Ready for the parousia of Jesus

 Homily: 32nd Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

Brothers and sisters, as we approach the end of Ordinary Time and the beginning of Advent, we begin to receive messages about Jesus’ second coming.  We know that Jesus’ second coming will mark the “end of time” when there will be a final judgement of both the living and the dead and every human soul will either be welcomed into heaven or left to languish in hell.  Each year the Church reminds us of this as we approach the end of Ordinary Time in order to remind us to stay vigilant and watchful for Jesus’ coming.  It is as if she is saying, “Just as this liturgical year will come to an end, so will our lives and the world as we know it come to an end. Therefore, be prepared!”  Let’s take a closer look at these readings, therefore, to see how today we are being called to be prepared.

Although it may not be apparent from the reading, there is one important practice of ancient cultures that we will have to understand before we can make sense of these readings for us.  This practice is something called the “Parousia”.  “Parousia” is an ancient Greek word for the triumphant entrance of a king into the city in which he will ascend to his throne and rule over the land.  In ancient cultures, when it was announced that the king was approaching, the people would all rise up and go out to meet him along the way.  Then they would accompany the king as he enters the city, singing songs of honor and praise the whole way.  The city, of course, would be properly adorned to receive the king and all the people would put on their best garments to go out to meet him.

This is the image of Jesus entering Jerusalem on Palm Sunday.  His disciples in Jerusalem went out to meet him on the hillside outside of the city walls and then processed into Jerusalem with him, singing songs of honor and praise: “Hosana to the Son of David! Hosana in the highest!”  This was a Parousia: the coming of Jesus Christ the King into Jerusalem to ascend to his throne. ///

On the surface it may not seem like it, but the reading from the letter to the Thessalonians describes the final Parousia of Jesus.  Let’s look at the reading again.  It says, “For the Lord himself, with a word of command, with the voice of an archangel and with the trumpet of God, will come down from heaven, and the dead in Christ will rise first. Then we who are alive, who are left, will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air.”  The sound of the trumpets and the voice of the archangel announce the coming of the King and he will begin his descent into the city.  Then those who are his faithful subjects—both those who have already died and those who are still alive—will go up to him in the clouds to meet him and accompany him in his procession into the city.

Now, what Saint Paul does not say, but rather leaves ambiguous, is what will happen at that point.  In the letter he simply says, “Thus we shall always be with the Lord.”  What many Scripture scholars believe is that this procession will return to earth, but it won’t be the same earth.  Rather it will be the earth renewed by the second coming, the image of which the Apostle John saw and which is recorded for us in the book of Revelation.  There it says: 

Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth. The former heaven and the former earth had passed away, and the sea was no more.

I also saw the holy city, a new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.

I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, “Behold, God’s dwelling is with the human race. He will dwell with them and they will be his people and God himself will always be with them [as their God].

He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there shall be no more death or mourning, wailing or pain, [for] the old order has passed away.”

The one who sat on the throne said, “Behold, I make all things new.”

Putting these two readings together, we can see that what Saint Paul is describing is the Parousia of Jesus at the end of time.  He does this, as the reading says, to remind us of the hope that we have in Jesus: that even if we die before Jesus’ coming, we who have remained faithful to him will be raised up so as to enter “the new Jerusalem” with him.

Ah, how good it is that the reading from the book of Revelation points to how “the new Jerusalem” was “prepared as a bride adorned for her husband.”  This image points us to the parable Jesus uses in our Gospel reading and helps us to make more sense of its lesson.

In the culture of the ancient near east, weddings were celebrated differently than they are today.  Then, weddings were mostly arranged (though this doesn’t mean that they were cold, business affairs; rather, they were highly personal involving both the bride and groom’s whole families).  The bride was usually an adolescent who, once the arrangement was made, didn’t immediately leave to enter her to-be-husband’s house (although, being “betrothed”, she was considered to be wed to her husband already).  After some time and after all of the final preparations were made, the groom would then leave his house to go to the house of his bride to officially take her as his wife and bring her into his home.

On this day, the bride’s family would make special preparations to receive the groom and to celebrate the joyous occasion.  The bride would have attendants who were young, unmarried women (“virgins” in biblical speak).  These would stand outside the gates of the house to await the coming of the groom and then to accompany him (and his attendants) into the house singing songs of joy.  This was a “mini-Parousia”, of sorts: the coming of the groom being like the coming of a most highly-anticipated and honored guest.

Customarily, the groom would arrive in late afternoon or dusk and so the attendants would bring lamps to light the way into the house.  There was no way to know when the groom would arrive, however, so the young attendants would have to be prepared to wait.  Those who were “wise” (other translations call them “farsighted”) would bring extra oil for their lamps to keep them burning if the wait was longer than expected.  Those who were “foolish” (other translations call them “those who don’t take care”) wouldn’t.  As we see in the parable, when the “Parousia” happens, there’s no time to get more supplies.  One simply has to be ready.

In this parable, Jesus is giving his disciples an image of his second coming and he is warning them to prepare now so that they don’t find themselves on the wrong side of judgment when he comes.  Although this seems like a threat, it is actually a loving warning.  Jesus wants all of his followers to enter with him into the eternal wedding feast!  Thus, he warns them and encourages them because he wants them to be eternally happy!  This is not a maleficent God who delights in our suffering, but a loving Father who wants every good thing for his children!  Let me just say this: If all you think of when you think of God is the threat of eternal suffering, then you don’t really know God and I encourage you to spend time considering this passage and all of the goodness that God wants us to receive.

Brothers and sisters, the second coming of Jesus, or our own going to the Lord, may come very unexpectedly.  Thus, we need to remain vigilant so that we do not get caught unprepared.  But there are so many things in this world to distract us, right?  The economy, wars throughout the world, the election, and the anxieties of our daily lives all fight to distract us from staying prepared for the day when Jesus comes.  I can only imagine how anxious our young people are about their future.  “Will I be able to finish school?  Will there be a job for me?  Will I be safe?”  I assure you, young people, we adults share these anxieties with you.  

How, then, do we remain prepared?  In other words, what are the keys to holding the imminent coming of Jesus in our minds while living our lives as disciples of Jesus amidst the anxiety of our daily lives?  Well, there are ten-thousand things we could do, but I’m going to focus on two that apply to all of us: the Eucharist and daily prayer.

Okay, I couldn’t ask this question ten years ago, but today it’s way more common: How many of you all have ever Facetimed with someone (or any other video chat through your devices)?  Why do we do it?  We do it to stay connected with loved ones who are far away from us, to remind us of how much we love and care for each other, so that we never stop anticipating the next opportunity we will have to meet each other in person and embrace one another in joy.  Maybe you’ve never thought of it that way, but I bet all of you can nod your head in agreement that this is the feeling underneath your Facetime conversations.

Okay, and let me apologize in advance for this crude analogy, but our weekly celebration of the Eucharist and our daily turning to God in prayer are ways that we “Facetime” with God, and thus keep alive our anticipation of, and our looking forward to, his triumphant return.  In the Eucharist, we have an intense, full-bodied experience of Facetime with God.  We not only encounter him in the Blessed Sacrament (and most fully there), but also in the person of the priest, in the gathered body of believers, and in the work of prayer that is the liturgy itself.  In fact, the entrance procession is meant to be a “mini-Parousia” of sorts, with the priest (who represents Christ, the bridegroom, because he stands in persona Christi) led into the house by the attendants (the servers and other ministers, some of them carrying lamps) to begin the great wedding banquet (the re-presentation of the Last Supper/Sacrifice on Calvary) while all gathered sing a song of praise.  (You’ve never thought of it that way, have you?  Now you will.  You’re welcome!)  This “Facetime” experience is meant to fill our lamps with the oil of gladness and hope so that we can remain vigilant and ready for the Lord when he returns in the fullness of his glory.  It also reminds us that we are not alone in our waiting; but rather that we are united with a full body of believers who are looking for and longing for the same thing.

Our daily prayer is the way that we “Facetime” more personally with God.  This time throughout the week is just as important, because it reminds us of God’s personal love for us: a love so deep and so faithful that it would drive him to make his triumphal return even if you or I were the only one he was coming to see!  This daily “Facetiming” strengthens our hope for his coming throughout the week, especially during any trying times when we feel isolated and alone.  Each of us, of course, can choose any of the many other ways to remain vigilant (the Corporal and Spiritual Works of Mercy come immediately to mind), but taking part in the weekly celebration of the Eucharist and spending time in prayer each day are the two ways that are indispensable for all of us.

My brothers and sisters, armed with this great hope, let us now turn more fully to offer ourselves in this Eucharist–this great “thanksgiving” offering to God–and so be filled with God’s grace–his divine life, freely given to us; so that we might go forth, joyful and vigilant for his coming, giving witness to our hope in our words and actions, daily ready to greet him with praise and honor when he comes.

Given at Saint Boniface Parish: Lafayette, IN – November 7th, 2026

Given at St. Mary Parish: Muncie, IN - November 8th, 2026

Love God and love what He loves

 Homily: 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

Friends, it’s true that we know that someone loves us because of what they do as much as by what they say.  For example, we know that grandma loves us, not just because she says so, but because of her incessant hugs and kisses, because she bakes us cookies, because she takes care of us when mom and dad are away, because she gives us fun and thoughtful gifts for birthdays and for Christmas, and because she celebrates all of the special occasions in life with us.  In other words, we know she loves us because she not only tells us that she loves us, but because she demonstrates her love in actions; and we know that it is in these actions that the love that she professes is, in a sense, authenticated.

We also know that someone loves us when they, too, come to love the things that we love, right?  For example, perhaps you’re not a baseball fan, but you become a fan of your spouse’s favorite team; or, you learn to love reading books so that you can share the experience of reading a good book with your best friend; or, you open yourself to liking your significant other’s dog or cat (even if you aren’t a “dog” or “cat” person) so that your significant other doesn’t feel divided between the two.  In this case, we demonstrate love for the person by going beyond words and by demonstrating love for the things that our beloved loves.

In our Gospel reading today, Jesus is challenged to declare his opinion about the “greatest commandment”.  The Pharisees were thinking of the 613 precepts of the Jewish law and were hoping to expose him as a fraud if he tripped up and picked a less important precept as the greatest.  Jesus answers, however, with the obvious: that the greatest commandment is the most important thing that we could possibly do in life: that is, to love God (the Almighty) with your whole being.  (I say that this was obvious, because his answer comes straight from the shema, the fundamental prayer of the Jewish people, which they prayed at morning, noon, and night and which is recorded for us in the sixth chapter of the book of Deuteronomy.  It says, “Hear, O Israel! The LORD is our God, the LORD alone! Therefore, you shall love the LORD, your God, with your whole heart, and with your whole being, and with your whole strength.”)  Notice, Jesus rightly emphasizes with your whole being.  In other words, he says, don't just say that you love God, but rather put your whole life towards demonstrating it (just like grandma demonstrates her love by the loving actions she performs for you).  This, Jesus replies, is the greatest commandment.

Then Jesus adds to his response: stating that the second greatest commandment comes in the form of the second sense of demonstrating love (that is, loving the things that our beloved loves).  Here’s what I mean: In the first reading we heard how God declared his love for all people, especially for the poor and destitute: saying that the alien, widow, and orphan who cried out to him would be especially heard by him.  These the Scriptures call the anawim: the “poor and lowly ones” who suffer seemingly through no fault of their own.  These God takes into special account because they have no worldly recourse.  Thus, he accounts it as a great offense to him if those who claim to love him ignore them and leave them to suffer.

Can we just pause for a moment and look at the very specific tenderness that God has for the anawim?  Let’s listen again to the last part of that reading: “If you take your neighbor's cloak as a pledge, you shall return it to him before sunset; for this cloak of his is the only covering he has for his body. What else has he to sleep in?”  God is worried about one of the poor having warm pajamas to sleep in!  The point of the instruction is to say, “the man has given you his cloak (a valuable article of clothing, it seems) as a pledge to pay back what he owes you.  Do not cling to his cloak as if you don’t believe that he will pay you back.  If he needs it while he still owes you, allow him to take it back.”  God’s concern, however, is equally for the lender to be compassionate as it is for the borrower not to be cold at night!  His care and concern for the anawim is a deeply personal one.  And so, when we love our neighbor, especially those most in need among us, by serving their needs in the most personal way that we can, we demonstrate our love for that which God loves; and, in doing so, we demonstrate our love for God, once again.

From this, we can come to a right understanding of stewardship.  Stewardship, my brothers and sisters, is not a burden of guilt that the Church imposes on us.  Rather, it is a response: it is a response of gratitude from one who acknowledges the undeserved gifts he/she has received from God.  It is a response of love from one who acknowledges that he/she was, indeed, first loved by God.  Stewardship, therefore, is “loving God back”. By giving of ourselves in worship, prayer, and study, and by serving his Church, we demonstrate our gratitude, and, thus, our love, to God.  By serving those less-fortunate than us, we emphasize our love by loving those whom God loves.

Our late Holy Father, Pope Francis, in his encyclical Fratelli Tutti (“All Brothers”) emphasized this point, especially in the chapter when he discusses the parable of the Good Samaritan.  Often, I’ll say that the lesson that the parable gives us is that we must recognize our neighbor as “the one near us who is in need of mercy”.  Pope Francis took it one step further saying that the Samaritan did more than that: he didn’t just recognize this person in need of mercy and decide to help him as if he was his neighbor; rather, he made him his neighbor—that is, he chose this man to be his neighbor—thus making it natural for him to treat him as he did.

Dr. Martin Luther King famously explained the parable of the Good Samaritan in this way: he said that the failure of the priest and the Levite was that they encountered the man in need and focused on this question: “what will happen to me if I stop and help him?”  The Samaritan, however, saw the man and instead asked this question: “what will happen to him if I do not help him?”  The priest and Levite were worried about the purity laws and placed them higher than the “greatest law”, as Jesus presented it.  The Samaritan, on the other hand, responded to the greatest law first, knowing that any lesser laws were subject to it.  The priest and Levite failed in love of God, because they thought love of God would be fulfilled by strict adherence to the precepts of the law.  The Samaritan, however, fulfilled love, because he obeyed the law that undergirds all of the law’s precepts when he did for the man exactly what he would have done for himself had he fell victim to the robbers.  Obeying the law of love freed the Samaritan to respond.

Now, if you’re anything like me, you’ll feel like this is hard to do in real life.  My guess is that each of us much more readily identifies with the priest and the Levite than we do with the Samaritan.  Well, this is why love of God must be first.  When we love God—that is, when we give ourselves over completely to Him, who is love—we come to realize just how compassionate He has been to us; and we realize, too, that compassion is the one thing that we have lacked the most.  Thus we are inspired to have compassion for others; and we begin to realize that this kind of love actually frees us, because it moves us to respond to those good desires in our hearts to offer ourselves for the good of others (however foolish it may seem at the time).  Thus, we no longer say, “I won’t help him, because of what might happen to me”, but rather, “I will help, because it is what God would will for him, and it is what I would will for myself, and this person deserves nothing less.”

My brothers and sisters: love God, and meditate on His love, that is, His compassion for us, his anawim, and you will find the freedom, that is, the inspiration, to have compassion for everyone around you that you find in need.  And when you do, then harmony will begin to return to our community, our nation, and the world; and the law of love, that is, the law of freedom that we find in Christ Jesus, will make us truly free. 

Given at Saint Lawrence Parish: Lafayette, IN – October 25th, 2026

The Missionary Nature of the Family

 Homily: 29th Sunday in Ordinary Time - Cycle A

My brothers and sisters in Christ, at the outset of this homily on this World Mission Sunday, I’d like to make a statement that might seem incongruent: that is, that the missionary efforts of the Church are deeply tied in with the family. At first, of course we might think that there is little connection between our families, which form the “domestic church”, and missionaries in distant countries. But the Church reminds us that these two realities are deeply connected: for the first mission territory is often the home, and the first missionaries most people encounter are their parents and family members. With this in mind, let’s reflect on the Scripture readings we just heard, so as to allow God’s word to deepen our understanding of the missionary nature of the family.

We’ll start with the Gospel. Today's Gospel invites us to reflect on a fundamental question: To whom do we belong? In the reading, the Pharisees approach Jesus with a question designed to trap Him. "Is it lawful to pay the census tax to Caesar or not?" If He says “yes”, the Pharisees will accuse him of violations of the religious law. If He says “no”, the Herodians will accuse him of rebellion against Rome. Jesus, however, sees through their trap. He asks them for a coin and says, "Whose image is this, and whose inscription?" They answer, "Caesar's." Then Jesus gives one of the most famous responses in all of Scripture: "Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God."  It’s a clever response that sidesteps their trap and demonstrates just how narrow their thinking is.

Most often people focus on the political implications of those words (that is, as a clever way to balance being governed by a worldly government while also remaining faithful to God). But Jesus is actually saying something much deeper. The coin bears the image of Caesar, so it belongs to Caesar. But that begs the question… “So, what belongs to God?” In this context the obvious answer is, “Whatever bears the image of God.” Okay, so what bears the image of God? You and I do… We all do… Remember the book of Genesis and how it revealed to us that God created mankind in his image and likeness.  Therefore, every human person is created in the image and likeness of God. Since we each bear the image of God in the fullness of our beings, when Jesus says, “repay… to God what belongs to God”, he means that each of us is called to give our whole self over to God.

This is one of the first and most important truths that every Catholic family must teach. Before our children learn what they will do in life, they must know who they are. They are not merely students, athletes, workers, or citizens. No, first and foremost, they are beloved sons and daughters of God who bear his image. Their dignity does not come from success, wealth, popularity, or achievement, but rather, it comes from God, whose image they bear. And if we belong to God, then our lives cannot be lived only for ourselves. Rather, they must be lived for God. That is the message of World Mission Sunday.

Now, when many people hear the word "missionary," they think of priests, sisters, and brothers serving in faraway lands: and this is true. And we rightly honor these heroic missionaries. But mission is not reserved for a few in faraway lands. Rather, every baptized Christian is made to be a missionary disciple; and mission begins wherever God has placed us.

This means that a mother who teaches her children to pray is a missionary; a father who models forgiveness and integrity is a missionary; a grandparent who passes on the faith to a new generation is a missionary; a young person who stands up for Christ among friends is a missionary; and a family that welcomes a neighbor, helps someone in need, or invites someone back to Mass is a missionary and is participating in the mission of the Church. No, my brothers and sisters, the Gospel spreads not only through preaching from pulpits, but also through Christian witness in our homes and communities. ///

Today's first reading gives us another important lesson. Through the prophet Isaiah, God speaks about Cyrus, a Persian king who does not even belong to the people of Israel. Yet God chooses to use him for His saving purposes. It is a remarkable reminder that God's plans are always bigger than our expectations. Sometimes we think God works only through saints with extraordinary gifts. But Scripture tells us that God often works through ordinary people who simply make themselves available: He works through parents struggling to raise faithful children. He works through families carrying the burdens of economic hardship. He works through immigrants seeking a better future. He works through young people searching for their vocation. He works through grandparents whose daily prayers sustain an entire family. All this is to say that no family is too ordinary to become an instrument of God's mission. No, the question is not whether God is calling us. The question is whether we are willing to respond.

But we must respond. And why? Because our world desperately needs the witness of Christian families: it needs families that show unity in a divided age and a faithful Christian family provides that witness. Therefore, it is true to say that a faithful marriage is missionary; patience between spouses is missionary; forgiveness within a family is missionary; and family prayer is missionary. ///

The world also needs families that radiate hope. As you all know, many families today carry significant challenges. There are financial pressures, concerns about safety and security, fears about children drifting from the faith, cultural tensions, and many other burdens. Yet Christian families proclaim something beautiful: that Christ is still present; that Christ is still faithful; and that Christ is still walking with His people in the world. In a word, Christian families proclaim that Christ is our hope. And hope itself becomes a form of evangelization.

Finally, lest we forget in the midst of our reflections on the family, World Mission Sunday reminds us that the Church's mission extends beyond our own needs and concerns. The Gospel, as we know, belongs to the whole world. We are called to support the Church's missionary work through our prayers, sacrifices, and generosity because every person has the right to hear the good news of Jesus Christ. We unite ourselves to those who have responded to the call to bring the good news of salvation to faraway lands when we offer prayers, personal sacrifices, and financial support to the missions. As Pope Leo’s papal motto reminds us, “In the One [Christ], we are one”. Therefore, let us demonstrate our unity with missionaries throughout the world by renewing our offerings to support them.

My brothers and sisters, the coin bears Caesar's image. We bear God's image. Therefore, we belong to God. And because we belong to God, we are sent by God. On this World Mission Sunday, may every family here renew its commitment to be a living witness of the Gospel. May our homes become schools of faith, places of prayer, centers of charity, and communities of missionary discipleship. Through the loving intercession of Our Lady of Guadalupe, Mother of the Americas and Star of the New Evangelization, may our families bring Christ to their children, to their neighbors, to our land, and to the ends of the earth.

Given at St. Louis de Montfort Parish: Fishers, IN - October 18th, 2026

La Naturaleza Misionera de la Familia

 Homilía: 29o Domingo del Tiempo Ordinario - Ciclo A

Hermanos y hermanas en Cristo, ha sido una gran alegría reunirnos aquí con tantas familias católicas hispanas. Este congreso nos recuerda que la familia no solo es el centro de la sociedad, sino también el corazón de la Iglesia. Mucho antes de que nuestros hijos aprendan sus oraciones en el aula parroquial, aprenden la fe del ejemplo de una madre arrodillada junto a su cama, un padre que dirige la oración antes de las comidas, una abuela que reza el rosario y una familia reunida alrededor de la imagen de la Virgen María.

Por lo tanto, es apropiado que nuestro congreso se celebre el fin de semana del Domingo Mundial de las Misiones. Al principio, podríamos pensar que el congreso trata sobre las familias y el Domingo Mundial de las Misiones sobre los misioneros en países lejanos. Pero la Iglesia nos recuerda que estas dos realidades están profundamente conectadas: el primer territorio de misión suele ser el hogar, y los primeros misioneros con los que la mayoría de las personas se encuentra son sus padres y familiares. Con esto en mente, reflexionemos sobre nuestra lectura del evangelio de hoy, para que la Palabra de Dios profundiza nuestra comprensión de la naturaleza misionera de la familia.

El Evangelio de hoy nos invita a reflexionar sobre una pregunta fundamental: ¿A quién pertenecemos? En la lectura, los fariseos se acercan a Jesús con una pregunta diseñada para tenderle una trampa: "¿Es lícito o no pagar el tributo al César?". Si responde que sí, los fariseos lo acusarán de violar la ley religiosa. Si responde que no, los herodianos lo acusarán de rebelión contra Roma. Sin embargo, Jesús descubre su trampa. Les pide una moneda y pregunta: "¿De quién es esta imagen y esta inscripción?". Ellos responden: "Del César". Entonces Jesús da una de las respuestas más famosas de toda la Escritura: "Den, pues, al César lo que es del César, y a Dios lo que es de Dios". Es una respuesta ingeniosa que elude su trampa y demuestra cuán estrecha es su mentalidad.

La mayoría de las veces, la gente se centra en las implicaciones políticas de esas palabras (es decir, como una forma ingeniosa de equilibrar el ser gobernado por un gobierno terrenal con la fidelidad a Dios). Pero Jesús, en realidad, está diciendo algo mucho más profundo. La moneda lleva la imagen del César, por lo tanto, pertenece al César. Pero esto plantea la pregunta: “Entonces, ¿qué pertenece a Dios?”. En este contexto, la respuesta obvia es: “Todo lo que lleva la imagen de Dios”. Bien, ¿qué lleva la imagen de Dios? Tú y yo… Todos nosotros… Recuerda el libro del Génesis y cómo nos reveló que Dios creó a la humanidad a su imagen y semejanza. Por lo tanto, cada persona humana es creada a imagen y semejanza de Dios. Dado que cada uno de nosotros lleva la imagen de Dios en la plenitud de nuestro ser, cuando Jesús dice: "Den… a Dios lo que es de Dios", quiere decir que cada uno de nosotros está llamado a entregarnos por completo a Dios.

Esta es una de las primeras y más importantes verdades que toda familia católica debe enseñar. Antes de que nuestros hijos aprendan a qué se dedicarán en la vida, deben saber quiénes son. No son simplemente estudiantes, atletas, trabajadores o ciudadanos. No, ante todo, son amados hijos e hijas de Dios que llevan su imagen. Su dignidad no proviene del éxito, la riqueza, la popularidad o los logros, sino de Dios, cuya imagen llevan. Y si pertenecemos a Dios, entonces nuestras vidas no pueden vivirse solo para nosotros mismos. Deben vivirse para Dios. Ese es el mensaje de este congreso y también del Domingo Mundial de las Misiones.

Cuando muchos oyen la palabra “misionero”, piensan en sacerdotes, religiosas y religiosos que sirven en tierras lejanas; y es cierto. Y con razón honramos a estos heroicos misioneros. Pero la misión no está reservada a unos pocos en tierras lejanas. Más bien, todo cristiano bautizado está llamado a ser un discípulo misionero; y la misión comienza dondequiera que Dios nos haya puesto.

Esto significa que una madre que enseña a sus hijos a orar es una misionera; un padre que da ejemplo de perdón e integridad es un misionero; un abuelo que transmite la fe a una nueva generación es un misionero; un joven que defiende a Cristo entre sus amigos es un misionero; y una familia que acoge a un vecino, ayuda a alguien necesitado o invita a alguien a volver a misa es misionera y participa en la misión de la Iglesia. No, hermanos y hermanas, el Evangelio se difunde no sólo mediante la predicación desde los púlpitos, sino también mediante el testimonio cristiano en nuestros hogares y comunidades.

La comunidad hispana, en particular, tiene un don especial que ofrecer a esta misión. A lo largo de generaciones, las familias hispanas han conservado un profundo amor por la Santísima Virgen María, devoción a la Eucaristía, respeto por los lazos familiares y confianza en Dios en los momentos difíciles. Estos son tesoros. Y estos tesoros no deben ocultarse. Más bien, son dones que deben compartirse con toda la Iglesia. En una sociedad que a menudo promueve el individualismo, las familias hispanas nos recuerdan la importancia de la comunidad. En una cultura que puede olvidarse de Dios, las familias hispanas dan testimonio del poder de la oración. En un mundo marcado por la soledad, las familias hispanas ofrecen el testimonio de pertenencia y amor. Hermanos y hermanas, la Iglesia en nuestro país necesita su testimonio, y este congreso ha sido una oportunidad para renovarlo y fortalecerlo. ///

De hecho, ninguna familia es demasiado común para convertirse en un instrumento de la misión de Dios. No, la pregunta no es si Dios nos llama, sino si estamos dispuestos a responder.

Pero debemos responder. ¿Y por qué? Porque nuestro mundo necesita desesperadamente el testimonio de las familias cristianas: necesita familias que demuestren unidad en una época dividida, y una familia cristiana fiel ofrece ese testimonio. Por lo tanto, es cierto afirmar que un matrimonio fiel es misionero; la paciencia entre los cónyuges es misionera; el perdón dentro de la familia es misionero; y la oración familiar es misionera.

Finalmente, para que no lo olvidemos en medio de nuestras reflexiones sobre la familia, el Domingo Mundial de las Misiones nos recuerda que la misión de la Iglesia trasciende nuestras propias necesidades e inquietudes. El Evangelio, como sabemos, pertenece al mundo entero. Estamos llamados a apoyar la labor misionera de la Iglesia mediante nuestras oraciones, sacrificios y generosidad, porque toda persona tiene derecho a escuchar la buena noticia de Jesucristo. Nos unimos a quienes han respondido al llamado de llevar la buena noticia de la salvación a tierras lejanas cuando ofrecemos oraciones, sacrificios personales y apoyo financiero a las misiones. Como nos recuerda el lema papal del Papa León: “En el Uno [Cristo], somos uno”. Por lo tanto, demostremos nuestra unidad con los misioneros de todo el mundo renovando nuestras ofrendas para apoyarlos. ///

Hermanos y hermanas, la moneda lleva la imagen del César. Nosotros llevamos la imagen de Dios. Por lo tanto, no pertenecemos a Cesar, pertenecemos a Dios. Y porque pertenecemos a Dios, somos enviados por Él. En este Domingo Mundial de las Misiones, que cada familia aquí presente renueve su compromiso de ser un testimonio vivo del Evangelio. Que nuestros hogares se conviertan en escuelas de fe, lugares de oración, centros de caridad y comunidades de discipulado misionero. Por la amorosa intercesión de Nuestra Señora de Guadalupe, Madre de las Américas y Estrella de la Nueva Evangelización, que nuestras familias lleven a Cristo a sus hijos, a sus vecinos, a nuestra país, y hasta los confines de la tierra. Amen.

Dado en la parroquia de San Agustin: Rensselaer, IN - 17 de octubre, 2026

Término del Congreso Familiar Hispana

The invitation to the wedding banquet

 Homily: 28^th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Cycle A

          Today in our Gospel reading, our Lord Jesus uses the image of a wedding banquet as the setting for his lesson to the religious elite about the kingdom of heaven and about the invitation of God.  I think that it would be good at the outset to pause and to ask ourselves, “What is a wedding banquet?” so that we can better understand both the described reaction of the invited guests as well as the full reality of our invitation.

          So, what is a wedding banquet?  Before we can understand this, I think we have to reckon with our modern take on weddings and the celebrations associated with it.  It is very true to say that weddings have become a capitalist industry in our society: with businesses on every side looking to provide products and services to help you make your wedding as big and extravagant as you’d like it to be (or bigger and more extravagant than the last person’s you saw on social media).  Now, weddings are a big deal and they should be celebrated—even in big ways; but it seems to me that the “market is driving the consumer”, so to speak, causing us to distort the idea of a wedding celebration.  To see how, let’s go back to the Scriptures.

          In the Gospel, the wedding banquet is a metaphor for eternal life and the king who has prepared the banquet is God.  In the first reading, from the prophet Isaiah, we see a vivid description of what that banquet will be like: “a feast of rich food and choice wines, juicy, rich food and pure, choice wines”.  Given this description, we might think that a wedding banquet—that is, in this case, eternal life with God in heaven—is just unadulterated hedonistic pleasure: that is, the eternal enjoyment of all the greatest pleasures.  But this is certainly not the case.  (Not that heaven will not be eternally pleasurable, but just not in this way.)  Rather, and when we look at this in the context of the life and culture of the people during Jesus’ time, we see that this image was about way more than simple eternal indulgence in pleasure.

          At the time of Jesus’ life on earth, life was difficult.  Very few people had regular access to anything akin to a supermarket: that is, to ready access to an expansive variety of food and drink at prices affordable enough to make enjoyment of them relatively common among the people.  Thus, to be invited to a dinner in which rich food and drink was served—and served freely—was truly a special event.  Thus, when the prophet notes that God will provide for his people (who, by the way, had been languishing in exile for many years) “a feast of rich food and choice wines, juicy, rich food and pure, choice wines”, it was noted as an invitation to celebrate: in contrast to being seen simply as an opportunity to indulge our hedonistic desires for food and drink.  In other words, a rich banquet wasn’t intended to be an opportunity for gluttonous overindulgence, but rather to be a sacrament of sorts: an outward sign of the shared spiritual and emotional joy that the common celebration provides.  (I think that, if we boiled down our own expectations of wedding celebrations, we’d find that this is actually what we look for.  My perception, however, is that this very often gets lost when the “wedding industry” takes over too much of the planning.)  With all this in mind, now we are ready to understand the parable Jesus is telling and the lesson that it is putting on display.

          Jesus—the Son of God incarnate—is the Messiah sent to God’s chosen people: sent to bring fulfillment to all of the covenant promises and to usher in the fullness of the kingdom of heaven.  The chosen people failed to recognize this coming and did not respond to his invitation to enter into this fullness.  Why did they not respond?  We can’t know for sure, but some signs are in the Gospels: self-centeredness, pride, worldliness… these were all behaviors that the chief priests and the scribes displayed.  They were “locked in” to their own ways of thinking and to achieving their own goals or worldly ends that they were blind to the signs that the Messiah was standing before them inviting them into the eternal wedding banquet.  Worse than that, they actually rebel against the king: mistreating his servants and even killing some.  Saying, in effect, “Not only do we refuse your generosity, but we reject our relationship with you entirely.”

          The king, of course, responds and punishes the chosen people for rebelling against him.  Interesting, however, is how the king refuses to let his banquet be spoiled, right?  “If those who were chosen refuse to come, then go out and invite anyone else: for this wedding must be celebrated: this abundance of joy must be shared.”  In telling the parable in this way, Jesus prophesies the welcoming of the Gentiles—that is, those who were not of the race of the chosen people—into the kingdom of heaven.

          This last point is important for us because (and I think it’s safe to assume this here) we are all “gentiles”: that is, not of Jewish ancestry.  But we should not let this fact lull us into complacency about the invitation and our choice to respond: for the same pitfalls that the chief priests and the scribes fell into two-thousand years ago, are the ones that we can fall into today.  God is constantly inviting us to the wedding feast—that is, inviting us to enter fully into the kingdom of heaven—but self-centeredness, pride, worldliness, etc. can turn our minds and hearts away from this invitation and lead us to refuse it: and even downright to rebel against the generous king who sends it.

          It is so easy for us to fill our lives with stuff: so much so that our stuff gets in the way of receiving what God is offering to us.  Easy because we enjoy a daily abundance of the world’s goods that the people of Jesus’ time couldn’t possibly imagine.  The challenge, therefore, is to hold space in our lives so that our stuff doesn’t get in the way.  The way we do that is through detachment: constantly working to be sure that we are not overly attached emotionally to the things and experiences in our lives.  For some, this may mean a complete separation from the things of this world and a life of relative poverty, voluntarily assumed.  For most of us, however, it’s the constant effort to keep the things of this world in their proper place: that is, never allowing our things to become barriers or obstacles to our relationships, both with God and with others.  For example, if taking care of my lawn is more important to me than joining my neighbors at a cookout (or, perhaps, joining my fellow parishioners the parish picnic) then I’m probably in danger of missing the invitation that God is offering me to enter into the fullness of his joy in the kingdom of heaven.  By recognizing when this happens and raising our gaze once more to the higher things, we ensure that we don’t suffer the fate of the invited in Jesus’ parable: to be rejected and punished by the king whose generosity we’ve rejected.

          One final note about the wedding banquet.  Notice that, after inviting all those who weren’t previously invited and filling the hall to enjoy the feast, the king finds a guest not dressed in “a wedding garment”, who he then throws out of the feast.  This, of course, is more than a comment about wedding dress codes, but rather a metaphor signaling that, even though the king went out and invited “whoever” to the banquet, it didn’t turn the banquet into a “free-for-all”.  Rather, all were expected to “change” and to “put on the proper garment”.  This is a reminder that, while God invites us all into the full and eternal joy if his kingdom, it’s not “come as you are”.  Rather, we are expected to respond to his call and to conform our lives to his commandments—to live lives of holiness and virtue—so clothing ourselves in the “proper garments” to enter into so honorable of a feast.  Each of us must be careful not to presume on God’s mercy, but rather constantly strive to be so “clothed” when we enter eternal life.

          Okay, one final, final note.  Let’s assume that we have responded well to the invitation and are striving to remain detached from worldly things and to clothe ourselves in holiness and virtue: then what?  Then, God is going to call you to be his messengers.  That’s right, the messengers like the ones he sent to carry his invitation.  This invitation is probably the one we most often refuse from God.  Probably because Jesus’ prophecy is real: as messengers of the king, we will be refused and very likely mistreated—even killed—by those who refuse God and rebel against him.  This cannot stop us from responding.  When God sends us, we must go.  Otherwise, even our attempts at religious faithfulness will not save us from his punishment.

          The good news is that we have the best example and witness:  our Lord Jesus showed us the way.  He became incarnate to bring the Father’s invitation to his chosen people and he was rejected and killed.  Yet, he rose from the dead and lives forever.  Those us who are united to him in baptism, although we may be treated the same for being his messengers, nonetheless live in the promise that we will rise like he did.  Therefore, we can be courageous in responding—even if we are afraid: for by following him in his example, we will come to enjoy the rich banquet—the joy of eternal abundance, shared with all the saints—that awaits us… the banquet prefigured for us now, here in this Eucharist.  Let us ask for this grace of courage today, and then go forth to witness to it: trusting that God, whose banquet is constantly prepared, will not fail to bring us into his joy.

Given at St. Mary Nativity Parish: Joliet, IL – October 10^th & 11^th, 2026

The road to hell and to heaven

 Homily: 26th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle A

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”  I can’t remember the first time I heard that phrase, but I reckon I heard it in elementary school while I was standing before a teacher (a religious sister) and pleading my case for having failed to complete an item of my homework.  I imagine that I was probably trying to explain how I had known that I was supposed to do it, and that I had meant to do it, but that I had forgotten to do it because of some other work that distracted me from it (which might have been a TV show…).  And I imagine this teacher (who was probably Sr. Maria Goretti) looking back at me with those steely eyes formed by a hard, yet grace-filled religious life, but which nonetheless thinly veiled her warm heart, hiding in the background, and I imagine she probably said these words to me because she was convinced that the harsh truth was always better than relenting to protect a youngster’s fragile feelings.  And I imagine that I probably walked back to my seat thinking, “It’s not fair.  I’m a good kid and I don’t cause trouble.  And besides, I meant to do it!  So why wouldn’t Sister give me a break?”

The harsh lesson proposed by this saying–”The road to hell is paved with good intentions”–is at the heart of Jesus’ parable in today’s Gospel reading.  In it two sons are given a command to go out into their father’s vineyard to work.  One flat-out refuses, while the other agrees.  Both, then, have a conversion.  The son who refused his father, regrets his refusal and turns to go out to the vineyard to work.  The son who agreed to go out and work, then ignores that commitment and remains at home.  “Which son did the father’s will?”, Jesus asks.  “The one who actually went out to the vineyard to work” the chief priests and the elders correctly respond.  It’s obvious to them, and probably to us, that when the father returns he’s looking for results, not good intentions; and so when he sees that the son who had refused him (and thus who had certainly upset him) actually went out to work, he was probably pleased (perhaps even more pleased than he would have been, otherwise, considering that he had been so upset with him) and when he found the son that had agreed to go out still sitting at home, I imagine that he was rather displeased (perhaps, even outright angry) because he had refused to do what he had promised his father he would do.  Thus, the point of Jesus’ parable is clear: good intentions that do not result in actions are meaningless, while even a complete lack of good intentions can be redeemed if the good work is taken up, nonetheless.

To drive his point home, Jesus then turns to the chief priests and the elders and, with the same steely coldness only a battle-hardened religious sister could match, he tells them that tax-collectors and prostitutes—the most despised sinners of the day!—are entering the kingdom of God before them.  In other words, he’s saying to them, “God is more pleased with them, than he is with you.”  And why?  Well, because when the tax-collectors and prostitutes heard the preaching of John the Baptist, calling for a turn from sin and towards righteousness, they responded; but the chief priests and the elders did not.  And even when they saw these heinous sinners turning away from their sin and taking up virtue (something, presumably, that the chief priests and the elders were unable to effect), these religious elites still refused to listen to John’s call.  Thus, Jesus implies, they have condemned themselves.

“Whoa, Jesus, that’s kind of harsh,” we can imagine the priests and elders saying.  “We pray, we fast, we follow the commandments, we keep the Sabbath and pay our tithes.  How can you judge us like that?”  Jesus’ criticism is not that they weren’t religious enough, but that they had allowed their religiosity–that is, all the ways they said ‘yes, sir’ to God–to substitute for going out to work in the vineyard: that is, to care for the poor, the widow, the orphan, and the foreigner among them.  Tax-collectors and prostitutes, on the other hand, although they had refused God’s will in their sins, had turned from their sins and had taken up the work in God’s vineyard.  Thus they are the ones doing the will of God, Jesus seems to say, because they are doing more than just agreeing to the idea of it; rather, they are also doing it.

Now, were they doing it perfectly?  Probably not.  But they were doing it, instead of just talking about it.  And that was enough for them.  This is the message from Ezekiel that we heard in our first reading: “When someone virtuous turns away from virtue to commit iniquity, and dies, it is because of the iniquity he committed that he must die.  But if he turns from the wickedness he has committed and does what is right and just, he shall preserve his life.”  And so we see that there is a flipside to the saying: for if the road to hell is paved with good intentions (that is, with good intentions that do not lead into actions), then the road to heaven is paved with good efforts (even if those efforts end in failure).  The tax-collectors and prostitutes of whom Jesus spoke had lived so long in their vice that they probably only stumbled through their attempts to live virtuously.  Nonetheless, they were trying; and that had them on the path towards heaven.  The chief priests and the elders, however, had only their good intentions (that is, their outward religious practices) and so were sliding down the path away from heaven.

My brothers and sisters, as Catholic Christians, do we believe that it is enough to say “I believe”?  No.  Rather we know that to say “I believe” makes demands on our lives that go beyond mere religious observance; that, in fact, our religious observance is just the first step towards mission—missio—the “sending forth” to enact the Father’s will to bring mercy to all people: that is, to bring comfort to the sick, food to the hungry, shelter to the homeless, hope to the sinner, peace to the sorrowful.  Does God expect us to be perfect in fulfilling this mission?  No.  Does he expect us to strive for perfection?  Yes.  But does he expect that we will fulfill it perfectly?  No.  Rather, he calls us to labor in his vineyard and he expects us to go.  Woe to us if we stand here and say “yes, Lord, I will go” and then fail to do it.  Ours will be the path away from heaven.  If we give ourselves to labor in his vineyard, however—that is, to fulfill the mission to bring mercy to the world—then our path will be the narrow path that leads towards heaven: a path paved with the good efforts (both the successes and the failures) of those who have gone before us.

Perhaps Sr. Maria Goretti’s attitude would have been different had I put an effort into my homework instead of ignoring it altogether.  Perhaps having tried and failed would have given proof to my intention to complete it and, thus, won for me her mercy.  Perhaps…

My brothers and sisters, Jesus, our Savior, came to bring us mercy, the same mercy we receive from this altar.  May God find in us gracious recipients of his mercy: sons and daughters eager to labor for his harvest.

Given in Spanish at All Saints Parish: Logansport, IN – September 27th, 2026

El camino al infierno y al cielo

 Homily: 26th Sunday of Ordinary Time – Cycle A

“El camino al infierno está empedrado de buenas intenciones”. No recuerdo la primera vez que escuché esa frase, pero supongo que fue en la escuela primaria, mientras estaba de pie ante una maestra (una religiosa) explicándole por qué no había completado una tarea. Imagino que probablemente intentaba explicarle que sabía que debía hacerla, y que tenía la intención de llevarla a cabo, pero que lo olvidé debido a otro trabajo que me distrajo (probablemente un programa de televisión...). Imagino a esa maestra (que probablemente era Hermana María Goretti) mirándome con esa mirada firme, forjada por una vida religiosa dura, pero llena de gracia, aunque tras ella se vislumbraba apenas un corazón cálido; imagino que me dijo aquellas palabras convencida de que la dura verdad siempre es mejor que ceder para proteger los sentimientos frágiles de un niño. Y me imagino regresando a mi asiento pensando: “No es justo. Soy un buen chico y no doy problemas. Además, ¡tenía intención de hacerlo! ¿Por qué la hermana no pudo ser un poco más comprensiva?”

La dura lección que plantea el dicho–”el camino al infierno está empedrado de buenas intenciones”–se encuentra en el corazón de la parábola de Jesús en el Evangelio de hoy. En ella, se ordena a dos hijos que vayan a trabajar a la viña de su padre. Uno se niega rotundamente, mientras que el otro acepta. Ambos, entonces, experimentan una conversión. El hijo que rechazó a su padre se arrepiente de su negativa y decide ir a trabajar a la viña. El hijo que aceptó ir a trabajar, por el contrario, ignora ese compromiso y se queda en casa. “¿Cuál de los dos hizo la voluntad del padre?”, pregunta Jesús. “El que realmente fue a trabajar a la viña”, responden acertadamente los sumos sacerdotes y los ancianos. Para ellos–y probablemente para nosotros–resulta evidente que, al regresar, el padre busca resultados, no buenas intenciones; por eso, al ver que el hijo que lo había rechazado (y que, por tanto, ciertamente lo había disgustado) en actualidad fue a trabajar, probablemente se sintió complacido (quizás incluso más de lo que lo habría estado en otras circunstancias, dado el enfado previo); en cambio, al encontrar al hijo que había aceptado ir todavía sentado en casa, imagino que se sintió bastante disgustado (tal vez incluso muy enfadado), ya que este no había cumplido lo que le había prometido a su padre. Así pues, la enseñanza de la parábola de Jesús es clara: las buenas intenciones que no se traducen en acciones carecen de valor, mientras que incluso una ausencia total de buenas intenciones puede redimirse si, a pesar de ello, se lleva a cabo la buena obra.

Para recalcar su mensaje, Jesús se dirige entonces a los sumos sacerdotes y a los ancianos y, con una frialdad implacable que solo una religiosa curtida en mil batallas podría igualar, les dice que los publicanos y las prostitutas–¡los pecadores más despreciados de la época!–se les han adelantado en el camino del Reino de Dios. En otras palabras, les está diciendo: “Dios se complace más en ellos que en ustedes”. ¿Y por qué? Pues porque, cuando los publicanos y las prostitutas escucharon la predicación de Juan el Bautista–que llamaba a apartarse del pecado y a encaminarse hacia la justicia–respondieron a ella; en cambio, los sumos sacerdotes y los ancianos no lo hicieron. E incluso al ver cómo aquellos pecadores tan detestables abandonaban su pecado y abrazaban la virtud (algo que, presumiblemente, los sumos sacerdotes y los ancianos fueron incapaces de lograr), estas élites religiosas siguieron negándose a escuchar el llamado de Juan. Así, según sugiere Jesús, ellos mismos se han condenado. ///

“Aye, Jesús, eso suena un poco duro”, podemos imaginar que decían los sacerdotes y los ancianos. “Nosotros rezamos, ayunamos, cumplimos los mandamientos, guardamos el sábado y pagamos nuestros diezmos. ¿Cómo puedes juzgarnos así?”. La crítica de Jesús no es que no fueran lo suficientemente religiosos, sino que habían permitido que su religiosidad–es decir, todas las formas en que decían “sí, Señor” a Dios–sustituye la tarea de salir a trabajar en la viña: es decir, cuidar del pobre, de la viuda, del huérfano y del extranjero que vivía entre ellos. Los publicanos y las prostitutas, en cambio, aunque habían rechazado la voluntad de Dios con sus pecados, se habían apartado de ellos y habían emprendido el trabajo en la viña de Dios. Así pues, ellos son quienes cumplen la voluntad de Dios–parece decir Jesús–porque hacen más que simplemente aceptar la idea de hacerlo; más bien, la llevan a la práctica. ///

Bueno, ¿lo hacían ellos a la perfección? Probablemente no. Pero lo llevaban a la práctica, en lugar de limitarse a hablar de ello. Y eso les bastaba. Este es el mensaje de Ezequiel que escuchamos en nuestra primera lectura: “Cuando el justo se aparta de su justicia, comete la maldad y muere; muere por la maldad que cometió. Cuando el pecador se arrepiente del mal que hizo y practica la rectitud y la justicia, él mismo salva su vida”. Así vemos que el dicho tiene otra cara: si el camino al infierno está empedrado de buenas intenciones (es decir, de buenas intenciones que no se traducen en acciones), el camino al cielo está empedrado de buenos esfuerzos (aunque tales esfuerzos terminen en fracaso). Los publicanos y las prostitutas de quienes habló Jesús habían vivido tanto tiempo en el vicio que, probablemente, sus intentos de vivir virtuosamente eran torpes y vacilantes. No obstante, lo intentaban, y eso los situaba en el camino hacia el cielo. Los sumos sacerdotes y los ancianos, en cambio, solo tenían sus buenas intenciones (es decir, sus prácticas religiosas externas) y, por ello, se deslizaban por una senda que los alejaba del cielo. ///

Mis hermanos y hermanas, como cristianos católicos, ¿creemos que basta con decir “yo creo”? No. Más bien sabemos que decir “yo creo” exige en nuestras vidas que van más allá de la mera observancia religiosa; que, de hecho, nuestra observancia religiosa es sólo el primer paso hacia la misión—missio—el “envío” para implementar la voluntad del Padre de llevar misericordia a todas las personas: es decir, llevar consuelo a los enfermos, comida a los hambrientos, refugio a los desamparados, esperanza al pecador, paz a los afligidos. /// ¿Espera Dios que seamos perfectos en el cumplimiento de esta misión? No. ¿Espera que nos esforcemos por alcanzar la perfección? Sí. ¿Pero espera que lo cumplamos perfectamente? No. Más bien, nos llama a trabajar en su viña y espera que vayamos. ¡Ay de nosotros si nos quedamos aquí y decimos “sí, Señor, iré” y luego no lo hacemos! Nuestro será el camino que nos alejará del cielo. Sin embargo, si nos entregamos a trabajar en su viña, es decir, a cumplir la misión de traer misericordia al mundo, entonces nuestro camino será el camino angosto que conduce al cielo: un camino empedrado con los buenos esfuerzos (tanto los éxitos como los fracasos) de aquellos que nos han precedido. ///

Quizás la actitud de la hermana María Goretti habría sido diferente si me hubiera esforzado en mis tareas en lugar de ignorarlas por completo. Quizás haberlo intentado y fracasado habría demostrado mi intención de completarlo y, por lo tanto, me habría granjeado su clemencia. Quizás…

Mis hermanos y hermanas, Jesús, nuestro Salvador, vino a traernos misericordia, la misma misericordia que recibimos de este altar. Que Dios encuentre en nosotros receptores agradecidos de su misericordia: hijos e hijas deseosos de trabajar por su cosecha.

Dado en la parroquia de Todos los Santos: Logansport, IN

27 de septiembre, 2026