Success in God's Eyes: Made for Relationship

 Holy Trinity, 2025

We often measure success by achievements, wealth, or status, but Trinity Sunday invites us to see ourselves through God’s eyes. Created in the image of the Triune God—a perfect communion of love—we are made for relationship. Our true success lies not in what we possess, but in how we love and are loved.

Listen to homily here:

Throughout our lives, we go through many forms of evaluation. When we’re in school, we receive report cards that assess our academic progress. Later in life, we might receive performance reviews at work that evaluate how we’re doing in our jobs. These evaluations—helpful as they often are—invite us to think about what it means to be, in a sense, a “successful” human being.

But what does that really mean? What does it mean to live well as a human person? Our answer to that question depends on our understanding of what a human being is—and what we are for. Some might say that success is measured by wealth, power, achievement, or pleasure. Others might focus on status or reputation. Our culture offers competing visions of the “good life,” and behind each vision is a different idea of what it means to be human.

To illustrate this, imagine standing in an art gallery in front of a beautiful painting of a person. Critics gather around, discussing brushstrokes, composition, and symbolism. Each person offers a theory about the artist’s intent. But then imagine the artist himself walks into the room. He listens for a while, then finally speaks: “I painted this to represent someone I love.”

Suddenly, the room quiets. Everyone wants to hear from the artist, because he alone knows the true meaning of the work.

In much the same way, if we are each made in the image of God—as we believe—then it is God, the Creator, who reveals to us what it truly means to be human. And today, on Trinity Sunday, we are invited to consider this: Who is God? And therefore, in whose image have we been made?

The doctrine of the Trinity is profound—one God in three persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. At first, this might seem like theological “fine print,” something abstract or mysterious. But it’s not just a mystery to be admired; it’s a truth that shapes how we understand ourselves. Because we are made in the image of this triune God, the Trinity tells us something essential about what it means to be human.

One of the most important insights about the Trinity is that God exists as a perfect communion of love. The Father is not the Son, the Son is not the Spirit, and yet they are one in essence, united in an eternal relationship of love. The distinctions between them are found only in how they relate to one another.

This teaches us something powerful: in God, identity is rooted in relationship. And if we are created in the image of this God, then we, too, are created for relationship.

What defines us most deeply is not our possessions, our titles, or our achievements—but our capacity to give and receive love. To be a human being is to be made for communion: to live in relationship with others, to serve, to forgive, to belong.

This perspective shifts how we evaluate our lives. The question is no longer just “What have I achieved?” but “Whom have I loved, and how have I loved them?” Our relationships—especially the ones that require effort, patience, and grace—become the true measure of our humanity.

So as we reflect on this great feast of the Holy Trinity, let us ask the Holy Spirit to place on our hearts one relationship in particular where we are being invited to grow—perhaps a relationship that’s strained, neglected, or difficult. Trinity Sunday reminds us that our deepest calling is to love as God loves: faithfully, selflessly, and in communion with others.

At the end of our lives, we won’t be remembered by our resumes or bank accounts. What will matter most is the quality of our relationships—the love we gave and received. Let us strive to live in that image more fully today.

Speaking the Language the World Longs to Hear

 Pentecost 2025

At Pentecost, the Holy Spirit enables people of different nations to understand one another, reversing the division of Babel and forming one united family of God. Through Confirmation, we are anointed to speak Christ’s language of peace—a language that transcends words and is expressed through love, understanding, and service. In a world marked by division and conflict, we are called to be people who embody and share this peace.

Listen to homily here:

Language is such an important thing. Consider for a moment if you've ever had to learn a new language—how difficult it can be to communicate, how easy it is to experience misunderstandings, and how excluded you can feel when you're in a place where you don’t speak the language.

For some years, I lived in different places while studying or doing pastoral work in Mexico and Italy. I had a little trick I thought was clever when I was learning the language. I’d be speaking with someone—often an elderly woman at a parish—and if I didn’t understand what she was saying, I’d just nod my head and say, “Sí, sí,” over and over. That worked a few times—until one day, the woman stopped and said, “You haven’t understood a word I’m saying, have you?” She was absolutely right. It happened more than once, I’m ashamed to say!

Language is powerful. When we struggle to speak it, it can create barriers. But when we share a language and can communicate with one another, it creates unity. It brings us together.

This theme of language is central to today’s celebration of Pentecost. Luke, in the Acts of the Apostles, tells us that the Holy Spirit descended upon the followers of Christ in the form of tongues of flame. Tongues, of course, are what we use to speak. The imagery is intentional. At Pentecost, the gift of the Spirit is given in a form that represents communication.

In fact, Pentecost reverses an earlier event in Scripture that also involved language: the Tower of Babel in the Book of Genesis. There, humanity had been united in one language but turned away from God. In response, God confused their speech, and they could no longer understand one another. This ancient account—more a theological reflection than historical report—suggests that division in language led to disunity, miscommunication, and even conflict.

Now, look at what happens at Pentecost. Peter, filled with the Holy Spirit, begins to preach. He still speaks his own language, yet everyone gathered—Jews from every nation—can understand him. Pentecost was a major pilgrimage feast for the Jewish people, who came to remember how God gave the Law through Moses and formed them into one people. Now, Peter proclaims a new covenant through Christ, and the Holy Spirit forms an even larger family of God.

The division of languages is no longer a barrier. The Holy Spirit unites all who hear. Everyone understands. The message is clear: the Holy Spirit creates unity, forms communion, and builds one family across every boundary.

We could go even further and say: when we receive the Holy Spirit, we all begin to speak a common language—the language of Christ. And the language of Christ is peace and love.

This comes across clearly in today’s Gospel. Jesus appears to his disciples in the upper room—where they are fearful and anxious—and his first words are: “Peace be with you.” He says it again. Peace is the language Jesus speaks.

But this peace is not simply the absence of violence. It is much deeper. In Hebrew, shalom means wholeness, harmony, completeness. It is the peace that begins in the human heart. It spreads to our relationships, our families, our workplaces, our parishes. It allows us to listen to one another, understand each other, and work together. It is a peace expressed in kindness, service, and love.

This is the peace that we are sent to speak in the world. At our Confirmation, we are sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit. The bishop or priest says, “Be sealed with the gift of the Holy Spirit,” and then adds, “Peace be with you.” Our first words as newly confirmed Christians are words of peace.

We are also anointed with chrism oil, a mixture of olive oil and fragrant balsam blessed at the Chrism Mass. This perfumed oil is a sign of the Spirit’s presence and mission. In the Old Testament, those who were anointed—prophets, priests, and kings—were always sent out for a purpose. In the same way, our anointing at Confirmation is a sending. We are called to go into the world and speak the language of Jesus.

And this language is so desperately needed today—in a world filled with violence, polarization, misunderstanding, and division. We are called to be people of peace, people who listen, who build bridges, who foster unity with gentleness and strength.

As we celebrate Pentecost, the descent of the Holy Spirit, let us remember our own Confirmation. We have been sealed. We have been sent. Let us speak, wherever we are and in whatever language we use, the language of Christ: a language of peace and love.

This is the language the world is yearning to hear.

Light After the Clouds

 Ascension

Separation from loved ones is painful, and the Ascension reminds us that even Jesus' followers knew that grief. Yet Christ has not abandoned us—his Spirit remains like sunlight after the sun has set, warming, guiding, and sustaining us. Through the Holy Spirit, we become Christ’s living presence in the world, continuing his mission with our hands, our voices, and our lives.

Listen to homily here:

As you came into the church today, you may have noticed our new 2025 Photo Directories available at the entrance. And while this is, yes, a bit of an advertisement to pick up your copy, it's much more than that. Flipping through the directory, you’ll see a beautiful snapshot of our parish family. You’ll notice that here at St. Peter’s, we come from all over the world—many different cultures, countries, and experiences. This diversity brings such richness and blessing to our community.

Many in our parish are newcomers—people who have left their homeland, their way of life, and loved ones behind to begin anew. With that comes not only the excitement of a fresh start but also the pain of separation: being far from people who were central to your life.

This sense of separation is something we also encounter in today’s liturgy, as we celebrate the Feast of the Ascension. At first, the Ascension might seem like a strange thing to celebrate. But it deeply connects to our experience, especially for those who know the ache of being far from loved ones. We can imagine how the followers of Jesus must have felt. They had walked with him, followed him, placed all their hope in him. They witnessed his suffering and death—the shattering of their dreams—and then, against all expectation, the joy of his resurrection and the wonder of those days with the risen Lord. And now, once again, Jesus is leaving.

The Gospel tells us Jesus ascends into heaven. He is no longer physically with his disciples. That must have been incredibly painful. Like us, they wanted to reach out, to sit with him, to hear his voice, to feel his presence. His departure left them in uncertainty about what was to come.

And yet—Jesus does not leave them alone. As he prepares to ascend, he promises that they will be “clothed with power from on high.” He speaks of the coming of the Holy Spirit, who will dwell within his followers. In ascending, Christ does not abandon his Church—he makes way for a new kind of presence.

We will celebrate Pentecost next week, but already today, we begin to consider: What is the Holy Spirit like? How does the Spirit act in our lives?

One image that might help is the sun. The sun is visible and powerful—something we can see and feel. In this way, it's like Christ during his earthly life. But even when the sun is hidden behind clouds or below the horizon, its light remains. We still see, we still feel its warmth. Light is hard to grasp, yet we know it’s real. In the same way, the Holy Spirit is like that light—radiant, mysterious, life-giving. The Spirit helps us see, gives us warmth, brings us peace and joy.

Here at St. Peter’s, I often think of this when I see the sunlight streaming through our stained-glass windows—especially in the late afternoon. The church is bathed in beautiful colours, transformed by light. The Holy Spirit does the same in our lives: quietly, beautifully illuminating, transforming, and comforting us.

Christ remains truly present with us in the Spirit. We encounter him especially in the sacraments—most profoundly in the Eucharist. We hear his voice in Scripture. And we see him in one another, gathered as the Body of Christ. Through the Spirit, we are not abandoned—we are equipped, empowered, and sent.

But why did Jesus need to leave? Why the Ascension?

Perhaps one reason is this: if Christ had remained physically with us, we might have always depended on him to act. Instead, in love, he entrusts us with his mission. The Church is now his hands and feet in the world.

An example that illustrates this comes from the lives of St. Ignatius of Loyola and St. Francis Xavier. Ignatius, the founder of the Jesuits, longed to be a missionary himself, to travel to distant lands. But he remained in Rome to organize and lead the new community. It was his friend and follower, Francis Xavier, who carried the mission forward—traveling to India, Japan, and beyond to proclaim the Gospel. Ignatius formed the vision; Xavier fulfilled it.

So too with Christ and his Church. The Acts of the Apostles, which we read from today, tells the story of how Jesus’ followers, filled with the Holy Spirit, continued his mission.

Yes, we live in a world where Christ may seem distant. But we live in the light of his promise—the gift of the Holy Spirit. Through that Spirit, we are transformed and empowered to become his presence in the world.

I’d like to end with a prayer often attributed to St. Teresa of Ávila, one that expresses this mystery beautifully:

Christ has no body now but yours,
No hands, no feet on earth but yours.
Yours are the eyes with which he looks with compassion on this world.
Yours are the feet with which he walks to do good.
Yours are the hands with which he blesses all the world.
Christ has no body now on earth but yours.

May we, filled with the Spirit, truly become the Body of Christ in the world.