All glorious is the king’s daughter as she enters; her raiment is threaded with spun gold. In embroidered apparel she is borne in to the king; behind her the virgins of her train are brought to you. // Psalm 45:14-15 I am raising two daughters, but the Lord gave me two sons before the girls came along. When the boys were little, there was an explosion of consumerism around everything princess. Sparkly crowns, snarky sayings on t-shirts, pink glitter, and glam were all the rage. I was so happy that I was raising boys and proudly would remark that we didn't have any princesses in our family. That said, I admit I was ecstatic when I discovered I was having a girl. But I was determined that my girls were going to wear cowboy boots and cleats, not tiaras.  In reality, there were a lot of hairbows and twirly skirts as well—so much so that I learned how to make them myself. Yet the tiaras still had to stay at Grandma's house. I wasn't raising princesses—at least not the kind the makers of pajamas and dress-ups were promoting. For the truth is, I am a princess and so are both of my girls. Through our Baptisms, we are adopted daughters of the King on High. We are welcomed into His court and have a share of His inheritance.  I am still discovering the dignity and joy that comes from being an adopted daughter of the King of Heaven, and I dearly desire my girls to embrace that title as well. There is room for all of us princesses in the courts of Heaven. Some of us might wear tiaras and others baseball caps, but we all wear the indelible mark on our souls. There is no one way to be a princess, for we are all called to be holy as ourselves, but there is one way to become one. Simply say yes to the invitation the King has extended to be His daughter. Allow Him to draw you into His courts and make space for Him in your heart. Will you say yes today?

Now indeed [then] it is, in any case, a failure on your part that you have lawsuits against one another. Why not rather put up with injustice? Why not rather let yourselves be cheated? Instead, you inflict injustice and cheat, and this to brothers. // 1 Corinthians 6:7-8 An oval-shaped crack formed on the inmost pane of the window as my child leaned against it—a window that had been pressed up to countless times before. We had just finished sweeping up the remains of a broken glass cup. Words of blame flew around the room as we vented our frustration at this avoidable accident. But these kinds of mistakes in our family often follow the literary “rule of threes,” and I was not entirely surprised two mornings later when I discovered as I got into the minivan to go to daily Mass that I had left a window down during the previous evening’s thunderstorm. For the first half of Mass, my mind swirled with strategies for drying out the car and my gut felt sick with regret. I tried to push aside the distracting thoughts, to be present at Mass, to stop blaming myself and my family. They were all simple mistakes, and our material property is just that: material, finite, passing.  And that is when it hit me: I should feel as sorry for my sins, as I feel for leaving that car window open. In today’s First Reading, Saint Paul is writing to the Corinthians about their tendency to take each other to the civil court. He tells them to instead settle things between themselves, and if they can’t do so, then just live with the failures between each other (see 1 Corinthians 6:1-11). Besides examining when we should take serious matters to court, this reading also applies to our everyday interactions with each other in our homes, workplaces, and parishes. When I blame others, I am more likely than not going to “inflict injustice” and commit a sin. Further, getting all worked up about a small, human mistake is not going to solve problems. Rather, I should charitably put up with the little things. And I should save my accusations for my own conscience and my failure to love and remember to forgive as I have been forgiven.Lord, help me to know my sins and be sorry for them, and to love my neighbor as myself. Amen.

“Your boasting is not appropriate. Do you not know that a little yeast leavens all the dough?” // 1 Corinthians 5:6 Over the years, one of my most consistent prayers has been this: God, show me what it means to be truly anchored in You and—therefore—confident in who You created me to be. As a business owner, I’ve often begged the Lord to show me how to show up authentically and genuinely in the world with my God-given gifts, skills, and abilities without letting pride creep into any nook or cranny of my life. In a world that emphasizes success, fame, fortune, and the grind (which I for too many years set my own eyes upon), I know deep within my bones that it is only by His hand that we receive the yeast needed to produce what we do. Today’s First Reading from 1 Corinthians 5:1-8 is direct: boasting is not appropriate. How often have I felt the need to prove myself to the world? How frequently do I lean into self-reliance and away from a posture anchored in trust of His goodness for me? How often do I confuse worldly pride with holy confidence? We often buy into the lie that little sins are just that, little—without effect, negligible, not a big deal. Yet we are reminded today that a little yeast leavens the dough. It is the seemingly little remnant of pride that breeds sin throughout our whole lives. Saint Paul reminds us today to rid ourselves of all sin, especially our pride, to “[c]lear out the old yeast, so that you may become a fresh batch of dough” (1 Corinthians 5:7). He encourages us to see ourselves as we truly are and become “unleavened bread of sincerity and truth” (1 Corinthians 5:8). When we humbly steward the gifts we have been given with holy confidence and gratitude, we allow God to knead us into who He wants us to be.

Be strong, fear not! Here is your God, he comes with vindication; with divine recompense he comes to save you. // Isaiah 35: 4 At a recent event, a musician shared his brand new, unreleased song. It was beautiful; my fellow Sisters and I were moved by the words. Then the last refrain came: “I guess it’s up to me to try to be holy.” In that moment I looked at the Sister next to me and mouthed, “Heresy.” You see, the believing—or thinking—that salvation is our work and holiness depends only on what we do, stems from a false teaching of Pelagius in the early Church. Unfortunately, some of us fall prey to this mindset: “If only I did this,” or, “When I’m strong enough to give this thing up” . . . the lies are endless. There’s always something else nagging, making us think we need to strive for holiness. But the thing is, they’re lies. There isn’t anything I can do to make myself holy. Only grace makes us holy, and grace only comes from God. Lies about having to—through only our own efforts—work or try to overcome sin, temptation, or whatever it is that holds us back from the sanctity we desire are endless, and usually leave us in a place of fear, paralysis, or despair. Thankfully, as we hear in today’s Readings, our Lord speaks His words of love, reminding us that we have nothing to fear; it is our God Who comes to save us (see Isaiah 35:4).God sets us free, gives us light to see, ears to hear, hearts to love. He promises riches of faith to those who love Him (see Psalm 146). It is for us to be still and receive His ephphatha over us, that we might open our hearts, minds, eyes, ears, souls—our very beings—to all that He has and is (see Mark 7:34). Sister, today I invite you to open your hands and release to our Lord whatever lies are telling your heart, what you need to do to get holy on your own, and hear Him speak over you, ephphatha, as He pours His life into you, bringing you peace, rest, and confidence in His great love for you, and His desire to make you holy. He comes to save you.

Learn from myself and Apollos [ . . . ] so that none of you will be inflated with pride. // 1 Corinthians 4:6 I could hear the distant tick of a clock as I waited for the priest to respond. I was in the middle of the Sacrament of Reconciliation and just confessed how I get extremely annoyed or lose my temper when my plans get interrupted or I’m dealing with irritating people. In a firm, but gentle tone, the priest asked what made me so special that I shouldn’t have to deal with interruptions or annoying people? I thought, Wait, what?  Then the Holy Spirit started enlightening my mind to occasions of pride in my life. I started interiorly debating. I’m not that prideful! I just like things to go how I want it, when I want it, and where I want it. The Holy Spirit waited for that to sink in . . . Ah, maybe You have a point, Lord.  Perhaps that is why the passage from the First Letter to the Corinthians (4:6b-15) in today’s First Reading struck a chord. Saint Paul was reprimanding them for their prideful thinking and lack of embracing suffering for the sake of the Kingdom. “Learn from myself and Apollos [ . . . ] so that none of you will be inflated with pride” (1 Corinthians 4:6). Unlike the Corinthians, Paul endured various forms of hardship, not in a masochistic way. There was a purpose. He was building the kingdom and sharing the Gospel.  Do we realize how many opportunities we have to share the Gospel in our daily lives? Not only through big, dramatic life situations, but more often, it’s in the little things. Having patience with a family member or co-worker. Showing forgiveness to the guy who cut us off in traffic. Putting down our phone and picking up our Bible. All these little acts chip away at our prideful and selfish attitudes and make us more receptive to the workings of the Spirit in our hearts. What act of selflessness can you do today? Lord, we’re sorry for the ways we’ve been prideful and selfish. Please give us the grace to live more like You in our thoughts and our actions. We love You. Amen.

“No one tears a piece from a new cloak to patch an old one. Otherwise, he will tear the new and the piece from it will not match the old cloak. Likewise, no one pours new wine into old wineskins.” // Luke 5:36-37 Every mile down the highway took me farther away from all I had ever known. Every mile marked more distance between who I had been and who I was choosing to become.  I understood that the eight-hour drive to the Catholic university I providentially stumbled upon during my junior year of high school was actually a chasm separating my old life from my new life. At this place, there would be no more need for duplicity of life, no room for masks.  If I were to truly give my entire life to Christ, it would change everything. No longer would I patch pieces of old cloaks—old me—together in an attempt to follow both God and the world. On the contrary, I would be given a new cloak that no longer matched the old.  Our mile-marker conversions are often as such. There is a before and after, an old and new. When Jesus calls us into deeper intimacy and greater holiness, the old cloaks no longer fit. We cannot take pieces from the new cloak and try to make them fit with the old. It simply will not work. When He calls us to a new way, patching doesn’t suffice. Discontent grows and internal battles rage. But if we “turn from evil and do good” (Psalm 37:27), there is no longer need for duplicity. No masks. Only in the new, whole cloak will we “take delight in the Lord” (Psalm 37:4).  If you are staring down a highway on conversion, counting the cost and considering what will be left behind, I’d love to encourage you forward. Your patched, old cloak is no longer working. Instead, step out in faith and be clothed by the Holy Spirit, Who covers you in wholeness, peace, and new life.

[T]hey caught a great number of fish and their nets were tearing. They signaled to their partners in the other boat to come to help them. // Luke 5:6-7 I love a good side character. Side characters are often loveable and silly, and I love them for that. However, I don’t think we give them enough credit for how crucial they are to the stories. Take, for example, the bystander that mentions something to the main character that finally “cracks the code.” Or my favorite—a group of sea turtles that guide two fish down the East Australian Current. (Finding Nemo with today’s fish story . . . I had to!) I personally wish every movie ended with a “Where are they now?” segment, specifically for these rockstar sidekicks. Do they repeat the story of their unexpected encounter with the main character to all their friends? Do they still wonder if it all worked out? Better yet, if they even made a difference? In today’s Gospel, we happen to know where the side characters end up.  Simon Peter is the one singled out by Jesus and asked to let down his net (the “main character,” if you will). Yet by the end of the story, two boats are filled and four men walk away as Jesus’ new closest friends (see Luke 5:6-11). The miracle, offered to one, was received by many. James and John are mere mentions in these verses, and Peter’s brother Andrew is not even named in Luke’s Gospel until chapter 6. They help Peter physically handle the abundance of fish. Then, they leave everything and follow Jesus too (see also Matthew 4:18-22).  This miracle was meant for them as much as it was meant for Peter. This is their story of receiving a call and saying yes. It overlaps with Peter’s; they aren’t mere tag-alongs.  And friend, neither are you. I know how it feels to witness amazing things in other people’s lives, only to feel left in the dust as if they’ve taken the only share. But there is no limited measure of the miraculous. If you need help believing that truth, start by noticing (and treasuring) the ways your story crosses paths with someone else’s. Pull up your boat, make some room, and get excited! God’s giving has only just begun.

Therefore, neither the one who plants nor the one who waters is anything, but only God, who causes the growth. // 1 Corinthians 3:7 After bedtime prayers and tucking my children snugly into their beds, I step outside into the warm summer evening and walk back to my beloved garden. The dahlias are in full bloom, and the rows of cosmos sway gently in the breeze. Monarch butterflies dance among my zinnias and a bumblebee sleeps on a sunflower. I pick cherry tomatoes so sweet they taste like candy, and clip a cucumber or two from the rambling vine. September is my garden’s month of glory.  This didn’t happen overnight, of course. I planted my first round of seeds in my basement in the cold, dark winter days of late February. As springtime dawned I prepared my garden’s soil, amended it with fresh compost, and pulled up countless weeds. After the chance of frost had passed, I finally tucked my many seedlings into the earth for them to take root. All summer long I water and I fertilize and I weed. I chase away rabbits, watch for anything that might cause my plants stress, and weed and water some more. I tend and nurture, but this garden glory is not mine. It is all His, for God caused the growth.  The Lord has taught me so much about the spiritual life in my garden. He has met me there in every grace-filled moment I have opened myself to His presence. What a generous gift to be chosen by Him as His co-worker in bringing beauty to the world.  Each of us is called to co-creation with God, our Creator, and this begins in how we allow Him to tend to our souls. Spend some time today in the garden of your heart. Is the soil rocky, or rich and fertile? What seeds is the Holy Spirit planting? Are there any sins that keep sprouting up like those incessant weeds? Do you need more of the Living Water for your garden to flourish? What is blooming and bringing the Lord great joy? Ask the Lord to help you grow more like Him.

[W]e have the mind of Christ. // 1 Corinthians 2:16 “Come back and give a proper greeting,” my parents would call out to my brothers and me. Their words were like the tug of a resistance band holding us back from play. It is customary in our Vietnamese culture for children to fold their arms and bow to greet each person in a home upon arrival. If we folded our arms sloppily or if our bow was half-hearted or not deep enough, Mom or Dad would correct, “Khoanh tay lại.” This was certainly tedious for us as kids, and I never guessed how my parents' efforts would help me to grow steady in facing the world.  My parents’ unwavering gazes taught us the profound value of respectfully addressing each person, especially elders our grandparents' age.  Years ago, when I found myself living across the country from my parents, I realized I had formed the habit of slightly bowing my head out of respect as I greeted people in acknowledgement of their God-given inherent goodness and their relationship to me. As I examined my heart to see if this was a custom I wanted to keep, I realized how I relish reverence. In the same way that we learn healthy posture to be musicians and athletes, it is deeply good for us to become disciplined in doing good and giving God just praise. In the same way that I feel differently when I treat people with due reverence, it is healing and fitting for me to embrace the beauty of discipline in worshiping Almighty God and orienting my entire being toward Him, especially in the Sacred Liturgy. In the First Reading, Saint Paul says because we do not have the spirit of the world but the Spirit of God, we do not speak by human wisdom “but with words taught by the Spirit, describing spiritual realities in spiritual terms” (1 Corinthians 2:13).  Sister, may we allow our gracious Lord to draw us into the beauty of discipline, which is essential for authentic discipleship. May Jesus teach us the sweetness of His Way, for all authority and power belong to Him (see Luke 4:36).

The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord. // Luke 4:18-19 “Because your voice is so valuable,” I gently encouraged my foster son as we sat at the dining room table late one spring evening. He had initially given a firm no to the opportunity to speak on a panel for youth in the foster care system, but I felt a tug on my heart to nudge him to reconsider. Isn’t it striking how often we disregard the opportunities put before us, thinking something similar? My story isn’t that important. I really don’t have the time to do this well. I sincerely doubt I’d add anything to the conversation. Part of my job as a foster mom is to speak for kids in the foster care system. Another part of my job, I’m learning, is to give them the support, love, and encouragement they need to speak for themselves. Because as children of God, we all have something of value to say.  Today’s readings are full of themes of proclamation and of truth (see 1 Corinthians 2:1-5 and Luke 4:16-22). Saint Paul writes of speaking not with “persuasive words or of wisdom” but rather “with a demonstration of spirit and power” (1 Corinthians 2:4). And Jesus preached boldly in the synagogue to people whose hearts couldn’t quite come to grips with the truth that He was the fulfillment prophesied in the Scriptures. Nonetheless, both shared boldly with those aching for the truth. You have a unique and unrepeatable voice to offer today. It isn’t replaceable by that girl in your Bible study who you are convinced is holier than you or by that Catholic at work who goes to daily Mass more often. The Spirit of the Lord is upon you, my friend. Your voice is valuable. Ask the Lord where you can offer your voice in truth today.

“For what great nation is there that has gods so close to it as the Lord, our God, is to us whenever we call upon him?” // Deuteronomy 4:7 Growing up in various Protestant denominations, I often heard the questions, “Do you know Jesus as your personal Savior?” and “Have you had a personal encounter with Jesus?” Altar calls and publicly proclaiming one’s belief were common in the churches I attended. And yet, I went through many periods of self-doubt and second guessing myself. Had I really felt a personal experience? Was I being fully accepting?  In the First Reading (see Deuteronomy 4:1-2, 6-8) Moses calls the Israelites to remember that the Lord is walking with their nation more intimately than any of the other false gods do. He reminds them God asks no more or no less than for them to follow His Commandments, decrees set in place so that they may live in His freedom and love. This past February, I celebrated ten years of being in full communion with the Catholic Church, and now instead of parrying with my feelings, in times of doubt I can deduce with my mind what I know to be true: that yes, my Faith is personal.  Our Sacraments are physical acts we encounter personally with our senses even as they happen on a spiritual level. The water of Baptism poured over heads, the oils of Confirmation and Holy Unction marked onto foreheads, the priest’s words in Reconciliation taken in through our ears, and the bread and the wine is transubstantiated into the Eucharist, which we consume into our very being. Jesus gifted the Church with these physical experiences that invite us to touch, to taste, and to see. And we know through them that our God is walking with us so that we may live fully alive.  I encourage you to memorize and have handy the Act of Faith, so if you encounter doubt, you have words ready to pray. It’s a beautiful prayer for you to hold a place for in your mind. And physically go and encounter Jesus in the Sacraments, especially Reconciliation and Holy Eucharist. Be personal with our Lord and let Him be personal with you.

I give you a new commandment: love one another as I have loved you. // John 13:34 (from the Gospel Acclamation) Horns were honking as people semi-confidently walked into oncoming traffic. We stepped out, hoping against hope that our guides’ recommendations on how to navigate the streets of Calcutta were actually true. There was a palpable urgency in the air. We entered the chapel of the Missionaries of Charity’s motherhouse for morning Mass, prayer, and a light breakfast together before we were commissioned from the motherhouse to serve alongside the Sisters at the various and precarious sites of their apostolates. Each of us found ourselves eager to meet those we were tasked to love. Our group arrived at Kalighat, a home for the dying and the destitute, and then donned our aprons as directed. Descending the stairs, we entered the living area and were stunned. In various corners of the hall, residents were impoverished, dying, and in need of care. Each of us were initially assigned to one or two residents at a time: feeding them, dressing them, changing them, or simply combing their hair. Day in and day out, we would live this rhythm. The residents came to know our faces as we came to know theirs. We lost sight of who was the one tasked with caring for each individual person as serving became a mutual act among all of us, and we shared life together. We learned that receiving Christ’s love impels us to not only give Christ’s love but to receive it as well. Today, I challenge each one of us to find our own Calcutta and realize that the corner of the world that we are in is the opportunity He has given us to love and be loved. May we come to realize that everything really is all gift meant to be given to others in return of receiving.

“No, for there may not be enough for us and you.” // Matthew 25:9 “No,” she told me, “because I won’t have any other day this week to just be at home.” She was speaking English, but I really didn’t understand. We had been planning a day and time to get together and catch up, and she was free on Wednesday. But since she was busy every other evening that week she said that was her only day to be at home and said no. I had never encountered anyone who had had free time in their schedule to meet, but then chose to fill it with rest and time at home instead.  And honestly, it angered me a bit.  Wasn’t I important? She was the one asking to meet up anyway. Why wouldn’t she give me her time? Like the foolish virgins in today’s Gospel (see Matthew 25:1-13), with lamps literally burned out, we women sometimes demand that others give us what we need in order to keep our own flame alive.  But the wise virgins who prepared themselves to have what they need say, “No, for there may not be enough for us and you.” And their no is valid. It is a proper response to choose to hold on and protect what one needs for one’s own wellbeing and for one’s own relationship with God. Like the response of my friend, no is often a wise choice. There are many things we simply can’t do for other people, try as we might. We can’t have a relationship with God for others. We can’t live someone else’s life for them. Each person has to nurture the oil of the Spirit and tend to the fire of God’s love within one’s own being.  May the Lord teach us the wisdom of no and find us ready and prepared, perhaps by taking some extra time this week to rest and be at home with Him.

I give thanks to my God always on your account for the grace of God bestowed on you in Christ Jesus, that in him you were enriched in every way.” // 1 Corinthians 1:4-5 I tapped my pen on my journal as I stared at an empty page, not knowing where to even start. I had been asked to share my testimony to a youth group of high school kids with whom I was on a mission trip in Costa Rica. These kids were having powerful experiences of mission and of one another during this trip, which made it a beautiful environment for testimonies. I was going into my junior year of college, just a few years older than them, and I had no idea what I would share.  Sharing my story in an intimate group or with a close friend is one thing, but getting up in front of high schoolers was a different story.  Where would I even start? Will they even get something out of it? What do I even say?  I was engulfed in these questions as I attempted to put some parts of my story to paper. I just kept praying that the Holy Spirit would speak through me and reach these eager hearts. Through sharing my story, I desired to show them just how much God our Father sees us in our wholeness and transforms our brokenness.  And when the time came, the Spirit was so present and it was evident it was He Who was speaking through me. I knew those were not my words. He was the source of those words. The story had been a testament of God’s presence in my life.  God’s grace was so present.  In today’s First Reading (see 1 Corinthians 1:1-9), Saint Paul prays that the grace of God would enrich the people of Corinth. A grace that lacks no spiritual gifts. A grace that enriches. A grace that invites transformation through Jesus Christ.  A vision of transformation that brings about our wholeness. God’s vision for our transformation is that we would be whole. What robs you of wholeness? Invite the Lord into that place today and ask Him for the grace that transforms, enriches, and keeps you firm to the end. 

No one has ever seen God. Yet, if we love one another, God remains in us, and his love is brought to perfection in us. // John 4:12 (from the Gospel for the Memorial of Saint Augustine) My grandma sat across from me at her kitchen table, eating her toast and sipping her black coffee, both placed on a colorful crocheted placemat. She didn’t say much unless she needed a coffee refill or became curious about who I was. She had developed Alzheimer's disease many years prior to that year where I found myself living in her town for a summer job.  She was a large, stubborn, and witty Mexican mother to thirteen children, and several of them still lived nearby. I spent a lot of time with her in those couple of months, and got a front row seat to the tender love poured out to her by her sons and daughters.  My aunts would take turns coming over after their nine-to-five jobs to make her dinner, bathe her, get her dressed, administer medications, comb her hair, paint her nails, and love her with the utmost devotion.  This was their daily life for nearly a decade, and very few people ever witnessed it. I remember thinking in those days, This is what true love looks like. The kind of love that is quiet, faithful, mostly unseen by anyone else, and utterly selfless. This is perfect love. This is God’s love made manifest in our world.  We know it when we see it, don’t we?  The sleepless mother spoon feeding her disabled son. The engaged man fasting for his future wife. The woman who drops off a meal for her grieving friend. The husband who learns how to help his wife through a mental health crisis.  I think it’s easy to think we are failures in loving others, but God has given us an incredible capacity for it. As John reminds us in today’s Gospel for the Memorial of Saint Augustine (see John 4:7-16), this is the manner in which God calls us to be His very Heart here on earth.  Do we know how powerful this is? The power to make God visible in this world, through perfect love? Today, reflect on your greatest experiences of God’s love in your life. How can we keep pouring out this love, so freely given to us?

Nay rather, I have stilled and quieted my soul like a weaned child. Like a weaned child on its mother's lap, so is my soul within me. // Psalm 131: 2 (Responsorial Psalm for Memorial of Saint Monica) A few years ago one of our sons was going through a hard season. He had gone away to college and had come home struggling. Further, this was during Covid, when everything felt like it was falling apart anyways, but watching this particular child struggle in this particular way made me especially sad. I remember one day, on our daily walk with our dog, telling my husband that I felt so tight inside. “I feel like I’m never going to be able to exhale until all of our boys are either married or ordained priests.” And saying this out loud deeply helped, because I realized how crazy it was. There was no way my central nervous system could sustain this level of anxiety and then just calm down once I marked the box of “launched” for this child. I needed to find peace in the now, even though now was very imperfect.  Mothers everywhere have looked to the example of Saint Monica, whose feast we celebrate today, during hard times with children. And while most of us hope that we won’t have to wait thirty whole years for our child to change, we still seek her intercession and follow her good example. She never gave up on her son, who is now Saint Augustine, and I would imagine that in her close walk with the Lord, she found peace even as she waited for the Lord to answer her prayers. And that is what we are called to as well. We are to pray, hope, and not worry—as Saint Padre Pio advised. We have to get to a place of real peace as we journey along beside our children. We can only find that peace in the Lord which we prayed for in the Responsorial Psalm, not in our children’s good or bad decisions, not in the temporal at all.  Lord, give me a stilled and quieted soul, a dependence on You in the difficult times and the knowledge that every good thing I have comes from You. Only You can bring peace to my soul within. Amen.

[W]e ourselves boast of you [ . . . ] regarding your endurance and faith in all your persecutions and the afflictions you endure. // 2 Thessalonians 1:4 My deacon husband had prayed many funeral vigils and burials with grieving families, but this time was different. The son of our dear friends, who were godparents to our youngest daughter, had died. Though our hearts ached for our friends and their children for whom we’d prayed for many years, we were far enough removed from their trauma to enter fully into the beauty of the funeral rites and take comfort in the certain hope Mother Church offers grieving families.  My introverted friend received all who mourned the death of her son with remarkable grace and poise; her evident faith moved me deeply. The love she and her husband shared with others shone like a beacon of hope, especially the tender love they showed their son’s friends.  The above experience serves as an example of a modern-day answer to Saint Paul’s prayer for the Church in the First Reading (see 1 Thessalonians 1:1-5, 11-12). He well understood that a good shepherd prays and trusts God’s work in and through the people he has been appointed to lead. In contrast, the religious leaders of Jesus’ day busied themselves with judging who was and wasn’t fit for God’s kingdom. Jesus knew that in spite of all their knowledge of the Scriptures and the law, many of their hearts were far from the heart of His Father. Twice in today’s Gospel Jesus calls the religious leaders blind (see Matthew 23:13-22). Dear sister, let’s make sure we don’t fall into the trap of blindness, thinking that the path to Heaven is one we must traverse through only our own efforts. Though study and work are both good, we can neither study nor work our way to Heaven. As Saint Paul admonishes us, "For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast" (Ephesians 2:8-9). Instead, we must humble ourselves, like sheep who receive everything from their Shepherd. Then we can find solace in the words in today’s Gospel Antiphon: “My sheep hear my voice, says the Lord; I know them and they follow Me” (John 10:27). With Him, surely our faith will endure to the end.