A Shepherd for Our Time: Welcoming Pope Leo XIV

 Good Shepherd Sunday | 4 Sunday Easter

The surprise election of Pope Leo XIV invites us to reflect on the voice of the Good Shepherd still speaking to the Church today. From missionary service in Peru to leadership in Rome, Pope Leo brings a heart for the poor, a passion for justice, and a deep commitment to synodality. As we rejoice, we also take up his first request: pray for him.

Listen to homily here:

Do you remember where you were when you heard that white smoke was coming out of the Sistine Chapel chimney?

It was an exciting moment for me. I was here at the parish office that Thursday morning when my phone began blowing up with messages: “There’s white smoke!” I remembered from Pope Francis’s election that it would take about an hour or so—maybe a bit longer—between seeing the white smoke and seeing the new Holy Father presented on the balcony.

As the announcement drew near, some of our parish staff and parishioners gathered in the office, watching with growing expectation. Then, finally, the Master of Ceremonies emerged, parted the curtains, and announced the name of the new Pope. It was my chance to test my Latin… and I failed! I didn’t recognize the name right away. But then I heard it—Cardinal Prevost had been elected Pope, and he had taken the name Pope Leo.

Cardinal Robert Prevost, now Pope Leo XIV, stepped onto the balcony, and joy filled the square and spread throughout the world.

It feels providential that this historic moment took place just days before Good Shepherd Sunday. Every year on the Fourth Sunday of Easter, the Church reflects on Christ the Good Shepherd—the one who lays down his life for the sheep. The Pope, as the Vicar of Christ, is called to mirror that shepherding love in a unique way.

For many, Pope Leo’s election came as a surprise. I don’t know if any of you had money riding on the conclave—I certainly didn’t! While his name appeared on some lists, he wasn’t widely seen as a frontrunner. It felt like he came out of nowhere. But, of course, Pope Leo has a long journey behind him—a life of listening to the voice of Jesus, the Good Shepherd, and responding with generosity and service.

I was watching the coverage when an interview came on with one of Pope Leo’s older brothers, speaking from Chicago. It was a delightful, funny conversation. He shared that Pope Leo’s favourite baseball team is the White Sox and spoke warmly about their upbringing. Especially touching was what he said about their mother—how deeply she shaped her son’s faith and his desire to love God and neighbour. On this Mother's Day, it’s fitting to give thanks for the powerful influence that mothers and grandmothers so often have in drawing us to God.

Pope Leo discerned a vocation to the priesthood early in life and entered the Augustinian Order—a religious community founded by St. Augustine, one of the great doctors of the Church. The Augustinians are a mendicant order, like the Franciscans and Dominicans. Pope Leo studied at places like Villanova University and later served for many years as a missionary in Peru, teaching and working in parish ministry.

Eventually, his Augustinian community elected him as their global leader—a role he held for the maximum term of eight years. With Augustinian communities in over 50 countries, this was a significant responsibility and a sign of the deep trust his confreres had in his leadership and wisdom.

After his time as Prior General, Pope Francis called him to serve as Bishop of Chiclayo in Peru, a diocese marked by significant poverty. Again, his missionary heart was evident. Two years ago, Pope Francis called him back to Rome to lead the Dicastery for Bishops—a critical role that involves helping appoint bishops around the world. With this appointment, he was made a Cardinal.

And now, surprisingly, providentially, he is Pope Leo XIV.

What might we expect from our new Holy Father? While it is still early, there are already a few signs pointing to his priorities.

First, Pope Leo clearly has a missionary heart and a deep love for the poor. His life and ministry—especially in Peru—demonstrate his closeness to those on the margins. In this, he continues the legacy of Pope Francis, bringing the gospel to the peripheries and showing the compassion of Christ to those most in need.

Second, his choice of name is telling. Leo XIV deliberately echoes Leo XIII, who guided the Church through the upheavals of the Industrial Revolution and authored the encyclical Rerum Novarum, a foundational document of Catholic social teaching. In a recent speech, Pope Leo XIV suggested that today we are on the cusp of a new revolution—driven by technology, war, and especially artificial intelligence. He sees the need for the Church to respond to these new realities with a clear affirmation of human dignity and a renewed commitment to justice and truth.

Third, Pope Leo has expressed a strong desire for a Church in which every baptized person is valued. Continuing the path of synodality emphasized by Pope Francis—and what Pope Benedict called co-responsibility—he is calling us to journey together. From his first speech on the loggia, he made this vision clear by quoting St. Augustine: “For you, I am a bishop. But with you, I am a Christian.” These words affirm that all the baptized have a share in the life and mission of the Church.

Ultimately, Pope Leo will rely—as must we—on the guidance of the Holy Spirit. His election reminds us that God's plans are often unexpected. As we gathered here on Thursday and heard his name, I was struck by something Fr. Mahad said immediately: “The Holy Spirit!” What a beautiful and simple response. The Holy Spirit leads the Church.

Pope Leo’s coat of arms bears the motto: In the One, we are all one—again from St. Augustine. It reminds us that in God, we are united. We are one body in Christ, following Jesus the Good Shepherd together.

In that same interview, Pope Leo’s brother acknowledged the enormous burden his brother now carries. It is a weighty role, and the Pope himself has asked us to pray for him. So as we celebrate, let us also take seriously his request. Let us pray that Pope Leo will be a faithful shepherd, attuned to the Holy Spirit, as he leads us in love and truth.

May we all continue to walk together as disciples of Jesus Christ, the Good Shepherd, serving God and neighbour with joy.

Breakfast with Jesus: A Meal that Heals and Sends

 3 Sunday Easter

After the Resurrection, Jesus prepares a simple breakfast for Peter—not just to feed him, but to heal and restore their broken relationship. This powerful moment at a charcoal fire mirrors the Eucharist, where Christ meets us in our pain, nourishes us, and sends us out with purpose. In a time of mourning and sorrow, we gather at the Lord’s table to be strengthened by his love and commissioned to bring healing to the world.

Listen to Homily Here  

“Breakfast with the Risen Lord: A Meal of Healing and Mission”

Something that is very universal across all cultures, places, and times is this: we love to share meals together. Whether as families or as communities, we gather for meals to mark important moments, to enjoy one another’s company, and to strengthen our bonds. We do this here in our parish family as well—celebrating with food, laughter, and shared time.

But we know that when we gather to eat, it’s never just about food. Meals are not only for physical nourishment. Meals build relationships. They strengthen community. They offer comfort and connection. We gather for meals to celebrate life’s joyful milestones—like weddings or baptisms—but we also come together during difficult times, like when a loved one is in the hospital or when we are grieving. In such moments, eating together becomes an act of mutual support and healing.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus prepares a meal for Simon Peter. And once again, we see that this meal is not just about food. Jesus doesn’t simply want to fill Peter’s stomach—he wants to restore his heart. This breakfast by the sea is a moment of healing and reconciliation.

Let’s look more closely at where this meal happens. As we heard, Jesus prepares breakfast on the shore around a charcoal fire. That detail might seem small, but it’s powerful. The phrase “charcoal fire” appears only twice in the entire New Testament. The first time is in John’s Passion account, when Peter warms himself near a charcoal fire while Jesus is on trial. It is at that fire that Peter denies Jesus three times.

Now, after the Resurrection, here is Jesus again—by a charcoal fire, inviting Peter to breakfast. The symbolism is unmistakable. For each of Peter’s three denials, Jesus now gives him a chance to affirm his love: “Simon, son of John, do you love me?” This meal becomes a moment of deep healing. Jesus forgives Peter. He restores their friendship. He brings Peter back to life—not just spiritually, but in mission and purpose.

This meal is about reconciliation, about healing a wounded relationship. And this meal becomes for us a profound image of the Eucharist.

We gather today for the Eucharist, which is the greatest meal Jesus offers us. It is not just bread and wine. It is his very Body and Blood, given so that we may be healed, strengthened, and restored. Like Peter, we come with our imperfections, our sins, our pain—and Jesus meets us where we are. He feeds us. He forgives us. He sends us out.

At this moment, our community is in particular need of this healing. We are mourning. Just over a week ago, our city was struck by tragedy during the Lapu Lapu Day celebration. Many lives were lost. Many were injured. Many families are grieving, including here in our own parish community. There is pain. There is sorrow. There is confusion.

And so we gather—just as the disciples did—to be fed by Jesus. In this Eucharist, we ask him to heal us, to comfort us, to strengthen us. In this moment of shared mourning, we turn to the table of the Lord to draw close to one another and to the Risen Christ. Just as Jesus restored Peter at the lakeshore, he wants to restore us—bring us back to life, renew our hope, and give us the strength to go forward.

But the Gospel doesn’t end with healing. Jesus doesn’t just forgive Peter—he sends him. Each time Peter says, “Lord, you know I love you,” Jesus responds with a command: “Feed my sheep.” This is the natural consequence of love. When we receive the healing of Christ, we are called to become healers. The Eucharist is not only for our comfort—it is for mission.

A beautiful example of this is St. Teresa of Calcutta. She and her sisters are renowned for their service to the poorest of the poor. But what many people don’t realize is that before they went out to serve each day, they began with Mass. They received the Eucharist—Christ’s presence and strength—so they could go and bring his love to others.

Jesus knows we are weak. He knows we struggle. But he still chooses us. He meets us where we are, and he sends us out to love.

There’s a beautiful detail in the Gospel that doesn’t fully come through in English. In the original Greek, the words Jesus and Peter use for “love” have different meanings. Jesus first asks Peter, “Do you love me with agape love?”—a word that means self-sacrificing, unconditional love. But Peter responds with a different word: “Lord, you know I love you as a friend”—using the word philia, which means affectionate love between friends.

Twice, Jesus asks for agape, and twice Peter responds with philia. Then, the third time, Jesus changes his question. He meets Peter where he is: “Do you love me as a friend?” And Peter answers: “Lord, you know I love you as a friend.”

This moment reveals so much about the heart of Jesus. He calls us to a high ideal—to love with the total, self-giving love of agape. But when we fall short, he doesn’t reject us. He meets us in our weakness. He takes the love we can offer and still entrusts us with his mission.

And so, too, with us. We may feel tired, unsure, grieving, or imperfect. But Jesus meets us in the Eucharist. He restores us. He calls us. And he sends us.

At the end of every Mass, we hear the dismissal: “Go forth, the Mass is ended,” or “Go in peace, glorifying the Lord by your life.” This is not just a way of saying the liturgy is over. It’s a mission statement. We are sent out to love, to serve, to feed others as we have been fed.

So today, let us ask Jesus for healing, for strength, and for the grace to respond to his love. Let us pray that the Eucharist we receive may restore us, as it did Peter. And let us pray for the Holy Spirit to fill us with courage, so that we may go out—into a hurting world—to bring Christ’s love, healing, and hope to those who need it most.

The Mercy That Heals: Honouring Pope Francis and the Power of Christ’s Love

 Divine Mercy

In a world wounded by fear and division, Divine Mercy Sunday reminds us that Christ enters our locked doors with peace and healing. Pope Francis lived this message, teaching us that the Church is a field hospital where mercy welcomes and transforms. As we mourn his passing, we commit ourselves anew to being living instruments of God's mercy in the world.

Listen to homily here:

Homily for the Second Sunday of Easter (Divine Mercy Sunday)

Honoring the Life and Witness of Pope Francis

There is a story told about a monastery that had fallen into decline. The community of monks was aging, and the monastery itself was falling into disrepair. No new vocations were coming, and spiritually, the community was struggling. Years of living together had exposed their human frailties, and their patience with one another had worn thin. They began sniping at each other, becoming increasingly rude and harsh.

Recognizing the dire state they were in, the monks decided to seek counsel. They traveled to a nearby cave where an elderly hermit lived, and they poured out their troubles before him. The hermit listened and then said only this: "One of you is the Messiah." That was all he offered.

When the monks returned to their monastery, they pondered his words deeply. "One of us is the Messiah?" they thought. They didn’t know which one, but the mere possibility changed the way they treated each other. Each monk began to treat the others with new respect, kindness, and mercy — just in case he was the one.

Slowly but surely, the atmosphere of the monastery changed. Mercy replaced bitterness. Patience overcame judgment. Visitors began to notice the warmth and care among the monks. Over time, new novices joined, and the monastery was renewed — all because mercy had breathed life into a community that had been falling apart.

Today is Divine Mercy Sunday, and we celebrate the incredible power of God's mercy — the mercy that transforms hopelessness into hope, that brings life out of death. In today’s Gospel, the apostles are struggling with fear, locked away in a dark room. Yet the Risen Christ enters their fear, breathes upon them, and fills them with His peace and mercy.

As we continue to mourn the death of Pope Francis, we remember him today in a special way as a messenger of God's mercy.
I vividly recall when Pope Francis was first elected in 2013. At that time, I was serving as a deacon at St. Matthew’s Parish. When the white smoke appeared, we gathered all the students in the school gym to watch the announcement live. I remember vividly his first words: "Buona sera — Good evening." He then asked the crowd to pray for him, humbly beginning his papal ministry with a request for prayers rather than a proclamation of authority.

Hearing the news of his passing struck me with a deep sense of grief. It was hard to come to grips with the loss of someone who had journeyed with the Church in such a deeply pastoral and merciful way. I’m sure many of us feel that same sense of loss.
When someone we love passes away, it can feel like the apostles felt in today’s Gospel: locked away in a dark room of sadness, fear, and confusion.

And yet, the good news is this: Christ comes precisely into those dark rooms. Christ meets us in our grief. He doesn't wait for us to fix ourselves. He enters into our locked rooms, into our fears, and breathes His mercy and peace upon us.

This is the heart of Divine Mercy:
God’s heart beats with love for those who are suffering.
The word "mercy" itself comes from the Latin misericordia — meaning "a heart for the miserable." God loves all of us equally, but in a special way, He draws close to the wounded and the struggling.

In the Resurrection, Jesus rises with His wounds. He doesn't erase them. They are glorified. Why?
Because our wounds, our struggles, are not a barrier to God’s love. They are the very places where His mercy enters in and transforms us.
Christ is a Savior who does not stand apart from our pain — He bears it with us. He is, forever, the Risen One with wounds.

This was the path Pope Francis tried to walk. He constantly reminded us that the Church must be a "field hospital after battle" — a place where wounds are bound up, not a place reserved for the perfect.
The Church is not a museum for saints; it is a hospital for sinners.

At World Youth Day in Lisbon last year, Pope Francis said beautifully, "The Church is for everyone, tutti, tutti, tutti — everyone, everyone, everyone."
The doors of the Church must be open to all — especially to those most in need of mercy.

Pope Francis’s first journey as pope was not to the grand cathedrals of Europe, but to a tiny island called Lampedusa — a place many had never heard of. It was a major arrival point for migrants fleeing violence and poverty. There, Pope Francis celebrated Mass on an altar built from a refugee boat wreckage, honoring those who had died trying to seek a better life. In that act, he showed us what it means to extend God's mercy to the peripheries.

We, too, are called to be instruments of that mercy.

In the Gospel, Jesus meets Thomas in his doubt and weakness — not with condemnation, but with mercy.
He invites Thomas to touch His wounds, to believe again. Thomas’s faith is renewed, and tradition tells us that he became a great missionary, eventually traveling to India to spread the Gospel.

In the same way, God’s mercy transforms us — so that we, too, might go forth and extend mercy to others.
In our families, our parishes, and our communities, there are many locked doors and hidden wounds. By acts of patience, kindness, service, and forgiveness, we become living instruments of Divine Mercy.

Mercy breathes new life into dying communities. Mercy transforms fear into courage, bitterness into hope.

As we give thanks for the life and witness of Pope Francis, let us remember his words:

"Mercy is the force that reawakens us to new life and instills in us the courage to look to the future with hope."
(Misericordiae Vultus, §10)

May that mercy live in us today. Amen.