - A Reflection for the National Day of Forgiveness

 

Today is the National Day of Forgiveness.
And while we don’t need a special day to forgive,
we do need grace.
Grace to let go.
Grace to begin again.
Grace to walk with God in mercy.

Forgiveness is not forgetting.
It’s not pretending the wound didn’t happen.
It’s choosing not to let the wound define us.
It’s choosing to let love speak louder than hurt.

Jesus taught us to pray:
“Forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us.”
(Matthew 6:12)

That’s not just a line in a prayer.
It’s a way of life.
It’s the rhythm of the Gospel.
It’s the heart of the Cross.

Saint Paul reminds us:
“Be kind to one another,
compassionate,
forgiving one another
as God has forgiven you in Christ.”
(Ephesians 4:32)

Forgiveness is not weakness.
It’s strength.
It’s healing.
It’s freedom.

So today,
pray for the grace to forgive.
Forgive yourself.
Forgive others.
And walk forward—
not alone,
but with Christ,
who forgives,
who heals,
who walks with us always.

Amen.

Our Journey of Faith and the Coming of the Lord - We Grieve, We Sing, We Stand - September 1, 2025

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This week, I’ll stand at the graveside of a woman I’ve known for over thirty years. She was ninety-seven when the Lord called her home. As a Deacon, I’ve stood in packed churches and quiet cemeteries. I’ve prayed with families, with friends, and sometimes with no one but the funeral director beside me.

Each time, I celebrate the person. I weep. I pray. And I always ask the angels to lead them into paradise.

Because this is part of our journey of faith—walking with God through sorrow and joy, through silence and song. We do not walk alone. We walk with Christ, who has gone before us. We walk with the Church, who holds us in prayer. And we walk with hope, even when the road is steep.

Saint Paul reminds us: “We do not grieve like those who have no hope.” Our grief is real—but it is not final. Because Jesus rose, we believe that those who sleep in Him will rise too. This is the promise that shapes our walk. This is the hope we carry—not just in death, but in every moment of life.

And so we sing. 

All creation is to rejoice. lift their voices because the Lord comes to set things right. His judgment is not cruel—it is just. It is faithful. It is the restoration we long for.

We believe in a God who walks with us.
A God who sees what is broken.
A God who comes to heal, to restore, to reign in mercy.

And we believe in a Christ who speaks truth—even when it costs Him everything.

In Luke’s Gospel, Jesus stands in His hometown synagogue and reads from Isaiah:
“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me.”
He proclaims good news to the poor, liberty to captives, sight to the blind.
He speaks of freedom, of healing, of hope.

At first, they are amazed. But when He reminds them that God’s mercy reaches beyond their borders—beyond what is familiar—they turn on Him. They reject Him. They try to silence Him.

This is part of the journey too.
To speak grace and be met with resistance.
To proclaim justice and be misunderstood.
To walk forward, undeterred, faithful.

And so we stand.

We stand in grief—but not in despair.
We stand in truth—even when it’s hard.
We stand in hope—because the Lord comes.

The Lord comes…
To raise the dead.
To judge the earth.
To set captives free.

The Lord comes…
Not to condemn, but to console.

The Lord comes…
And we must sing.
We must speak.
We must stand.

This is our journey.
This is our walk with God.
And He walks with us—always.

Amen.