All Is Forgiven: A Lenten Invitation

 4 Sunday of Lent | Luke 15

God isn’t a distant judge keeping score—He’s a Father who runs to meet us, arms wide open.
Whether we’re the runaway son or the resentful sibling, His love is bigger than our mess.
This Lent, come home to mercy—you’ll find it’s already been waiting for you.

Listen to homily here:

Homily:

There was once a catechism teacher teaching a group of younger students about the story of the Prodigal Son. He really wanted to highlight the resentment of the older brother and how that resentment wasn't a good thing. So he emphasized that part of the parable, focusing on the elder son’s reaction.

Toward the end of the class, just to check that his students had understood, the catechist asked, “Now, when the younger son came back—the one who had sinned and been away—who do you think was the most upset or disappointed to see him return?”

There was silence for a moment. Then finally, one of the students raised a hand and said, “The fatted calf.”

Not wrong.

The story of the Prodigal Son is perhaps one of the most beautiful, well-known, and powerful parables Jesus ever told—and that’s saying something! It tells the story of a son who went astray, who believed he had burned every bridge with his father, who assumed he could only return as a slave. But hope against hope, he came back. And his father didn’t just welcome him—he ran to him, embraced him, and celebrated his return with a feast. The son came back expecting servitude. Instead, he was restored to sonship.

This parable resonates deeply with us because each of us, in our own way and at different times, longs for that kind of reconciliation. We yearn for a homecoming, for forgiveness, for the healing of broken relationships—especially our relationship with God.

One of my favorite stories, and forgive me if you’ve heard it before, beautifully illustrates this longing. It comes from a short story by Ernest Hemingway called The Capital of the World.

In it, Hemingway tells of a father and his teenage son, Paco. They lived in a city—Madrid, I think—and Paco, a common nickname for Francisco, got into trouble: violence, addiction, bad decisions. Eventually, he ended up living on the streets. The father searched everywhere for him, but he couldn’t find him.

So the father took a bold step. He paid a large sum to place a full-page ad in the city’s main newspaper. The ad read:
“Paco, meet me on Tuesday at Hotel Montana. All is forgiven. Love, your father.”

He waited anxiously on Tuesday, unsure if his son would come. But when he arrived at the hotel, he found something astonishing: a long line of young men—hundreds of them—all named Paco, all hoping that the ad was meant for them.

That’s the depth of our human desire for reconciliation—for someone to tell us we are forgiven, welcomed, loved.

We often call this parable the “Parable of the Prodigal Son,” but many have rightly called it “The Parable of the Prodigal Father.” Because it’s ultimately about the extravagant love and mercy of the father—a representation of God himself.

And what we believe about who God is matters deeply. Some of us imagine God as a strict judge, or a distant authority, or someone we constantly disappoint. But Jesus paints a radically different picture. He shows us a Father who watches the road, who waits with aching hope, who runs—runs!—to embrace us. A Father who doesn’t let us finish our well-rehearsed apology speech because his love has already restored us.

That is who God is.

And this story isn’t just about one son. As the joke at the beginning reminded us, there are two sons: the younger, who returns in repentance, and the older, who resents the mercy shown. But many spiritual writers point out there is also a third son in this story—the one telling it.

Jesus himself.

Jesus, the Son sent by the Father into the world to seek us out. He is the Son who leaves the Father’s side not to rebel, but to redeem. We can imagine him entering the pigsty of our lives to bring us home. Jesus gives his life to reconcile us to the loving Father. That is what we reflect on during Lent—not to feel morbid or guilt-ridden, but to understand just how deeply we are loved.

This season of Lent gives us many opportunities to experience that reconciliation. One powerful way is through the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Yes, it can be awkward. Yes, it can feel hard to go. But Pope Francis, from the start of his papacy, has reminded us:
“God never tires of forgiving us; it is we who tire of asking for forgiveness.”

In confession, not only are our sins forgiven—we are healed. We are welcomed. We are restored.

So as we sit with this incredible parable today, let us remember who God truly is: the Father who runs to us, who never stops watching the road, who always welcomes us home. There is nothing you can do to make God stop loving you. There is no distance too far. There is no sin too great. The Father’s arms are always open.

During this Lenten season, may we find the courage to return, to be embraced, to be restored.

Faith for the Climb: Living Between the Mountain and the Valley

 2 Sunday Lent, year C

Life isn’t just mountaintop moments—it’s also the valleys, and Jesus shows us that both are part of the journey. The Transfiguration reminds us that while we glimpse God’s glory at times, much of life is about walking faithfully through challenges, knowing Christ walks with us. By following St. Ignatius’ ERGO—Encourage, Regularize, be Generous, and stay Open—we can navigate the ups and downs with trust, resilience, and hope.

Listen to homily:

Read full homily:

Faith for the Climb: Living Between the Mountain and the Valley

We live in a world filled with advertising and marketing, where every product is presented in the best possible light. If a company is selling food, they emphasize how delicious it is—without mentioning if it’s unhealthy. If I were promoting our church, I’d highlight that St. Peter’s is just a short walk from Columbia SkyTrain Station, but I might not mention that the walk is a steep uphill climb.

That’s why the Transfiguration can seem puzzling. In this moment, Jesus reveals His divine glory to His disciples. They see Him as He truly is—radiant, standing alongside Moses and Elijah, the fulfillment of the Law and the Prophets. It’s a powerful moment of revelation. But then, Jesus descends from the mountain and returns to His humble, ordinary appearance. He chooses not to display His divinity in an awe-inspiring way all the time. From a marketing standpoint, this might seem like a bad strategy. Why not always appear as He did on the mountain? Why not make it undeniably clear that He is the Son of God?

The answer is love. Jesus chose to be with us in the valley. He chose to experience suffering, rejection, and hardship. His life was not lived on the mountaintop but in the everyday struggles of ordinary people. As He begins His long journey toward Jerusalem—what Luke calls His "exodus"—Jesus walks the path of suffering that leads to salvation.

If we’re honest, our lives are more often lived in the valley than on the mountaintop. Yes, we have moments of great joy, peace, and clarity—times when prayer feels easy, when God feels close, when life seems to make sense. These are moments of consolation, as St. Ignatius of Loyola describes them. They are times of strength, like being on the mountaintop with Christ.

But more often, we find ourselves in desolation—times when prayer is difficult, when forgiveness feels impossible, when life is full of uncertainty. St. Ignatius explains that consolation and desolation are natural parts of the spiritual life, and neither is a sign of our worthiness or closeness to God. They are simply experiences we go through on the journey. The key is to learn how to navigate both well.

Ignatius describes times of consolation as rest stops on our journey—moments when God refreshes and strengthens us for what lies ahead. Think of a long bus ride with necessary stops to stretch your legs and refuel. Consolation is like that: a gift that prepares us for the road ahead.

But desolation is where we grow. We cannot stay at the rest stop forever. The journey must continue, even when it’s hard. Ignatius offers practical advice for navigating desolation, which can be summed up in the acronym ERGO (which means "therefore" in Latin and "I work" in Greek—a fitting reminder that perseverance requires effort):

• Encourage yourself: Remind yourself that this difficult time will pass. Just as the sun is always there, even when hidden by clouds, God's presence remains even in desolation.
• Regularize: Stick to the commitments you made in times of consolation. Don’t abandon prayer, good works, or important decisions just because things feel hard.
• Generosity: Go against your resistance. If you don’t feel like praying, pray a little longer. If you feel reluctant to be kind, go out of your way to show kindness.
• Openness: Share your struggles with someone you trust. Keeping difficulties bottled up can make them seem worse than they are. A friend’s encouragement can make all the difference.

Recognizing these cycles of consolation and desolation helped me understand that spiritual dryness is not a failure but a normal part of the journey. The Transfiguration reminds us that while we will experience moments of clarity and strength, much of our faith is lived in the valley. Yet whether we are on the mountaintop or in the valley, Christ is always with us. If we commit to living well in every season, we will continue to grow in faith, strengthened by the knowledge that our final destination is the glory of God.

From Trials to Triumph: Finding Grace in the Wilderness

 1 Sunday Lent | Luke 4:1-13

Lent is a time of sacrifice, but today's Gospel reminds us that trials and suffering—when united with God—can lead to transformation and grace. Just as the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness for a greater purpose, our own hardships can refine us and even inspire others, as seen in the lives of figures like Terry Fox and Samra Zafar. This Lent, as we give things up, let us also offer our struggles to Christ, trusting that He is with us, bringing life out of suffering.

Listen to homily here:

Homily;

There was once an elderly gentleman who lived in Ireland. At one point in his life, he had to change villages, so he moved to a new village and began attending the local pub. The first time he visited, he went to the bartender and asked for three beers. The bartender, a bit puzzled, asked, "Would you like them one after the other?" The gentleman replied, "No, at the same time, please. I’d like to order three beers."

Though confused, the bartender served the beers. The elderly gentleman sat there, drank all three, and then left. This continued each time he visited the pub. The same bartender would serve him, and each time he would order three beers, drink them, and leave.

One day, after getting to know him a bit, the bartender finally asked, "I have to ask—why do you always order three beers and drink them at the same time?"

The elderly gentleman smiled and said, "Well, I have two brothers who have moved across the world—one lives in America, and the other in Australia. Before we separated, we made a promise that whenever we go to a pub, we would each drink a beer for ourselves and one for each of our brothers, so we could stay connected and united in this way."

The bartender thought this was a very thoughtful and touching custom.

This continued for some time until, one day, the elderly gentleman came into the bar and only ordered two beers. He sat down and drank them, and this pattern continued for a few more days. Concerned, the bartender approached him and, with a sincere voice, said, "Sir, let me be the first to offer my condolences. I noticed you are now only having two beers."

The elderly gentleman looked a little confused at first, then suddenly understood. "Oh, no, no! Don’t worry about that," he said. "My brothers are still alive and well—one in America and one in Australia. It’s just that I’ve given up drinking for Lent, so now I only have the beers for my brothers!"

Lent, of course, is a time for us to give things up, to make sacrifices. Hopefully, we make a sacrifice that is a little more meaningful than that elderly gentleman’s, but he certainly figured out a system! The purpose of Lent is to remind ourselves of what is most important in our lives. Sacrifices also remind us that suffering, trials, and tests are a natural part of life that we cannot avoid. However, today's Gospel teaches us a very hopeful message: though we encounter sufferings and trials, God can use them for our good and for the good of others. Suffering or trials, when united with God, can actually be for our benefit.

In today’s Gospel, we hear the account of Jesus' temptation in the wilderness. He is there for 40 days and is tempted by the devil in various ways. This is a passage I had heard many times in my life, but for years I missed an important detail at the beginning. When I finally noticed it, it changed my perspective. The detail is this: "And the Spirit led him into the wilderness to be tempted."

It was the Spirit of God—the Holy Spirit that Christ received at his baptism—that led him into the wilderness. It wasn’t as if the devil ambushed him or dragged him there. God had a purpose in this. Somehow, the hand of God the Father was present even in this temptation, in this trial. It was for Jesus' benefit—he needed to go through this before continuing his ministry and mission.

This teaches us that sometimes the Spirit can also lead us through trials, difficulties, and suffering. However, we need to be clear: I do not believe that God forces suffering upon us. God does not cause us to suffer. For example, if someone is ill, we shouldn't say, "God sent this into their life." We live in a broken world—creation is not as it should be. Going back to the transgression in the Garden of Eden, we see that our world is both wonderful and broken. Jesus has come to make all things new, but in the meantime, suffering is part of the human condition. God does not punish us with suffering, but He is with us in the midst of it. Just as the Spirit led Jesus into the wilderness and was with him there, God is with us in our trials.

Suffering can also help us focus on what is truly important—our relationships with God and one another. It can serve as a wake-up call to remind us how much we need God. Many people turn to prayer when they suffer. Suffering can also help us develop empathy; by experiencing difficulties, we can better understand and support others going through similar struggles. Although God does not will our suffering, He can use it for our benefit and for the good of others.

A few examples come to mind.

One well-known Canadian example is Terry Fox. Many of us know his story. At 18, he was diagnosed with cancer and lost one of his legs. He could have approached this trial in various ways, but instead, he was inspired to do something remarkable. He embarked on his Marathon of Hope, attempting to run across Canada to raise money for cancer research. He ran over 5,500 kilometers before his cancer resurfaced, forcing him to stop. Though he passed away shortly after, his journey inspired millions. His suffering became a source of hope and motivation for others, raising awareness and funds for cancer research.

Another powerful example is Samra Zafar, originally from Pakistan. She was forced into marriage at a young age and endured years of hardship. Eventually, she found the courage to escape that situation and build a new life in Canada. She pursued her education, graduating from the University of Toronto, and went on to write a bestselling memoir, A Good Wife: Escaping the Life I Never Chose. Her story resonated with many, and she used her experiences to advocate for women's rights. She founded a non-profit organization called Brave Beginnings, which supports survivors of abuse. Her suffering gave her the strength to help others and raise awareness of important social issues.

These examples show us that when we are guided by the Spirit, suffering and trials can be transformed into something good—not only for us but for those around us. God does not cause suffering, but His Spirit guides us through it. And when we pass through moments of trial, Christ is always with us, bringing some good from it.

The Gospel today also connects with the first reading from Deuteronomy, which refers to the Exodus—when God led His people out of slavery in Egypt and through the wilderness. Just as the Israelites wandered in the wilderness for 40 years, Jesus spent 40 days in the wilderness. But while Israel failed their tests, Jesus remained victorious. The people of Israel gave in to temptation, but Jesus overcame it through the power of God's word.

We are all human; we all fail and make mistakes. But Jesus, the perfect one, is with us in our sufferings. He is with us to bring good from them, just as He reversed Israel’s failures in the wilderness.

During this Lenten season, as we give things up, pray more, and perform works of charity, today's Gospel reminds us that suffering and trials—though difficult—can be opportunities for grace when we walk with Jesus. Perhaps this evening, as we celebrate the Eucharist, we can call to mind a trial or difficulty in our lives. We can bring it to Jesus, knowing that just as He was with us in the wilderness, He is with us now—guiding us, strengthening us, and bringing life out of suffering.