Divine Mercy Sunday: Living God’s Mercy in a World That Needs Peace

 2 Sunday Easter, Divine Mercy Sunday

Divine Mercy Sunday reminds us that God’s mercy is active, reaching out to those who suffer and meet us in our struggles. In a world marked by conflict and indifference, we are called to live that mercy concretely by working for peace and building loving communities. Trusting in Christ’s victory, we are invited to repeat with confidence: Jesus, I trust in you.

Image: OSV/Reuters/Lola Gomez, Claudia Morales

Listen to homily here:

Read Homily Here:

Jesus, I trust in you. Jesus, I trust in you. This is a prayer many of us know well. We have likely heard it before or seen it on images associated with Divine Mercy. It has become very popular as this devotion has spread throughout the Church.

The devotion to Divine Mercy, which we celebrate today, began about one hundred years ago when a Polish nun, Saint Faustina Kowalska, began receiving revelations from Jesus that emphasized God’s great mercy, his love for those who are in need. This devotion spread through her diary and, in a particular way, through the witness of Pope John Paul II, who canonized her and established this Sunday as Divine Mercy Sunday for the whole Church.

The message of this feast is simple and powerful. God’s mercy is greater than any of our sins and any of our sufferings. In the Gospel today, we see that mercy is not passive. Mercy is active.

On Easter, we celebrate Christ’s victory over sin and death. On Divine Mercy Sunday, we see what that victory looks like in our daily lives. Mercy can be better understood through the Latin word misericordia. Miseria refers to those who suffer, and cor means heart. Mercy means having a heart for those who suffer.

God’s mercy is not distant. It moves outward. It draws close to those in need. We see this clearly in the Gospel through Thomas the Apostle. Thomas is struggling with his faith. He was not present when the other disciples first encountered the risen Lord. Like all of us at times, he struggles to believe. Yet Jesus does not reject him or scold him. Instead, Jesus returns. He seeks Thomas out. He gives him exactly what he needs and invites him to touch his wounds. This is mercy in action. Christ sees someone who is struggling and goes out to help him.

Divine mercy shows us that the resurrection is not just an event of the past. It continues to shape our lives today. Jesus continues to come to us, to accompany us, and to help us in our struggles.

Mercy also has very concrete implications for our world today. Recently, Pope Leo XIV has spoken strongly about the need for peace in the midst of ongoing conflicts. He reminds us that we are living in a world that is becoming increasingly accustomed to violence, a world where the suffering of entire peoples risks being met with indifference. He has challenged world leaders with these words: “Let those who have weapons lay them down. Let those who have the power to unleash wars choose peace.”

Working for peace is one of the most concrete ways we live out mercy. War brings immense suffering, and God’s heart is especially close to those who suffer because of conflict and violence. If we want to be instruments of God’s mercy, we are called to be people of peace.

At the same time, we may wonder what we can actually do. The problems of the world can feel overwhelming. One helpful way to think about this is through the expression: think globally and act locally.

To think globally means to be aware of the suffering in our world and to respond first through prayer. We are called to pray for peace and for all those who suffer. We are also called to act responsibly in our civic life, including how we form our conscience and make decisions that affect society.

To act locally means to live mercy in our daily lives. The first reading from the Acts of the Apostles gives us a beautiful image of the early Christian community. They gathered together in unity. They shared what they had. They worshipped God together. They worked toward reconciliation and welcomed others into their community.

We are called to do the same. We live mercy by being generous, by practicing hospitality, by building community, and by working toward peace in our relationships. Mercy becomes real in the small, daily choices we make.

During this Easter season, we are reminded of the presence of the risen Christ through the Easter candle. Its light reminds us that Christ has conquered darkness. Even in a world marked by violence and suffering, his light continues to shine.

We are also reminded of our baptism. In baptism, we receive that light and are called to carry it into the world. We are called to be signs of Christ’s mercy wherever we go.

As we continue this celebration, we are invited to trust. Trust that Christ is at work. Trust that his mercy is greater than sin, greater than suffering, greater than the darkness we see around us.

Let us repeat often the prayer of Divine Mercy: Jesus, I trust in you

How the Resurrection Changes Everything: A New Perspective for Easter Sunday

 Easter Sunday

The resurrection of Jesus is a truth that radically changes how we see the world, just as major discoveries in history reshaped human perspective. Like the first disciples, encountering the risen Christ transforms fear into courage and despair into hope. When truly believed, the resurrection calls us to live differently, allowing Christ’s victory to shape every part of our lives.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily here:

Have you been following the journey of the Artemis spacecraft? Maybe just a few of you, but it really is incredible. The world has once again sent people toward the moon. Just a few days ago, an image was released as Artemis made its way from the earth to the moon. Looking back, we see that iconic image of the earth in the distance, small and fragile.

Many have compared this to the images taken in the early 1970s. When you see the earth from that distance, it changes your perspective. It makes you see things differently. Questions that seem so important begin to shift. Do national borders matter in the same way? Do conflicts and divisions look the same? Even our care for the environment takes on a new urgency. Simply seeing the earth from afar changes how we understand our place in the world.

There was a similar shift in perspective in the 1600s with Galileo Galilei. He was not the first to propose it, but through his observations he helped demonstrate that the earth is not the center of the universe. Until then, it was widely assumed that everything revolved around us. That belief shaped not only science, but also how people understood their place in creation.

When that truth became known, it changed everything. People began to see the vastness of the universe, the countless stars and planets, and the grandeur of creation. Humanity was no longer at the center in the way it once imagined. A new perspective reshaped how people understood reality itself.

There are truths that, once we see them, we cannot unsee. They change how we live.

Today we celebrate the most important truth of all: the resurrection of Jesus Christ. If we truly believe that Jesus has risen from the dead, then nothing in our lives should remain the same.

We see this transformation clearly in the Gospel. Think of Peter, John, and Mary Magdalene. Peter, in particular, had left everything to follow Jesus. He placed all his hope in him. And yet, when Jesus was arrested, Peter denied even knowing him. Then he watched as Jesus was condemned, tortured, and crucified.

When Peter went to the tomb that morning, he did not go expecting the resurrection. He went with grief, with regret, and with confusion about his future. But everything changed when he encountered the empty tomb.

Imagine the transformation. From mourning to hope. From fear to courage.

We see this change most clearly in the Acts of the Apostles. Peter, who once denied Jesus, now boldly proclaims him. He is no longer afraid. He is willing even to give his life for Christ.

The resurrection changed everything for the first disciples. And it should change everything for us.

We celebrate with joy today, but it must go deeper than that. The resurrection must change how we think, how we act, how we see others, and how we live each day.

C. S. Lewis once posed a powerful question: what would change in your life if you truly believed in the resurrection and in eternal life? What if you truly believed that every person you encounter is destined to live forever?

It might even change how we drive or how we speak to others. But more seriously, it would change how we love, how we forgive, and how we carry hope.

What would it change in how we grieve those who have died? What would it change when we face struggles, bad habits, or discouragement? What would it change if we truly believed that Christ has conquered sin and death?

The resurrection tells us that Christ is victorious, that he is king, and that his kingdom will endure forever. This is not just a belief to celebrate once a year. It is a truth meant to transform our entire lives.

And yet, it is easy to forget. We become busy. We get caught up in daily concerns. For this reason, we are given the gift of Easter each year, to return to this central truth and allow it to renew us.

Before us stands the Easter candle, blessed at the Vigil. It is the sign that Christ is the light of the world, the sign of his victory over death. In baptism, we received that same light and were called to carry it into the world.

Today, we will renew our baptismal promises. Many of us had these promises made for us as children. Now we renew them ourselves.

We will also be sprinkled with blessed water, a reminder of our baptism and the new life we received in Christ.

As we do this, let us ask ourselves a simple but important question: what do I want the light of the resurrection to change in my life today?

Perhaps it is an area of discouragement or hopelessness. Perhaps it is a struggle to forgive or to move forward. Perhaps it is a call to deeper faith.

Let us ask Christ to bring the light of his resurrection into those places.

Some truths, once we truly see them, must change everything.

Jesus Christ is risen from the dead. And because of that, our lives can never be the same. 

Easter Vigil Homily: From Tomb to Womb, How the Resurrection Changes Everything

 Easter Vigil

The resurrection of Jesus is the turning point of history that brings about a new creation and a new way of life. Through baptism, believers die to the old life of sin and are reborn into the life of Christ, called to live as light in the world. This new life is not lived alone, but with the constant presence of Christ, who goes before us and frees us from fear.

Listen to Homily here

Read Homily here:

The Lord is risen, alleluia. Alleluia!

Today, my dear brothers and sisters, is an evening of great joy. It is so beautiful to see so many people here this evening as we celebrate what is, for us, the central and most important aspect of our faith: the resurrection of Jesus Christ, which changes everything.

This is a very important night in particular for those here in the RCIA, the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults. Each of you has been journeying for many months, preparing for baptism and preparing to enter the Catholic Church. For all of us who accompany you and rejoice with you this evening, this is also an important moment, because at this Mass we affirm our faith in the resurrection of Jesus and recommit ourselves to living our baptismal calling.

In the Church, there are many ways that we speak about the resurrection. We use language like victory, glory, and Christ conquering death. But this evening, in the readings and gestures we have experienced, the Church uses the language of birth and rebirth.

It always brings great joy when parishioners present a newborn baby. Many of you have experienced this, especially those who are parents. There is joy and relief when the baby is healthy and the mother is well. When you see that newborn child, it fills you with joy. There is so much promise and hope in that new life that has come into the world.

Birth and rebirth offer us a powerful image. Throughout the readings and rituals this evening, we are experiencing this theme of new birth.

The first birth we celebrate is that of Jesus Christ into eternal life, into a new form of existence. St. Paul describes Jesus as the “firstborn from the dead.” In our tradition, the tomb of Jesus can be seen as the womb from which Christ is born into this new life.

In the great hymn we heard at the beginning of Mass, we heard the words “O happy fault of Adam, that earned for us so great a Savior.” St. Paul makes this comparison clearly. Before Christ, we were in the lineage of Adam: we sinned, we suffered, we died. But now, in Jesus Christ, the new Adam, something entirely new has entered the world. Christ has risen from the dead and no longer dies. With him, we are being transformed into a new way of life.

One of the most beautiful moments at the beginning of the Easter liturgy is when we enter the darkened church after the blessing of the fire. Then we light our candles from the Easter candle. To see that flame spread throughout the congregation is powerful. Each of us holds that light, the light that Christ brings into our world.

We have heard many readings this evening that tell our story: a history of sin and defeat, but also a history of the victory that Christ brings. In Jesus, there is a new creation. He is the firstborn from the dead, and this is the first birth we celebrate tonight.

We also celebrate another important event: our rebirth in baptism. Later in this liturgy, we will renew our baptismal promises and recommit ourselves to following Jesus. Tonight reminds us of what baptism does. We are blessed to have about seventeen individuals being baptized this evening, which is a great gift for our parish.

To those who will be baptized, I would like to speak the words of St. Paul from Romans 6: “Are you unaware that we who were baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We were indeed buried with him through baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might live in newness of life.”

When we look at the baptismal font, we can see it as both a tomb and a womb. In baptism, we die to the old way of life, the way marked by sin and death. And from that same water, we are born into new life in Christ. As Jesus told Nicodemus, we are born again into eternal life.

Through the gift of the Holy Spirit, we are gradually transformed to become more like Jesus, until that transformation is complete when Christ returns.

We also have among us individuals who were previously baptized in another Christian community. Baptism is so important that it is done only once. These individuals now reaffirm their baptismal commitment and enter into full communion with the Catholic Church through confirmation.

For all of us, this is a moment to renew our baptismal commitment and remember how deeply it changes our lives. We are people who believe in the resurrection and in eternal life, and this changes everything.

The symbols of this evening speak to this new life. Water reminds us of creation, when the Spirit hovered over the waters. Now, in baptism, we are made a new creation.

The newly baptized will receive a white garment, symbolizing that they have put on Christ. They are conformed to Christ as priest, prophet, and king.

In confirmation, they will be anointed with chrism oil, which carries a fragrance meant to remind us of the Holy Spirit. This anointing sends them on mission to proclaim the Gospel and build up the Kingdom of God.

The candle they receive reminds us that we are called to be the light of Christ. Alone, our flame may seem small, but together, we can bring Christ’s light into the world.

Most importantly, in this new life we are not alone. Jesus is always with us.

To those in the RCIA, I offer the words from the Gospel: “Do not be afraid. Go tell my brothers to go to Galilee, and there they will see me.” Do not be afraid. You will see him.

There is a prayer we often say: “May Christ, who began the good work in you, bring it to completion.” This reminds us that even the desire to seek God comes from him. God always takes the first step. He invites us, and we respond.

The Lord will be with us. He goes before us. He is present in the sacraments, in Scripture, and in this community that you are entering tonight. For this reason, we do not need to be afraid.

So let us pray in a special way for those about to be baptized, for those entering full communion with the Church, and for all of us, that we may remember deeply our baptism. Through it, we are joined to Christ and transformed.

Let us accept once again our calling to live as his light in the world, without fear, because the Lord is risen and goes before us.

The Way of Christ vs the Way of the World: A Good Friday Reflection on Peace, Power, and True Victory

 Good Friday

There are two ways before us: the way of violence, power, and retaliation, and the way of Christ, marked by love, sacrifice, and peace. In the Passion, especially as presented in John’s Gospel, Jesus reveals that true victory comes not through force but through self-giving love. We are invited, especially as we venerate the cross, to choose again the way of Christ, which alone breaks the cycle of violence and leads to life.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily here:

In Jerusalem stands what is, for us, the most famous church in the world, the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, built by Constantine in the fourth century. The Church stands above the place of Golgotha, the hill where Christ was crucified. Within it is a small chapel called the Aedicule, which contains the remains of the cave where, as far as we can tell, Jesus was buried and rose from the dead. It is a sacred site, and each year pilgrims stream constantly to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, especially during the days of the Triduum: Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday.

These celebrations are led by the Patriarch in Jerusalem, Cardinal Pierbattista Pizzaballa, who has presided over the Triduum liturgies for several years. This year, however, the celebrations are very different. They are taking place almost in silence. There are no pilgrims and no faithful permitted to attend in person. The liturgies unfold with only a few priests present. We are witnessing a dramatic juxtaposition. On the one hand, the Church celebrates the love, service, and peace of Jesus Christ. On the other hand, these celebrations take place in a region marked by war, with violence affecting Gaza, Lebanon, and beyond.

This contrast highlights two ways of living. In the early Church, one of the earliest names for Christians was “the Way.” Before the term “Christianity” was widely used, discipleship was understood as following a particular way of life. The Acts of the Apostles reflects this. The early Christians recognized that there are fundamentally different paths we can choose.

One path is the way of violence, oppression, warfare, and greed. This way is well summarized in a line from the Greek historian Thucydides, written about five hundred years before Christ: “The strong do what they can, and the weak suffer what they must.” This way continues to appear in our world. It is tempting to respond to violence with violence, to injustice with retaliation, to seek more at the expense of others. Yet this path solves nothing. From the story of Cain and Abel onward, Scripture shows how this way leads only to cycles of destruction and suffering.

Jesus offers a different way. In the Passion account from the Gospel of John, we see this clearly. Jesus is in a context of oppression and injustice, yet he does not respond with violence. He responds with peace, self-giving, and love. John presents the Passion not simply as suffering, but as glory. This section of the Gospel is often called the Book of Glory.

John’s account emphasizes that Jesus remains in control. When the soldiers come to arrest him, there is no kiss of betrayal as in the Synoptic Gospels. Instead, Jesus steps forward and asks, “Whom are you looking for?” He freely gives himself over. On the cross, he does not cry out in despair. He speaks with authority, entrusting his mother and completing his mission. He chooses the moment when his work is finished. John wants us to see that this is not defeat, but victory. Christ overcomes violence not by greater force, but through love and self-sacrifice.

This is the way we are called to follow. It is a way of forgiveness, charity, justice, and peace. Throughout history, Christians have embraced this path. Saint Francis of Assisi, during the time of the Crusades, chose not to fight but to seek dialogue. He crossed into enemy territory and met with the Sultan. Although peace was not achieved, they parted with mutual respect.

Centuries later, Pope Francis demonstrated this same spirit. During the conflict in South Sudan, he invited leaders of opposing factions to Rome. In a remarkable gesture, he knelt and kissed their feet, pleading with them to seek peace. This is the way of Christ.

Each of us faces this choice. We may be tempted toward the way described by Thucydides, but we are invited again and again to choose the way of Christ. As we come forward to venerate the cross, we not only express our love for Jesus but recommit ourselves to this path. It is a path that may not appear powerful in the eyes of the world, but it is the way that leads to true victory, peace, and life.

Let us pray for the grace of the Holy Spirit to recognize what Christ has done for us and to follow the way he has shown us, the way of love, peace, and life. 

What Does It Mean to Be Human in Christ? Holy Thursday, Service, and the Transforming Power of the Eucharist

 Holy Thursday

Holy Thursday invites us to reflect on what it truly means to be human in Christ: to live in communion, to serve others, and to be transformed by grace. Through the Eucharist, we are drawn into unity and shaped into the likeness of Jesus. Ultimately, it is not our own effort, but Christ himself who makes us fully human.

Listen to Homily

 

Read homily:

Earlier this week, I received a message from a Purolator courier that my package was on its way. When you see those messages, you get excited, and of course I went online to track it as it made its way across the country. I went to the website, and suddenly a chat window popped up. I know it was a computer, but as I typed back and forth, it seemed surprisingly human. It asked how it could help me, I said I wanted to track my package, and we had a pleasant exchange. At the end, it said, “Have a nice day,” and I replied, “Have a nice day to you as well.” Then I stopped and thought, I just wished a computer a good day.

Artificial intelligence is all around us. There are many debates about what impact it will have. Some say it will change everything. Others think it may be overhyped. But regardless, it raises deeper questions. If we speak of artificial intelligence, what is human intelligence? What does it mean to be human? What makes us unique? And ultimately, how does God want us to live as human beings in Christ?

Over these three days, Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and the Easter Vigil, we enter into what is really one continuous liturgy. You will notice that after this evening and after tomorrow’s liturgy, there is no formal dismissal. Each celebration flows into the next. Through the readings, rituals, and prayers, we are drawn into the central question: who is God, and how are we to live as human beings in Christ?

This evening, the liturgy of Holy Thursday helps us reflect on what it means to be truly human. First, we see that to be human is to live in community, especially a community that includes those on the margins. In the second reading, St. Paul writes to the Corinthians, addressing divisions within their community. They had formed factions and excluded others, even during the celebration of the Eucharist. The wealthy gathered and ate first, while the poor were left out and made to feel ashamed.

Paul strongly rebukes this behavior. The Eucharist is a celebration of Christ’s total self-gift, and such exclusion contradicts its meaning. When we receive the Eucharist, we are formed into one body. To live as human beings in Christ means to live in communion, to recognize the dignity of every member, and to build unity rather than division.

Second, the Gospel shows us that to be human is to serve. Holy Thursday is also called “Maundy Thursday,” from the Latin mandatum, meaning commandment. In John’s Gospel, Jesus gives his disciples a new commandment: to love one another as he has loved them. He then shows what this love looks like by washing their feet.

After the homily, we reenact this moment. It is a powerful reminder that as disciples, we are called to serve. True love begins when it becomes inconvenient, when it costs us something. There is a well-known story about Mother Teresa. A wealthy man once saw her caring for a dying man with severe wounds and said, “I wouldn’t do that for a million dollars.” She replied, “Neither would I. But I do it for Christ.” This is the kind of love we are called to.

Finally, we learn that to be human in Christ is to be transformed. The Eucharist is not simply a symbol; it is the gift of Jesus himself. Through it, we are changed. St. Augustine once said, “Be what you see; receive what you are.” Pointing to the Eucharist, he taught that what we receive is Christ, and in receiving him, we become more like him.

Normally, when we eat food, it becomes part of us. But in the Eucharist, the opposite happens. We become part of Christ. We are drawn into his life, his love, and his mission.

At the end of this Mass, there is no final blessing. Instead, we continue in prayer. We will process with the Blessed Sacrament and place it at the altar of repose. You are invited to remain in silent prayer, recalling Jesus in the garden and preparing to enter more deeply into his Passion. The church will remain open until midnight.

Tonight, we reflect on what it means to be human in Christ. We are called into community. We are called to serve. And above all, we are transformed by the Eucharist. It is not by our own efforts that we become fully human, but through the grace of Jesus Christ, given to us in this sacred gift.

The True Story of Holy Week: Why Jesus Is Not the Messiah We Expected

 Palm Sunday, Year A

Holy Week invites us to reflect on whether we are truly hearing the story of Christ or projecting our own expectations onto him. While many expected a Messiah of power and violence, Jesus reveals a radically different path of love, service, and sacrifice. The rituals and stories of this week are meant not just to be observed, but to transform our hearts and renew our lives.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily here:

Recently, there was a film released called Wake Up Dead Man, part of the Knives Out trilogy. I am not recommending the film, as it contains some coarse language, but it has generated significant discussion because of its religious themes. In the movie, we encounter two priests. One is not portrayed particularly well, while the other is a former boxer who experienced a profound conversion and became a priest.

One of the main characters, played by Daniel Craig, is the detective Benoit Blanc. He is something of an exaggerated character. At one point, he enters a church and speaks with the former boxer priest, leading to a striking conversation about faith.

Benoit Blanc admits that he has no faith. When asked how he feels in the church, he initially describes the emotional effect created by the architecture and the light through the windows. But as he continues, something shifts. It becomes clear that his past experience of religion was negative. He says that being in the church makes him feel as though a story is being imposed on him, one he does not believe, a story he associates with violence and misuse.

The priest responds thoughtfully. He acknowledges that the Church is full of rituals and rites, and that these are indeed forms of storytelling. But he poses a deeper question: do these stories convince us of something false, or do they resonate with something profoundly true within us, something that cannot be expressed except through story, ritual, and symbol?

That question leads directly into what we celebrate this week. As we begin Holy Week, we encounter a series of powerful rituals, rites, and stories. We enter into the Triduum: Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday. We will witness the washing of feet, the veneration of the cross, and the blessing of the fire at the Easter Vigil. These are not random actions. They are stories enacted.

Holy Week draws us into what is most central to our faith: who God is and how we are called to live. These rituals and stories are meant to transform us, to shape our understanding and deepen our faith.

Today, on Palm Sunday, we are presented with two different stories, and we are invited to ask which one we are truly hearing.

When we hold palms, we are not simply reenacting a moment of praise. We are also being challenged. The people who welcomed Jesus into Jerusalem had expectations. They believed he would be a Messiah like Judas Maccabaeus, who, about 150 years earlier, had driven out foreign oppressors through force. In the Book of 1 Maccabees, we read that palms were waved as he entered Jerusalem in victory.

So when the crowds waved palms for Jesus, many expected a similar story: a Messiah who would come with power, overthrow Roman rule, and restore their nation.

But that is not the story Jesus fulfills.

The Passion account shows us a very different kind of Messiah. Jesus does not come with military strength or political power. He comes in humility and service. He washes the feet of his disciples. He is betrayed, suffers violence, and responds not with retaliation but with forgiveness. He lays down his life in love.

This is the story we are invited to enter during Holy Week. It is not a story of domination, but of self-giving love. Not a story of overcoming violence with greater violence, but of transforming it through sacrifice and mercy.

Palm Sunday is our moment to choose which story we will embrace. It is an invitation to let go of false expectations and to receive the true story of Christ.

These rituals and stories are not meant to remain external to us. They are meant to shape us from within. As we enter this Holy Week, we are encouraged not only to attend the liturgies of the Triduum, but to participate in them deeply. To allow this story to enter our hearts, to change how we understand God, and to renew how we live as his disciples.

From Tomb to Life: Finding Hope in Christ’s Resurrection

5 Sunday Lent, 3rd Scrutiny, John 11

The raising of Lazarus reveals that while death brings real grief, Christ transforms sorrow into hope through his power over death. By pointing to his own resurrection, Jesus shows that the life he offers is not temporary but eternal, a victory we share through baptism. Even now, this new life is at work in us as Christ frees us from what binds us and invites us to live in hope.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily here:

Water, light, and life. These are the three themes we have been contemplating over these past Sundays as we have listened to these important stories from the Gospel of John. They invite us to reflect more deeply on our baptism: the light of faith we receive, the cleansing water that makes us a new creation, and the gift of the Holy Spirit poured into our lives.

Today, we turn to the theme of life. In the story of the raising of Lazarus, we are invited to reflect on how, in baptism, we are joined to the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ. We receive the life of Jesus not only for the present, but also the promise of resurrection after death.

As we have seen in recent weeks, John tells his stories with multiple layers, offering different ways of seeing so that we may grasp a deeper truth. Today’s Gospel is no exception. In the raising of Lazarus, we are invited to contemplate three different tombs and to see how what Jesus does speaks directly to us, especially in relation to our baptism. 

The first tomb is the most obvious: the tomb of Lazarus. This is a deeply emotional story. Lazarus, a close friend of Jesus, has died, and those around him are filled with grief. Mary and Martha mourn. The community gathers in sorrow. And we hear one of the shortest yet most powerful verses in Scripture: Jesus wept.

Here we are reminded that death touches every one of us. When a loved one dies, grief is real and profound. There is a story told of a child at a funeral who asked his grandmother, “Why do people cry if we believe the person is with God?” She replied, “Because love does not end when someone dies, and when love has nowhere to go, it becomes tears.” The child paused and said, “So crying is just love that is missing someone.” “Yes,” she said, “exactly.”

Jesus weeps. He knows the pain of loss. In the tomb of Lazarus, we see how death brings grief into our lives.

But John does not want us to remain there. He does not want us to stop at weeping. He wants our sorrow to be transformed into hope.

This leads us to the second tomb: the tomb of Jesus. Throughout this Gospel, John intentionally draws connections between the raising of Lazarus and the resurrection of Christ. Both tombs are caves sealed with a stone. In both stories, Mary is present in mourning. In both, there is an important role for Thomas. And in both, there are burial cloths.

When Lazarus comes out of the tomb, he is still wrapped in burial bands, with a cloth covering his face. Jesus instructs those present to unbind him. Lazarus is restored to life, but he will one day die again. He still needs those burial cloths.

By contrast, when Jesus rises from the dead, the burial cloths are left behind in the tomb. They are found there by Peter and the beloved disciple. Jesus does not need them again. His resurrection is not a return to earthly life but the definitive victory over death. He will never die again.

This is the heart of our hope. Jesus not only raises Lazarus but points forward to his own resurrection, which conquers death completely. And through baptism, we are united to him. Because Christ has died and risen, we trust that we too will rise.

This brings us to the third tomb: our own.

This Gospel invites us to reflect not only on the death of others but on our own mortality. Yet it calls us to face death with hope. As Saint Paul teaches, if we have died with Christ, we will rise with him. In baptism, we are already united to his death and resurrection.

Even more, this new life is not only something we await in the future. It is something we begin to live now.

We see this in Jesus’ conversation with Martha. She already believes in the resurrection on the last day. But Jesus deepens her understanding when he says, “I am the resurrection and the life.” Eternal life is not only a future promise. It is a present reality for those who live in relationship with him.

Through baptism, we already share in this new life. We are made new in Christ.

And just as Lazarus is unbound, so too we are called to be unbound. The Lord desires to free us from whatever holds us back. As we approach Holy Week, we might ask: where do we need to be set free? From resentment, from fear, from habits that weigh us down, from anything that keeps us from living fully in the life Christ offers?

Today’s Gospel is about life. It is about seeing the tombs of Lazarus, of Jesus, and of our own lives in a new way. As we draw closer to Holy Week, let us ask for the grace to live more deeply the gift of our baptism, trusting that Christ has come to give us new life, both now and forever.

 

Seeing the World with the Light of Faith

4 Sunday of Lent, Second Scrutiny

Faith shapes the way we see and interpret the world around us. In the Gospel of the man born blind, Jesus not only restores physical sight but leads the man to a deeper vision of faith, recognizing him as Lord. Through the gift of baptism, Christ gives us the light to see God’s presence in both the blessings and struggles of our lives.

Listen to homily here:

Read Homily here:

Faith can be, for many of us, a struggle. Believing that God exists, believing that God is close to us and cares for us, can be difficult, especially at times in life when things are hard. At those moments we may ask ourselves important questions. What does it mean to have faith? How do I know if I have faith? What does faith look like concretely in my life?

Faith can be described in different ways, but the Gospel today, the story of the man born blind, teaches us that faith has something to do with how we see the world. Faith has to do with how we see reality and how we interpret what is happening around us.

When we think about it, all of us have different lenses through which we view the world. We interpret reality in different ways. Recently I have noticed that objects at the back of the church are becoming a little blurry. I am having a harder time seeing things that are far away. So last year I went to the eye doctor for the first time to have my eyes tested. The verdict was that my eyes are getting older and that I will probably need glasses soon, though not quite yet. Many of you who wear glasses know how much difference the right lenses can make. With the proper lenses we see things clearly. If we put on glasses with the wrong prescription, we cannot see properly at all.

The lenses through which we view the world matter greatly. Sometimes the lens through which we see reality is shaped by our temperament, our upbringing, or our personality. One common distinction people make is between the optimist and the pessimist. Neither way of seeing the world is perfect. The optimist sees things with hope but may sometimes overlook suffering or difficulty. The pessimist may see problems clearly and be pragmatic, but may also fall into discouragement or hopelessness. Another lens is that of cynicism. As someone once said, the cynic knows the price of everything but the value of nothing.

The way we interpret the world has a great impact on how we live.

In today’s Gospel we see that Jesus gives us something new. He gives us faith so that we can see the world differently. Faith allows us to interpret what is happening around us and to recognize God present in it.

At first glance the Gospel is simply about Jesus restoring sight to a man who was born blind. But this is the Gospel according to John, and in John’s Gospel there are always deeper layers. The story is not only about physical sight. It is about something more important.

We see this from the very beginning when Jesus says, “I am the light of the world.” Light and darkness are central themes in John’s Gospel. When we have light, we can see and walk clearly. When we are in darkness, we cannot see.

As the story unfolds, several people witness what Jesus has done, yet they interpret the event very differently.

Some respond negatively. The religious leaders investigate what happened, but they focus on the fact that Jesus performed the miracle on the Sabbath. Because of the lens through which they interpret events, they conclude that Jesus must be a sinner. They refuse to see the good that God has done before their eyes.

Others respond with hesitation. The parents of the man who was healed know that their son can now see, yet they remain cautious and distant. Their faith does not lead them to recognize who Jesus truly is.

Finally we encounter the man who was healed. He grows gradually in his understanding of Jesus. If we listen carefully to the titles he uses for Jesus throughout the story, we see the progression of his faith.

At first he simply calls Jesus a man. Later, when speaking to the religious leaders, he calls Jesus a prophet. His understanding has grown. Finally, when he meets Jesus again at the end of the Gospel, he calls him Lord and worships him.

This man experiences two miracles. The first is the restoration of his physical sight. The second is the growth of faith. He comes to see Jesus for who he truly is.

Faith allows us to see the world differently as well. We may see good things happening around us and think they are simply coincidences. We may encounter suffering and conclude that God is absent. Faith is the lens that allows us to interpret reality differently. Faith allows us to recognize God’s goodness in our lives and to trust that God is present even in difficulty.

To have the eyes of faith means recognizing that Christ, who suffered and died for us, remains close to us when we suffer. It means believing that God continues to accompany us.

This kind of faith is a gift that we first receive in baptism. Once again, John’s Gospel contains several layers. On one level the man receives his sight. On another level the story is about faith. On yet another level it points to baptism.

Consider the way Jesus heals the man. He makes mud with his saliva and places it on the man’s eyes, and then sends him to wash in the pool. There is an anointing and there is washing with water. Many commentators have seen in this an image of baptism.

In the early Church this Gospel was closely connected with baptism. Jesus, the light of the world, enlightens those who are baptized so that they can see the world differently. In fact, in the early Church baptism was sometimes called photismos, a Greek word meaning enlightenment. Catechumens preparing for baptism were called those who were about to be enlightened, and the baptized were called the enlightened.

In baptism we receive a new way of seeing.

As we continue our journey through Lent, we might ask ourselves a simple question. What is the lens through which I see the world? Do I see the world with the eyes of Christ? When I experience blessings in my life, do I recognize them as gifts from God? When I encounter suffering, do I trust that Jesus remains with me?

Let us pray for the gift of the Holy Spirit so that the grace we received in baptism may grow stronger within us. May we receive the faith to see the world with the light of Christ. 

The Thirst Only Christ Can Satisfy

3 Sunday Lent, year A, First Scrutiny

The first scrutiny invites both the catechumens preparing for baptism and all the baptized to reflect on the deeper meaning of baptism in their lives. In the story of the Samaritan woman, Jesus reveals that our deepest thirst for love, purpose, and acceptance cannot be satisfied by the many things we often turn to. Christ alone gives the living water of the Holy Spirit that truly fills the human heart.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily:

Today we begin the first of the three scrutinies. The word “scrutiny” comes from a root meaning to inquire, to question, to examine more deeply. These three scrutinies, which take place this Sunday and the following two Sundays, are especially important for the members of our RCIA group who are preparing to enter the Catholic Church at Easter.

This year, however, we are reminded that the scrutinies are not only for them. They are an opportunity for all of us who are baptized to deepen our own baptismal commitments and to reflect on what baptism means in our lives.

As you probably know, the Church follows a three year cycle of Sunday readings: Years A, B, and C. Year A focuses on the Gospel of Matthew, and that is the year we are in now. In many years, the special Gospel readings associated with the scrutinies are used only at the Masses where the scrutinies themselves are celebrated. This year is an exception. During this Year A cycle, all of us at every Sunday Mass have the opportunity to hear these important readings from the Gospel of John that are connected with the scrutinies.

These three Gospel readings focus on themes that are closely related to baptism. Today we heard the story of the Samaritan woman at the well, which invites us to reflect on the meaning of water in baptism. Next week we will hear the story of Jesus healing the man born blind, which invites us to reflect on the gift of light and the enlightenment that comes through baptism. Finally, in two weeks we will hear the story of the raising of Lazarus, which encourages us to reflect on the new life that Christ brings through baptism.

This first scrutiny, then, focuses on the theme of water.

Water, of course, is central to baptism. But in the Gospel of John, water carries a deeper meaning. To begin, we should appreciate how important water was in the time of Jesus. Here in New Westminster, sometimes it feels as if we have too much water. Just a few days ago it was raining, and you may have noticed that the water was flowing across Royal Avenue. At times it almost looks like a small river. Thankfully it bypasses the church and makes its way down the hill, eventually reaching the Fraser River again.

In the time of Jesus, however, water was not so plentiful. If you have visited the Holy Land or seen pictures of it, you may know about the wadis. These are riverbeds that flow during the rainy season but remain completely dry during the rest of the year. Finding water for crops, livestock, and drinking was often a real challenge. Because of this, wells were extremely important. People depended on them for their daily survival, just as the Samaritan woman does in today’s Gospel.

But we must also look deeper, because water in John’s Gospel often symbolizes something more.

In the encounter between Jesus and the Samaritan woman at the well, there is a deeper, symbolic meaning. The Fathers of the Church noticed this very early on. For example, St. Augustine reflected on how the woman’s desire for water represents a deeper longing within her. Water becomes a symbol of the deeper needs of the human heart: the need for love, acceptance, and purpose. These are desires that every one of us carries within us.

St. Augustine also points out an interesting detail in the story. We learn something about this woman from the time of day when she comes to draw water. John tells us that she comes to the well at noon. In that part of the world, noon is the hottest part of the day. It is the time when you would normally avoid going out to draw water. Most people would go early in the morning or later in the evening when it is cooler.

The fact that the woman comes at noon suggests that she hoped no one else would be there. She seems to have been somewhat of an outsider in her community. For whatever reasons, she did not quite fit in. As the conversation continues, we learn one possible reason why. Jesus tells her that she has had five husbands, and the man she is now with is not her husband.

Because of this situation, she may have found herself on the margins of her community. She comes to the well not only for physical water, but also with a deeper longing. She is searching for love, acceptance, and purpose.

In this sense, she is very much like each of us. We all carry these same desires in our hearts. At times, however, we try to satisfy those desires in ways that do not truly fulfill us. The Samaritan woman, it seems, has been searching in different directions, perhaps looking for love in ways that have not brought her the happiness she hoped for.

Some interpreters have also suggested that the reference to her husbands might symbolize the different idols worshiped in that region. In that sense, the story can remind us that we sometimes try to find meaning, acceptance, or fulfillment in things that are not truly God, things that ultimately cannot satisfy our deepest thirst.

This Sunday invites us to ask ourselves what those idols might be in our own lives. Where do we look for purpose, meaning, or acceptance in ways that do not truly satisfy us?

Sometimes this can take very ordinary forms. It might be endless scrolling on our phones, constantly checking for new notifications in the hope that something will fill a certain emptiness within us. It might take the form of workaholism, alcoholism, or other habits that promise satisfaction but leave us still thirsty. It might even involve relationships that, in the end, do not bring us the love and peace we are seeking.

Like the Samaritan woman, we too can search for love, acceptance, and purpose in places that do not ultimately fulfill us.

In the Gospel, however, Jesus is presented as the one who can truly satisfy this thirst.

To appreciate this more fully, it helps to know something about the significance of wells in the Old Testament. Interestingly, wells are often places where people meet their future spouses. Moses meets his wife at a well. Jacob meets his wife at a well.

The other day I happened to see an infographic online that was showing how people have met their spouses over the past seventy years. In the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s, most people met through friends, family members, or work. Those accounted for the great majority of relationships. Over time, especially with the rise of the internet and smartphones, online dating became increasingly common. Today, depending on the statistics you look at, a very large percentage of couples meet that way.

But before online dating apps, there were wells.

In the Old Testament, wells were places where people met and formed relationships. So when Jesus meets the Samaritan woman at the well, this detail is significant. In a symbolic way, Jesus is presented as the true bridegroom, the one who can truly satisfy what she has been seeking.

Notice also that the woman has had five husbands and is now with a sixth man. In biblical symbolism, the number seven represents completeness or perfection. In this sense, Jesus becomes the seventh, the one who finally fulfills what she has been searching for.

Jesus promises her not physical water, but living water, water that will become within her a spring welling up to eternal life. Later in the Gospel of John, we come to understand that this living water symbolizes the gift of the Holy Spirit. This is the gift we receive in baptism and which is strengthened in confirmation.

In this encounter, Christ promises to give the Samaritan woman the gift of the Holy Spirit, the gift that can truly fill her heart with meaning, love, and direction.

As we celebrate these scrutinies with the members of our RCIA group, this Gospel invites each of us to examine our own lives. Like the Samaritan woman, we all carry jars with us. Sometimes those jars are empty, and we try to fill them with things that do not truly satisfy.

What are the idols in our lives? Where are we searching for fulfillment in ways that leave us still thirsty?

At the end of the Gospel, the Samaritan woman leaves her water jar behind. She no longer needs the water she came to draw, because she has encountered something far greater. She has encountered Christ.

As we journey closer to Easter and the great celebration of the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ, we are invited to remember our own baptism. Christ desires to fill our hearts with the gift of the Holy Spirit. And like the Samaritan woman, we too may find that we are able to leave behind some of the jars we have been carrying, the things we have tried to fill with what does not truly satisfy.

Christ alone gives the living water that satisfies the deepest thirst of the human heart. 

The Transfiguration “Glow Up”: From Mountaintop Faith to Christian Service in the World

 2 Sunday Lent

In the Transfiguration, the disciples witness Christ’s radiant “glow up,” a glimpse of his divine glory and a preview of the resurrection. Yet the mountaintop is not a place to remain, but a moment of preparation that strengthens them to follow Jesus down into lives of service and sacrifice. When Christians encounter the transfigured Lord, they are sent into their families, communities, and civic life to help bring the light of Christ to the world.

Listen to homily here

Read homily here:

One of the privileges I have had as a priest is serving at times as a high school chaplain. Some years ago, I was visiting a Catholic high school in Vancouver. I would usually walk the halls once a week, greeting students and wishing them good morning. On one particular visit, I had just had my hair cut a few days earlier. As I walked down the hallway, a student called out, “Hey, Father Nick, nice glow up.”

It took me a moment to understand what that meant. If you are not fluent in Gen Z vocabulary, a “glow up” refers to a significant and positive transformation in someone’s appearance, confidence, or overall life. It suggests improvement, growth, and renewal.

We all appreciate a good glow up.

In today’s Gospel from St. Matthew, Peter’s response to Jesus’ transfiguration is very understandable. Jesus takes Peter, James, and John up a high mountain. In the Scriptures, mountains are places of encounter with God. It is there that Jesus is transfigured. His face shines like the sun, and his clothes become dazzling white. Moses and Elijah appear with him, representing the Law and the Prophets. In this moment, the fullness of salvation history converges. The disciples see a glimpse of Christ’s divine glory. It is, in many ways, a preview of the resurrection.

Peter responds as many of us would. “Lord, it is good that we are here. If you wish, I will make three tents.” He wants to stay. He wants to preserve the moment.

Mountaintop experiences are powerful. We experience them in prayer, on retreat, in moments of deep peace, in the beauty of creation, in the kindness of others. There are times when following Jesus brings clarity and joy, when life makes sense in the light of faith. These moments are real gifts. They strengthen us and remind us of who Christ truly is.

At the same time, the mountain is not the final destination.

After the transfiguration, the voice of the Father is heard: “This is my beloved Son. Listen to him.” As the Gospel unfolds, we learn what listening to Jesus means. He will speak about taking up the cross. He will walk toward Jerusalem. He will suffer and die. The mountain is preparation, not conclusion. It gives the disciples strength for the long journey ahead.

When they come down from the mountain, Jesus returns to the work of teaching, healing, and serving. The vision of glory does not remove him from the world’s needs. It sends him more deeply into them.

The same is true for us. Our faith is not meant to be an escape from ordinary life. The moments of consolation we receive are meant to strengthen us for mission. We are not called to remain in tents on the mountain. We are called to descend into the everyday realities of family life, friendships, workplaces, and our wider community.

The world does not need disciples who remain only in places of comfort and inspiration. It needs disciples who carry the light of Christ into concrete situations. When we encounter the transfigured Lord, we are invited to reflect his love in acts of service, in concern for our neighbour, in building up the common good, in contributing to a more just and compassionate society.

Christ loves every person. If we love him, we must also love those he loves.

The transfiguration is a gift of hope. It reveals that glory is the final word, even when the path leads through the cross. During this Lenten journey, we pray not only to glimpse the light of Christ, but also to receive the courage to follow him down the mountain. Strengthened by his grace, we are sent into the world to bring his love, his mercy, and his transforming light to others.

From Adam to Christ: A Lenten Journey of Hope

 1 Sunday of Lent, Year A

As the Church celebrates the Rite of Election and accompanies those preparing for Baptism, Lent invites all the faithful to rediscover the meaning of their own baptismal identity. The readings contrast Adam and Christ, reminding us that while we share in humanity’s woundedness, we are being transformed into the likeness of Christ, the new Adam. This season calls us to live both compunction and joy, honestly facing our need for conversion while trusting in the mercy that leads us toward Easter hope.

Listen to homily here

Read homily here:

This 1st Sunday of Lent at Holy Rosary Cathedral, an important celebration will take place: the Rite of Election. Each year at the cathedral, the Archbishop gathers those adults who are preparing to enter the Catholic Church at the Easter Vigil. This year, Archbishop Smith will greet, welcome, and bless them as they continue their journey toward Baptism and full communion. The cathedral will be filled with catechumens, candidates, their sponsors, and members of RCIA programs from across the archdiocese who have accompanied them with prayer and encouragement.

In our own parish, we have much to give thanks for. Seventeen catechumens are preparing to be baptized at the Easter Vigil, and ten candidates, already baptized in another Christian tradition, are preparing to enter into full communion with the Catholic Church. Tomorrow, they will be called forward and chosen, their names inscribed as a sign of the Church’s confidence in God’s work within them.

It is helpful to keep this Rite of Election in mind as we begin Lent. In the early Church, these forty days were a particularly intense time of preparation for those awaiting Baptism. Lent was first and foremost their season. After the Rite of Election, they entered into a period of prayer, fasting, and instruction as they prepared to die and rise with Christ in the waters of Baptism. That remains true today.

Lent, then, is not only about personal improvement. It is about Baptism. As we accompany those preparing to enter the Church, we are also called to renew and deepen our own baptismal identity. We are invited to remember who we are and to rediscover the story into which we have been baptized.

In the readings today, especially in the first reading and in Saint Paul’s letter, we are presented with a striking contrast between Adam and Christ. These two figures shape the Christian understanding of our story. We descend from Adam, yet through Baptism we are joined to Christ. We carry something of both within us.

In Genesis, we hear of Adam and Eve in the garden, created in the image and likeness of God, endowed with extraordinary dignity. Yet through disobedience, their relationships were fractured: with God, with one another, and even with creation itself. Saint Paul reminds us that this woundedness touches all humanity. We share in that brokenness. Each of us knows, if we are honest, that we struggle. None of us are perfect.

Yet this is not a message of despair. It is the context for hope. Saint Paul proclaims that Jesus Christ is the new Adam, the one who comes to undo what was done in the beginning. Where Adam gave in to temptation, Christ remained faithful. In the Gospel, Jesus is tempted in the wilderness but does not fall. He lives fully our humanity, yet without sin.

Through Baptism, we are joined to him. The transformation has begun, even if it is not yet complete. We still feel within ourselves the pull of the old Adam, but we are being conformed more and more to Christ. The fullness of that transformation will come at the resurrection.

One of the most powerful images of this mystery is found in the ancient icon known as the Harrowing of Hell. In it, Christ descends to the realm of the dead and takes Adam and Eve by the hand, lifting them up and drawing them toward the Father. It is a vivid expression of what Saint Paul describes: Christ entering into our brokenness in order to raise us up.

This is the story into which we have been baptized. It is the story Lent invites us to remember.

Traditionally, Lent has been described as a season marked by two realities that exist together: compunction and joy. Catholic faith is often a matter of both and.

Compunction is a word we do not use often. It describes the sorrow we feel when we recognize that we have done wrong. It is the honest awareness that something in us needs healing. On Ash Wednesday, we heard the words, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Lent places our lives in perspective. We remember that we are finite. We acknowledge our need for mercy.

Like Jesus in the wilderness, we enter a place of testing and reflection. The wilderness is a place of struggle, but also of renewal. Israel passed through the wilderness on the way to the Promised Land. During Lent, we ask ourselves: Where am I falling short? What habits need to change? Where is God inviting me to grow?

Yet we do not remain in sorrow alone. Lent makes sense only in light of Easter. We do not approach a harsh judge, but a Savior who understands our weakness. Christ does not expose our wounds in order to condemn us, but in order to heal us.

As we begin this Lenten season, let us pray for both compunction and joy. Let us ask for the grace to see clearly where we need conversion, and at the same time to trust deeply in the mercy of Christ.

Perhaps during this Mass, each of us can identify one area where the Lord is inviting growth. Then let us turn our gaze toward Jesus, the new Adam, who has come not to leave us in our brokenness, but to raise us up and transform us into his likeness.

Crossing the Bridge: Lent as a Courageous Step Toward New Life

 Ash Wednesday

The closing of the Pattullo Bridge reminds us how easy it is to cling to what is familiar, even when we know a new and better path is needed. Lent is an invitation to step away from habits and patterns that are no longer life-giving and to embrace prayer, generosity, and sacrifice with renewed sincerity of heart. Through the symbol of ashes, we are reminded that what seems like an ending can become the beginning of new life when we trust Christ to lead us forward.

Listen to homily here:

Read homily here:

On Monday, I had the opportunity to walk across the Pattullo Bridge one last time. As you know, the Pattullo Bridge is now closed and will soon be taken apart. In its place, a new bridge has been built: the stal̕əw̓asəm Bridge. It was a wonderful opportunity to cross that familiar span one final time. Perhaps some of you had the chance to do the same. If not, I am afraid the opportunity has passed.

What made the experience especially moving was what people had written in chalk along the bridge. Some messages were humorous: “R.I.P. Pattullo Bridge.” Others were heartfelt: “Thank you for your service,” or simply a heart with the words, “We will miss you.” Someone had even placed flowers there. It was clear that people felt attached to this bridge, this path that for decades connected New Westminster and Surrey. I saw someone interviewed on television who spoke about all the times they had crossed that bridge to visit family members, some of whom have since passed away. Of course there is nostalgia. Of course there is a certain hesitation about letting it go.

Yet in the midst of that nostalgia, we can forget something important: we needed a new bridge. Driving across the old one could be rather perilous. Some of you may remember having your mirrors clipped by passing trucks. Others may recall the netting installed underneath to catch pieces of concrete that might otherwise have fallen onto cars below. As much as we might feel sentimental, we needed a safer, stronger way forward.

Ash Wednesday, as we begin Lent, is something like that moment of crossing from the old bridge to the new. It is an opportunity to leave one path behind and take another. Often the path we cling to is familiar. It may even have served us well for a time. But deep down, we know that some habits, patterns of behaviour, or ways of relating to others are no longer life-giving. We sense that God is calling us to something new, something better, even if it feels uncertain or demanding.

In the Gospel, Jesus speaks about prayer, almsgiving, and fasting. These are not simply religious exercises. They are concrete ways of stepping onto that new bridge. Prayer deepens our relationship with God. Almsgiving reflects our love and generosity toward others. Fasting helps us let go of what does not truly nourish us, whether that be food or other attachments that distract or diminish us. Above all, Jesus reminds us that what matters is the heart. These practices are meant to be rooted in authenticity, in love of God and love of neighbour.

When I was younger, I used to dread Lent. It felt like a season of deprivation. We put ashes on our foreheads and speak about repentance. It can sound heavy. But the older I get, the more I recognize a simple truth: change is difficult. It is difficult for me, and I suspect it is difficult for all of us. We can see clearly where we need to grow, and yet taking that first step can feel daunting.

That is why Lent is a blessed season. It is a time when, as a community, we focus together on the changes to which God is calling us. We do not attempt this on our own. We trust that Christ gives us the grace and strength we need. The ashes we receive today are a sign of that grace.

These ashes come from the palms we held on Palm Sunday. Those palms once symbolized Christ’s triumphant entry into Jerusalem. Over time they dried and withered. Now they are burned and transformed into ash. What once seemed finished is given new meaning.

Ash can seem like a symbol of destruction, but it is also a sign of new life. After a forest fire, the landscape may look devastated. Yet the ash returns nutrients to the soil, and in time new growth emerges. What appears to be an ending becomes the beginning of something new.

So too in our lives. Lent invites us to let certain things die so that something better can grow. Leaving old paths behind is not easy. Taking a new bridge, a new direction, requires courage. But we do not do it alone. We walk this journey together, strengthened by Christ.

Like any significant change, what matters most is often the first step. Today, as we receive ashes, we take that step. We step onto the new bridge, trusting that the One who calls us forward will also give us the grace to cross.