“And so I say to you, you are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of the netherworld shall not prevail against it.” // Matthew 16:18 His hands were soft, and he was wearing an ivory colored sweatshirt with frayed cuffs under his white cassock. There I stood, staring into the eyes of Pope Francis, holding his warm, wrinkled hand. And as my heart beat rapidly and I stumbled over my greeting, handing him a pair of socks with his face on them, a LEGO pope minifigure in a LEGO popemobile, and a letter from my six-year-old daughter, he smiled widely and said softly, “Please pray for me.” I was talking to the consummate Catholic grandpa and holding the hand of the successor of Saint Peter all at once, and in that moment, the words etched into the dome of Saint Peter’s Basilica and heard in the Gospel today—“You are Peter, and upon this rock I will build my Church”—echoed in my mind (Matthew 16:18). Here was Peter. The 266th “Peter” we’ve had, an unbroken line of succession established by Jesus Himself, to guide, protect, defend, and shape our Church, the servant of the servants of God. And it all began in a moment when the first Peter, Simon Peter himself, seemed to doubt what Jesus was even saying. We hear in the Gospel today (see Matthew 16:13-23) how Jesus asks His disciples to share what they understand of Him, and Peter is able to proclaim Him the Christ. Boldly, and without delay, he then proclaims Jesus as the Son of God. This, in the end, is at the heart of discipleship, and the call to us all, not just the pope. All of us are invited to say confidently that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that He loves us beyond compare and without end. Can we say that boldly? Can we say that without hesitation? Do we? As I held the Holy Father’s hand, and looked at his wrinkled face and warm smile, I was reminded that he is the Rock, in the line of succession from Peter himself, and that he is guiding me, and inviting us all, to confidently say that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God. 

“O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish.” // Matthew 15:28  That my suffering, united to Your own, will bear fruit in this life and the next, Jesus, I trust in You.  That You will not leave me orphan, that You are present in Your Church, Jesus, I trust in You.  The Litany of Trust, written by one of the Sisters of Life, was the only prayer I could muster up the strength to say, as an unfamiliar ache filled my heart. My brother was in the hospital with a serious mental condition, and while we were finally getting answers to his mental health, it didn’t diminish the pain that he and my family had experienced. There were very few days that had passed where I didn’t express any anger at the Lord for my brother’s suffering. My mom said, “The Lord hasn’t abandoned our family,” yet it was hard for my grieving heart to hold on to that truth.  In today’s Gospel, we hear Jesus say to a desperate mother, “O woman, great is your faith! Let it be done for you as you wish” (Matthew 15:28).  Once the storm started to calm down around our family, I had a difficult time building trust in the Lord again. My heart clung to many lies that developed because of my woundedness. Like the Canaanite woman, I began to see how faith has an effect on my relationship with Him. It’s not that I always get what I ask for, but I’m learning that He doesn’t settle when it comes to healing. He is not bound by the limitations that we place on Him or by the complexity of a situation. He’s looking at our faith, not our brokenness.  Sister, I want to encourage you to make an act of faith today. If you feel that your faith is weary, bring that to Him. Tell Him everything. There is nothing that He can’t do.  Lord, I love You. Help me to make an honest act of faith today. When my heart is weary, fill it with Your love. Reveal to me Your trustworthiness. Amen.

Jesus took Peter, James, and his brother John, and led them up a high mountain apart by themselves. // Mark 9:2 Whenever anyone in Scripture ascends a mountain, pay attention!  Mountains are destinations of some of the most transformational encounters with God. Moses received the Ten Commandments on Mount Sinai (see Exodus 20:1-17). Elijah confronted the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel (see 1 Kings 18:20-40). Abraham demonstrated his faith and willingness to sacrifice his son, Isaac, on Mount Moriah (see Genesis 22:1-19). And we must remember the mountain where Jesus prayed before his Crucifixion (see Luke 22:39-53) and ascended into Heaven (see Acts 1:6-12), the Mount of Olives. So, when Jesus invites Peter, James, and John for a hiking trip up Mount Tabor, they should've known something would happen.  I've taken several challenging mountain hikes in Honolulu, Hawaii; Camelback Mountain in Phoenix, Arizona; and Montserrat, Spain. Each gave me a different vantage point to see the world below. I've also ascended many spiritual mountaintops: retreats, spiritual direction school, Theology of the Body Institute, and various conferences. Each was gifted to me to hold on to when I found myself personally, emotionally, physically, and spiritually in lower altitudes. Each mountaintop experience illuminated Christ to me as brightly as Christ transfigured before His Apostles. From His radiant face, areas of sin and darkness were exposed. I was mercifully given the freedom I never thought possible. I could've set up camp on those mountains, too, but God was simply preparing me for my next season. Through the Transfiguration, Jesus prepared Peter, James, and John for His Resurrection from the dead. He knew they would need the light of the Transfiguration to illuminate the path for the early Church after He ascended to Heaven, to bring consolation when desolation abounded in the streets they preached and walked on. We need this same consolation from our mountaintop experiences to illuminate our souls found in the dim and dark. There are things found in the darkness that can only be recognized in seasons of desolation. So on this Feast of the Transfiguration, embrace the darkness as much as you rejoice in the blinding light. Each prepares us for the eternal mountaintop of heaven.

They all ate and were satisfied, and they picked up the fragments left over. // Matthew 14:20  I stepped out into the courtyard with hundreds of women (perhaps some of you?) after a morning BIS retreat session, eager for fellowship during the lunch break. The sun warmed the Phoenix air perfectly, women chatted joyfully, the smell of tacos floated through the air . . . I was deeply satisfied. Those tacos still stand out in my memory as the best tacos I’ve ever eaten. As delicious as that meal was—and as uplifting as the conversations were—the satisfaction of that weekend faded away as everyday duties at home demanded my attention and my stomach growled for more food day after day. I look back at that retreat, the conversations, and even the tacos with fondness. The Lord filled me that weekend in ways I’m still unpacking, yet I’m hungering for more. My homemade tacos pale in comparison, and my soul longs for more sisterhood and more of Christ. My satisfaction was temporary, just as it was for those whom Jesus fed on the hillsides so many years ago. The Gospel doesn’t tell us what the Apostles did with the fragments they gathered, but I like to imagine they weren’t wasted. As I consider how this applies to me, I have an idea for fragments in my life—I want to gather them up and treasure them. What fragments? I’m thinking about memories of retreats and homilies, Bible verses saved in my prayer journal, friendships deepened in conversation, a stronger yearning for the Lord that keeps me seeking Him. In your prayer today, think about a time you felt deeply satisfied and loved by the Lord’s gifts, and thank Him. If you’re still hungering, ask Him to fill your heart with His peace today. Lord, thank You for Your abundant love and generosity. May I always turn to You for my needs. Amen. 

Put away the old self of your former way of life, corrupted through deceitful desires, and be renewed in the spirit of your minds, and put on the new self, created in God's way in righteousness and holiness of truth. // Ephesians 4:22-24 I was rummaging through some family photo albums, looking for a picture I vaguely remembered. I got lost in the memories of my old self: my childhood, teenage years, college experience, young professional life, vocational discernment, and adulthood. My life has zigged and zagged in surprising ways. The photographs contained versions of my old self. I noticed similarities and differences compared to who I am today. I remembered my strengths and weaknesses as I looked at the snapshots. The girl in the pictures is me, but she has a lot ahead of her: joys, sufferings, moves, celebrations, learning, travel, jobs, holidays, success, failures, and growth. In today’s First Reading, Saint Paul calls us to “put on the new self” (see Ephesians 4:17, 20-24). At my Baptism, my parents clothed me in white, symbolizing how I “put on Christ.” As the priest baptized me with water, the Holy Spirit purified, justified, and sanctified me (source). I became a beloved daughter of the Father. With each passing year, the Holy Spirit is continually calling me to deeper conversion and authentic renewal. This is not something I have to do on my own—the Holy Spirit is leading me along this path to holiness. The Holy Spirit purifies my desires and renews my mind.  If I live for several more decades, how will I look back on who I am today? Today will become a memory.  Today will be my former way of life. As I gaze into the future, there is a lot ahead of me: joys, sufferings, moves, celebrations, learning, travel, jobs, holidays, success, failures, and growth. How will the Holy Spirit renew me? Come, Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of Your faithful  and kindle in them the fire of Your love. Send forth Your Spirit and they shall be created,and You shall renew the face of the earth.

The king was distressed, but because of his oaths and the guests who were present, he ordered that it be given, and he had John beheaded in the prison. // Matthew 14:9-10 My huge fluffy dog Otto owns what he is. He doesn’t jump up when caught napping to pretend like he’s been productive. He shamelessly advocates for himself when hungry or thirsty, especially at 5:01 p.m. when his dinner is one minute late. He bounds along the fenceline barking to protect his territory, regardless of what others might think (or whether that miniature schnauzer is actually a threat). Otto is unapologetically what he was made to be. Saint John the Baptist exemplifies this in human form. He unapologetically embraced his identity and mission. He didn’t change his actions or dilute God’s truth to save face or slink away from threats. He remained totally free in God’s unconditional love, even through physical imprisonment and death. As a result, Saint John the Baptist gained eternal life and the glory of a martyr’s crown. King Herod, on the other hand, easily caved to the manipulation of those around him in an attempt to preserve his popularity and power. As a result, he became more enslaved. His power was a sham; his relationships confined to contingent actions and conditional love. King Herod could learn a lot from Otto and John the Baptist—as can we.  We all need human connection; we all deeply fear rejection. When those desires and fears become disordered, we begin to seek connection and avoid rejection at the expense of our own and others’ God-given dignity. Trading reason for human regard gradually destroys our conscience and limits our divine gifts. People pleasing never leads to the freedom and love we hope for. We become emotionally enslaved and internally imprisoned by the very isolation we’re trying to avoid.  Pleasing God, however, comes with an epic reward. The death of desire for worldly regard is the beginning of true freedom. Bold adherence to His truth is the foundation of authentic identity. Seeking God’s regard above human regard delivers the unconditional love and eternal belonging we truly crave. Today, ask for the courage to unapologetically become who you were created to be.  Saint John the Baptist, pray for us!

“Is he not the carpenter’s son? Is not his mother named Mary and his brothers James, Joseph, Simon and Judas?” // Matthew 13:55 When we’re growing up, we’re often referred to with qualifiers like these: “That’s so and so’s sister. Her dad works down the street. She’s always lived here.” And these small qualifiers follow us for some time. Even after you leave home, even after you start a new career or get married, and even after you have children. To those who knew you when you were younger, you remain the same person they knew. In today’s Gospel reading, the people Jesus was teaching in the synagogue knew Him, or at least they thought they did (see Matthew 13:54-58). They were familiar with Him—they likely knew Him growing up, and they probably knew funny anecdotes about His family life. And rather than putting them more at ease and in a position to believe what He shared, this familiarity caused them to question and doubt Him. To some extent, because they knew Him, they didn’t believe He could be Who He said He was. They would think, How could He be? We’ve known Him all this time. He’s probably Who He has always been. But a faithful Christian life is a transformed life, filled with conversions—once and again, where each of us becomes more of who God created us to be as we grow closer to Him. Unfortunately, though, not everyone will appreciate us trying to live a transformed life, walking closer to Christ. But Jesus knows what that’s like, and as He walks alongside you, I believe He offers you comfort and peace in the face of any rejection or experience of being misunderstood. And through being misunderstood, He invites you into a place of intimacy with Him—and a place where you can begin to better understand those around you who are also walking this path of Faith.  Dear Lord, help me to forgive those who misunderstand my desire to be like You, and transform me more and more each day to humbly walk by Your side. Amen.

Indeed, like clay in the hand of the potter, so are you in my hand. // Jeremiah 18:6 There are seasons in my life that I can look back on and ask myself, Wow, why’d I do that? Why’d I choose that? Did I really think that was a good idea? I was a junior in college and spent my days skipping class and drinking too much. I made decision after decision that led me further and further away from who I knew I was created to be. But at that point in my life, I’d told God that He could wait for me while I did what I wanted to when I wanted to. I told God that I’d decide when I wanted to be in a relationship with Him again and, until then, He could wait. One Sunday morning after another long night out, I woke up at 10:30 a.m.—the time at which I went to Mass with my family growing up. It was a tremendously generous moment of grace. A moment in which the Potter gently asked that I return to Him. With all of my broken pieces. With all of the cracks in my core. He invited me to return just as I was, and He promised—with my permission—to make me new. Today's First Reading (see Jeremiah 18:1-6) is a testament to the truth that God wastes nothing in our lives—even those seasons, experiences, events, or moments in which we find ourselves feeling too broken and too unworthy to be held in His sacred hands. He waits patiently for us to approach Him, just as we are. He is the Potter Who longs to mold us into new creations. To take what is broken and love it into beauty. To buff out what must go—not to destroy, but to redeem. Sister, no matter how far you have strayed. No matter how far from His reach you believe you are. No part of you is irredeemable. What is He inviting you to place in His hands today? Surrender. Trust. Receive.

When I found your words, I devoured them; they became my joy and the happiness of my heart. // Jeremiah 15:16 My mind was blown open as the priest leading the retreat read through the conference he had prepared. His words brought alive the scene of the Gospel in a way that I had never experienced before. I was in the garden with Jesus. I was falling asleep with the disciples. I was watching Jesus be arrested and fleeing with the Apostles. I was in the Gospel in a whole new way. This style of mediation called Ignatian or Imaginative Prayer, comes from Saint Ignatius of Loyola whose feast we celebrate today. While raised a Catholic in the late fifteenth and early sixteenth centuries in Italy, he lived a dissolute life as a soldier until a cannon ball shattered his leg. During his recovery, he began reading the lives of the Saints, and their example inspired him to a radical conversion. He eventually founded the Society of Jesus and has left a legacy of prayer through his work The Spiritual Exercises, where he introduced Imaginative prayer as a way to enter into Scripture. Saint Ignatius is one of those Saints whose conversion was so immediately complete that he never turned back, devouring God’s words and accepting God’s call to him. Serving God, and God alone, “became [his] joy and the happiness of [his] heart” (Jeremiah 15:16). His life became like the men in the parables in today’s Gospel (see Matthew 13:44-46), who sold all they had to possess the greatest treasure. And the fruits of his conversion have impacted countless souls. Sister, let Saint Ignatius inspire you to try a new way of praying with the Gospels.* Take five minutes to imagine you are in the scene of today’s Gospel. Can you see yourself as the merchant searching for pearls? Ask the Lord to show you what you are to give up in order to follow Him more fully. Try it again tomorrow with the Gospel passage for the day. Let us ask the Lord to inflame us with the same passion of Saint Ignatius—that we will be drawn into God’s Word and find joy in it. *The Blessed is She Gospel Studies are a great place to begin praying with Scripture imaginatively.

Why have you struck us a blow that cannot be healed? We wait for peace, to no avail; for a time of healing, but terror comes instead. // Jeremiah 14:19 At 30,000-something feet, I opened my sleepy eyes. I blinked repeatedly in an attempt to move the contacts that had stuck to my eyes. With blurry vision, I glanced out the window into the bright light.  Oh look, the ocean, I thought. I blinked a few times, and laughed to myself. Totally not the ocean. Those are clouds.  (Besides, I was flying over Kansas, not the Pacific.) From a post-nap, foggy plane window, oceans and clouds (two very different things) look the exact same. And from a weary heart, life can feel just as confusing. Let this be your reminder today: your feelings are not always telling you the truth.  When I count up all the tiring tasks to get done in a day, the horrific news reaching my ears, and the constant suffering of the people I love, it’s easy to say God is far away. It’s extremely real—the weight of life, the exhaustion in our bodies, the pain in our hearts.  Bring that to God. Like the prophets and the psalmists, tell Him how you look around at your lack of peace and wonder when He’s going to step in (see Jeremiah 14:19). Then, listen. Give Him some room to be truthful too. Lean into the sound of His voice as He tells you that He is who He says He is. That He really was born into poverty, and He really did die on a cross. That His life set yours free, and that He walks every single day by your side. Your honest laments do not scare the Lord. Unlike us, He can see the film over our eyes, and He isn’t surprised that it tricks us into doubt.  He just wants to set it straight. He wants you to blink a few times, to breathe deep, and to look closer. He wants to show you Who He really is.  Will you let Him?

“There is need of only one thing.” // Luke 10:42  I don’t know about you, but I can sometimes completely relate to Martha, who heard our Lord Jesus say to her, “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things” (Luke 10:41). Under the intense pressure of full-time school, work in my community’s mission, and other responsibilities, I had to learn how to optimize my waking hours and organize my energy. This was all so I could still have time for prayer and other basic things. Although I would rush into prayer and often promptly fall asleep because I was worn out by the day, I still went because He was and is the one thing—“There is need of only one thing” (Luke 10:42).  Sister, I venture to guess He is also your “one thing.” That’s probably why you are reading this devotion and participating in this beautiful, amazing community of women!  Yet why do you and I still sometimes find ourselves in the absolute throes of anxiety? What is the remedy? Repenting and turning to God for mercy. Jesus told Saint Faustina, “Do not lose heart in coming to me for pardon. For I am always ready to forgive you. As often as you beg for it, you glorify My mercy” (Diary, 1488).  Sister, may we never tire of returning to our place of refuge—His Most Sacred Heart. Just as Jesus found refuge and a place of rest in the home of Bethany with His closest friends (Mary, Martha, and Lazurus) whose feast we celebrate today, so too, Jesus wants us to go to Him and rest.  It can be hard to humble ourselves like this again and again. God knows this. This is why He gave us an overflowing treasury of help through our Holy Mother the Church. Spend some time today with the Lord, your one thing, today. Avail yourself of the Sacrament of Confession. Dwell with Him in His Eucharistic presence. Let His loving presence within your soul from the moment of your Baptism fill your whole being. Ask Him to be your one thing again.

The hand of the Lord feeds us; he answers all our needs. // Psalm Response (see Psalm 145:16) Motorcycles honked ferociously and sped through traffic as our mission team walked the trash-filled and potholed streets of Santo Domingo. We took shortcuts between cinder block walls so narrow we had to turn sideways to enter homes that were humble, yet full of love and hope. My favorite day on a mission is always the one when we visit homes in order to bring food to our brothers and sisters in Christ who are most in need. Each individual and family, carefully chosen by the churches in the community, greets us with hugs, love, and gratitude. We pray with them, hearing about their lives and sharing ours. We bring bags of food, such as eggs, rice, and beans, to sustain their bodies, but it doesn’t feel like enough. It never feels like enough. I imagine the Apostles felt this way when they presented Jesus with five loaves of bread and two fish for “about five thousand” people (see John 6:1-15): it was just not enough. But God can multiply the little we offer to be all that is needed. I don’t know what feels like not enough for you right now. Maybe you feel like you lack money, time, help, food, patience, energy, or strength. Take comfort in today's Readings and in Psalm 145, for God opens His hand He will “satisfy the desire of every living thing” (Psalm 145:16). One of the final home visits in the Dominican Republic was to a one-hundred-year-old man who lived in a single room. The previous year, our team helped put a new roof over his home. We brought him bread, peanut butter, jelly, and apples this year and checked in on how he was doing. He had no kitchen to cook in and was unable to leave his home. He relies entirely on the community to bring him food and care for him, and God has provided all he needs for over a century. If you feel like what you have is not enough today, give whatever you have to the Lord and ask Him to multiply it. His provision is more than enough.

“When the crop grew and bore fruit, the weeds appeared as well.” // Matthew 13:26 I paused for a moment and thought to myself, Didn’t we already work through this, Lord?! It was a gentle reminder that though we’d been hard at work healing in a variety of ways—physically, mentally, and emotionally—there remained work He desired to do within me. How many times have you thought to yourself, Gosh, I thought we were over this! or Wow, I thought that part of me was healed! only to be gently called back into His own Heart for continued restoration and renewal? Healing is hard work and it is God—the Good Sower—Who plants in us the good seed of deeper faith within difficulty along with the hope for healing that perseveres through it all, and tends it to bear the fruit of a deeper and more steadfast love for Him and His tender care for us. But gosh, doesn’t it feel sometimes that with the healing comes an awareness of only more places in our lives that need healing? Healing is hard work, and it becomes exhausting when we try to heal ourselves by ourselves. Today’s Gospel reminds us that we have never sown alone (see Matthew 13:24-30). It is God Who plants and reaps and receives all of us—the fruit and the weeds. We don’t have to sift through it all by ourselves; we must only hand ourselves over into His careful care and allow Him to do the work within us. In what area of your life right now is fruit being borne? In what area of your life are you aware of your weeds?Sweet Father, help me today to hand myself completely over into Your careful care. Sift through every area of my life: may the fruits I bear glorify You and may my weeds of weakness be opportunities for deeper conversion and trust in You today. I surrender the sowing to You.

“But the seed sown on rich soil is the one who hears the word and understands it, who indeed bears fruit and yields a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold.” // Matthew 13:23 “VoVo, what do you need?” I said with tears in my eyes. He turned, and as the scurrying of the nurses and his labored breathing slowed, our eyes met. He lifted his hands as if in prayer and gasped, “A priest.” In those moments, as we waited for our family friend, Father Joe, to arrive, I did the only thing I could think of: I prayed that our Lady would come and be with our family as we prepared, we knew, to say our last goodbyes to the patriarch of our family—our rock of faith, piety, and devotion. Father Joe came and began the rite of Anointing of the Sick. I knelt at the end of VoVo’s bed, stroking his foot, my parents on either side of me. Father prayed the final prayers of commendation for the dying, looked at us, and told us to call the nurse. VoVo was gone. It was my first experience of witnessing death—it was beautiful. My grandfather’s death was beautiful, in part, because the seed of God’s Word had been sown in the rich soil of his heart. In the days following his death it was evident that his life of faith had, indeed, yielded a hundredfold, and more. Beginning with our own family, gathered in prayer for his soul, and then in his friends, fellow parishioners, elderly shut-ins, and hospital patients to whom he brought Holy Communion for years, his love had echoed into ripples of faith in the lives of so many. Grandparents are a gift to families, and I imagine that Saints Joachim and Anne, the grandparents of Jesus, were no different. As we celebrate their memorial today, I pray that each of our eyes are opened to see the beauty of the faith of those who have gone before us and, taking up the torch of our ancestors, we too may keep “the word with a generous heart and yield a harvest through perseverance” (see Luke 8:15, Gospel Acclamation).

He said to her, "What do you wish?" // Matthew 20:20 Tiny waves lapped on the placid seashore, making a musical sound as they trickled out over small stones. I call it the seashore and not the beach because that’s what the locals called it. I was on holiday in Helsinki, Finland.  After perusing the stalls of a local farmer’s market, my friend headed back to the apartment to lay her toddlers down for their naps while I went for a walk to stave off the jetlag.  It was idyllic, a glorious Nordic summer day, and I felt the Holy Spirit draw near. My heart began to unfold with gratitude and we walked in companionable silence, like two friends who know and love each other deeper than words.  It was all so beautiful I felt my heart would break—and in that moment, it did. Because in the silence, ever so gently, I had heard God ask me, What are your hopes and dreams? All the romance and peace of the moment evaporated in an instant. After all, anger is easier to feel than disappointment.  I wonder what you would say, dear sister, if today the Lord drew near and asked you the same question He addressed to the mother of Saint James in today’s Gospel? “What do you wish?” (see Matthew 20:20-28) Maybe your heart would respond unreservedly to His request. Or maybe you’d desperately beg for a miracle because you believe He can do the impossible. But maybe you’re more like me and you’ve been disappointed. Maybe it’s too hard or too scary to hope, and it feels cruel of Him to ask what you wish because He already knows and you’ve been waiting so long.  But maybe today is your summer day by the sea, and He’s drawing near to ask you again. Drawing your heart and desires out once more: What are your hopes and dreams? So even if you’ve been hurt or disappointed, even if you’re angry or afraid, tell Him who suffers with you anyway. Tell Him everything. And maybe, like He did for Saint James, who embraced the Cross beside Jesus, He will give you everything and more, even if it doesn’t look the way you thought it would.

“A sower went out to sow. [ . . . ] But some seed fell on rich soil, and produced fruit, a hundred or sixty or thirtyfold.” // Matthew 13:3, 8 God’s grace is abundant. This is a simple truth we all know, for the most part. We know it comes to us in many ways—through prayer, through the Sacraments, through our own vocation, and even through hidden, everyday means. The mystery and wonder of the grace of God knows no bounds. It can reveal truth to the blind and heal the lame. It can sanctify, purify, and renew. A seemingly magic fount, yet a reality beyond comprehension, that can be readily tapped by us who so desperately desire this transforming power, by a God Who so generously gives His grace to us.  But are we ready for it? Much like the rocky ground in the parable of the sower from today’s Gospel (see Matthew 13:1-9), our hearts can be brittle. And while the grace of God still freely flows into us, there is no rich soil for it to penetrate. We remain callous and distant, and oftentimes, unmoved.  Maybe this is the reminder for us today, sister. That we need to have souls ready for the influx of grace as it comes. We need to dig deep to uproot the weeds of vice. We need to purify ourselves in prayer and sacrifice to till the soil of our hearts. We need to feed ourselves with truth and prayer and God Himself in the Holy Eucharist. We need to water our souls in the practice of the virtues and expose our hearts to the sunshine of our divine filiation. And then, when grace pours in, our hearts will be ready to receive it, and we will be changed.  Lord, help us to turn our hard places into fertile ground so You can sanctify us, and, in turn, the hearts of those around us.

While Jesus was speaking to the crowds, his mother and his brothers appeared outside, wishing to speak with him. // Matthew 12:46 Last spring, I led a three-day parish mission for a rural community. People there had names like Thor and Inga, and they were humble and hard-working, without the slightest hint of pretension. Their faith was sturdy like the beautiful old churches that have been built there—of stone and brick—things that last. I got to spend three days housed in an old rectory that is reserved for guests, sleeping with the Blessed Sacrament just a hundred feet from my heart. During the day, I had the keys to the quiet country church and spent many hours resting there with the Lord, just the two of us. One evening, I settled into the first pew to pray as the spring sun set, pouring its golden light through the stained-glass windows, alighting the interior in a peaceful, gentle glow. The air smelled of incense as the sanctuary lamp burned. There were angels bowing on either side of the tabernacle, and I was reminded of Whose silent, all-powerful presence I was in, and it was heavenly. I sat there thinking, Oh, to be able to come inside and be here with You! Indeed, we are all given the “keys” to “come inside.” Even in today’s Gospel (see Matthew 12:46-50), we read that Mary, the mother of Jesus, and his brothers, are “outside” waiting to speak with Jesus, and at first glance Jesus’ response might seem odd. He asks, “Who is my mother [ . . . ] my brothers?” (Matthew 12:48) But then He stretches out His holy hand toward the disciples and continues, “Here are my mother and my brothers. For whoever does the will of my heavenly Father is my brother, and sister, and mother” (Matthew 12:49-50). The point is not to dismiss the Blessed Mother, but to invite you, sister, into intimate relationship with Him. It’s a way of saying, Come inside! Come, join my family, come speak to me in the quiet home of my heart about my Father’s loving will. Can you find a few moments to sit in the quiet of your local church today? To listen to what He might be saying to you?