Yes, even saints can play video games

 23 Sunday in Ordinary Time

Saints are not distant figures from the past but people who lived ordinary lives, even enjoying things like video games and mountain climbing, while keeping Christ at the center. Jesus calls us to root our identity not in family, career, or possessions, but in being his disciples through baptism and the cross. Pier Giorgio Frassati and Carlo Acutis show us how a life grounded in Christ gives meaning and direction to everything else.

Listen to homily here:

Can a saint play video games? What do you think?

Believe it or not, the answer is yes, a saint can play video games. Let me explain.

Very soon in the Vatican, a canonization will take place. A canonization is a joyful Mass where the Pope declares someone a saint. When I studied in Rome years ago, I was able to attend a couple of canonizations in St. Peter’s Square. They are truly international celebrations: pilgrims from all over the world gather, and enormous banners with the faces of the new saints hang from the façade of the basilica.

Often those faces look like they belong to a distant time. Their clothing is unfamiliar, their lives far removed from ours. But the two people soon to be canonized feel much closer to us.

The first is Pier Giorgio Frassati, who died in 1925 at just 24 years old. Photos show him in a suit, smiling broadly, climbing mountains with friends. The second is Carlo Acutis, who died in 2006 and is becoming known as the first millennial saint. And yes, Carlo loved playing video games. So very soon, the Church will officially declare that saints can indeed play video games.

Today’s Gospel, however, is not lighthearted. Jesus speaks with striking words: “Unless you hate father and mother… unless you give up all your possessions… you cannot be my disciple.” At first hearing, this is hard. Surely Jesus is not commanding hatred or absolute renunciation for everyone.

What he is doing is forcing us to ask: Where do we root our identity? What is the true foundation of our lives?

In Jesus’ time, family determined everything: your status, your future, even your destiny. Wealth and possessions carried enormous weight too. And still today, we can base our whole identity on family, career, education, or possessions. These are important, but they are fragile. Families face conflict. Jobs can be lost. Health can fail. If our entire identity rests on these, what happens when they crumble?

Jesus insists: our true identity must be rooted in being his disciple. The foundation of our lives is the cross. Our baptism, being reborn as children of God, defines us more deeply than even the day of our natural birth.

This is where our soon-to-be saints can teach us.

Pier Giorgio Frassati was born into privilege in Turin. Yet he quietly poured out his time, money, and energy for the poor. Many only discovered the extent of his service at his funeral, when the poor of the city filled the church. He loved his friends and outdoor adventures, but always used those relationships to draw people toward Christ. His life shows us how to place Christ at the center, letting that relationship guide everything else.

Carlo Acutis grew up in our world of internet, technology, and video games. But at the heart of his life was a profound love for Jesus in the Eucharist and for Our Lady. He used the internet creatively, building a website to spread devotion to the Eucharist. He had many friends, but his choices and creativity all flowed from his identity as a disciple of Christ.

So yes, a saint can play video games. A saint can climb mountains, study, work, have friends, even enjoy modern technology. But what makes them saints is that they rooted their identity in Christ.

Today, we are challenged to ask: What is most important about my identity? What is my foundation? Family, education, career, possessions, all are good gifts. But only when our lives are rooted in Christ do these find their true place.

By baptism, we are disciples. Our foundation is the cross. Let us pray through the intercession of Blessed Pier Giorgio and Blessed Carlo that we too may live joyfully as followers of Jesus, disciples whose identity is secure no matter what comes.

Humility Meets Hospitality (22 Sunday of Ordinary Time, C)

22 Sunday of Ordinary Time, year C, Luke 14:1, 7–14

In today’s Gospel (Luke 14:1, 7–14), Jesus links humility with true hospitality. Real humility isn’t pretending we are worthless, but learning to think of ourselves less—turning outward in love. True hospitality welcomes those who cannot repay us, affirming their dignity as children of God. At the Eucharist, Christ gives us this perfect example: he makes room for us at his table, giving a gift we could never repay, and sends us out to extend the same welcome to others.

Listen to homily here:

A wedding banquet is one of the most joyful celebrations you can attend. But there’s always that slightly stressful moment when you walk into the reception and face the seating chart. Sometimes couples get very creative with these charts, but for the couple it can be stressful: Who isn’t talking to one another and needs to be separated? What do we do with the weird uncle—and who do we insulate him with? (I can say that because I’m the weird uncle now!) For guests too, it can be a little awkward: Who will I sit with? Will I know them? Will the conversation be easy, or a bit strained?

Seating arrangements are still a challenge today, and it seems they were also a challenge in Jesus’ time. In today’s Gospel, Jesus is at a meal in the home of a Pharisee, watching how people choose their places at the table. Out of this, he teaches two related lessons.

First, he shows us that true honor is not something we grasp for ourselves but something we receive. And ultimately, it is God who bestows honor on us. Then, in a second parable, Jesus teaches about hospitality. He tells us not to invite only those who can repay us, but rather to invite those who cannot. This is true hospitality.

Put together, these two teachings suggest something important: humility and hospitality go hand in hand.

Humility is often misunderstood. We sometimes think humility means pretending we are worthless or denying the good in us. But real humility is living in the truth: recognizing that we are created good by God, while not making ourselves the center of the universe. C.S. Lewis once put it perfectly: “Humility is not thinking less of ourselves, but thinking of ourselves less.”

And how do we do this? By turning outward in hospitality. True hospitality means noticing the people around us—family, friends, colleagues, neighbors, even strangers—and asking: Who is in need of care? Who needs their dignity affirmed or restored?

A beautiful image of this combination is Jesus at the Last Supper. When he washed the disciples’ feet, he took the place of a servant. That was humility. But it was also hospitality. He was making his guests feel at home and cared for.

How can we live this combination of humility and hospitality?

• In our families: Don’t play favorites. Notice which family member or close friend is struggling and needs care and attention at this moment. It takes humility to set aside our own preoccupations, and it becomes hospitality when we offer love in action.

• In our parish: When someone new joins us at Mass, do we notice them? Do we greet them, extend a smile, help them feel at home? Even coffee after Mass can be a chance to step out of our little circle and welcome someone new. That’s humility, thinking of ourselves less, and hospitality, drawing others in.

• In our wider community: We can serve those in need, support charities, or even simply carry people in prayer. Every Mass, we pray the intercessions for the world. But each of us can also bring to the Eucharist our personal prayers for people in need. This is a humble and powerful act of hospitality: holding others in our hearts before God.

Today Jesus speaks of banquets where honor is given and hospitality is shown without expecting repayment. The Eucharist is the greatest banquet of all. At this table, Christ makes room for us, gives us dignity as sons and daughters of God, and offers us a gift we could never repay: Himself.

So as we come to the Lord’s table, may we be transformed. Let us recognize in true humility the dignity God gives us. And let us be changed by this banquet of love, so that we, in turn, can offer humble hospitality to those around us, especially those who cannot repay us.

No Nexus Pass to Heaven

21 Sunday in Ordinary Time, year C | Luke 13:22–30

Today’s Gospel reminds us that salvation isn’t automatic just because we belong to the right group or community. Entry into God’s kingdom is not about having a “pass,” but about whether Christ recognizes his own love, mercy, and service alive in us. Belonging to the Church helps, but each of us must personally choose to follow Christ through the narrow gate of faith and discipleship.

Listen to homily here:

 

Maybe you think back to the last time you had to cross a border or go through customs. Perhaps you were driving into the United States, or maybe you were standing in line at the Vancouver airport. I know I’ve had that experience more than once. Sitting in my car, I start to wonder: How long will this lineup take? What questions will they ask me? Could I be turned away? What will happen next?

And as I sit there, waiting, sometimes a very long time, I notice another line beside me—the Nexus line. The same is true at airports. Those with that pass just breeze right through. They have pre-authorized clearance, guaranteed entry to their destination. And every time I see that, I think to myself: Why don’t I just get one of those passes? It would make life so much easier!

So here’s the question: is there such a thing as a Nexus pass to heaven? If we belong to a particular group, community, or religious tradition, are we automatically guaranteed entry into God’s kingdom? That’s the issue at the heart of today’s gospel.

At first, today’s reading might sound a little unsettling, but in truth it is both hopeful and challenging. Jesus is teaching that salvation is never guaranteed simply by belonging to the right group. Being part of a religious community matters, but it isn’t enough.

Think of the Jewish world in the first century. Jesus’ own community was divided into groups, each of which claimed to be the true Israel. The historian Josephus tells us of three main groups: the Sadducees, tied to the Temple in Jerusalem; the Essenes, who withdrew to the wilderness believing they alone were God’s chosen; and the Pharisees, who taught and preached among the people. Each group in its own way believed it held the “Nexus pass” into God’s kingdom.

But Jesus rejected that assumption. He said plainly: being part of the right group does not guarantee entry into God’s kingdom. In fact, he warns that people from the east and west—those considered outsiders—may enter first, while those who assumed they had automatic access could find themselves shut out.

This same challenge applies to us. Even within the Catholic Church, we can fall into the temptation of thinking: As long as I’m Catholic, I’m set. I have my pass. For centuries the phrase extra ecclesiam nulla salus—“outside the Church, no salvation”—was often misunderstood to mean exactly that. But the Church teaches more fully that while we do hold the fullness of Christ’s truth, God’s grace is at work beyond our visible boundaries. Belonging to the Church is a gift, but it is not a free ticket. What matters ultimately is a personal relationship with Christ.

That’s the meaning behind Jesus’ image of the narrow gate. In ancient Jerusalem, during the day the large gates of the city were open for crowds to pass. At night, those gates were closed, leaving only a small gate through which people entered one at a time. The guard at that gate needed to recognize the person—to know them personally.

This is Jesus’ point. Salvation is not about group membership or a collective identity alone. It is about whether Christ recognizes himself in us—whether he sees in our lives his love, his mercy, his sacrifice, his service. Passing through the narrow gate is difficult, but hopeful, because it means each of us is invited into a personal friendship with Jesus.

Notice too that when asked, “How many will be saved?” Jesus refuses to give a number. Instead, he shifts the focus: salvation is offered to all. That is the hopeful side of the message. The challenge, however, is to embrace that offer personally, to live in such a way that Christ recognizes us as his own.

So, no—there isn’t a Nexus pass to heaven. But there is something better. There is an open invitation from Jesus himself. Today, as we celebrate the Eucharist, let us recommit ourselves to living as Christ lived, so that when we meet him face to face, he will recognize himself in us and say: Welcome, enter into my Father’s kingdom.