Jesus told his disciples a parable about the necessity for them to pray always without becoming weary [ . . . ] “But when the Son of Man comes, will he find faith on earth?” // Luke 18:1, 8 Pray without ceasing. Never give up. God hears you. I grew up learning the importance of prayer, and—by way of frequent exposure in Catholic school—committing to memory myriad words from Scripture and the Saints, all summed up with “Pray without ceasing.” But if you’ve known long-lasting struggle, you may feel like I do: praying without becoming weary or giving up is much easier said than done. Take a moment to imagine the longest-running intention in your life. Maybe you’ve been praying for healing from chronic pain or for reconciliation in a strained relationship. Maybe you’re certain what God’s call is for your life, but you’re still waiting for the job offer, the loving relationship, a baby in your marriage, the welcome into a religious order.  How has your prayer changed as the days pass and the Lord’s answer is yet to come? I’ll be honest with you, sister. My prayer weakens in the waiting.  Instead of growing bolder, as I imagine the widow in today’s Gospel to be, I tend to grow complacent in prayer. The days pass, and the fervor that initially burned in my heart dwindles. But the widow in Jesus’ parable persisted. Her hunger for justice kept burning in her heart, and she boldly kept asking.  Jesus’ question about faith at the end of the parable reveals a secret to me about prayer. I think Jesus connects faith to praying without becoming weary because faith strengthens us. Faith gives us endurance. Faith in God’s promise keeps us praying. As our faith grows, so does our ability to persist in prayer, to not grow weary, to hold tight to hope that God will answer in His perfect timing.  Bring your longest-running intentions back to the Lord with renewed faith and vigor today, sister. I’m praying with you.  Lord, You desire only the good for us. Increase our faith. Give us boldness and persistence. If our hearts grow weary, may the Holy Spirit pray for and with us. Thank You for hearing us. Jesus, I trust You. Amen.

For from the greatness and the beauty of created things their original author, by analogy, is seen. // Wisdom 13:5 During chemotherapy, my long, thick hair decided to take an extended sabbatical. Not that I don’t appreciate being bald—oh the hours and money it saves on doing one’s hair! But let’s just say, bald isn’t the most gorgeous look for me. Chemo doesn’t help aesthetic matters. Your skin falls away from your bones, becoming droopy and ashen. During the hard weeks, the pain twists and contorts your normally sunny disposition. There are any number of chemo-related indignities that are full-out repulsive. That combined with a double mastectomy earlier last summer (I decided to go flat, by the way, and love it! A revelation I’m happy to share), my poor, beautiful body has been under siege. And in such a way that I have to face the naked fact that, well, it’s ugly. I’ve been thinking a lot about ugliness lately, and why we, especially as women, are so terrified of it. To be repulsed by the ugliness of sin is proper and good, but I wonder about our overwhelming fear of being physically ugly. How much energy is consumed in our lives trying to be beautiful? And what is that anyway? As our Wisdom author reminds us in today’s First Reading, to know what is truly beautiful we must look to its Source. What makes me beautiful—hair or no hair, breasts or no breasts—is that the Father created me. In a moment of miraculous wonder and passion, He imagined me, body and soul. He saw me and all of the lives I would touch, all the lives that would touch me, and said to Himself, “I have to have her!” I was brought into being by His great love and am sustained through that same love, created to know, love, and serve Him, and to share in His divine life. That, my sisters, makes me flat-out gorgeous. I invite you to sit with the stars, the ocean, or some other natural manifestation of God’s beauty and allow the Lord to speak to you of your creation. Then give thanks that you, beautiful you, exist for all eternity.

“I am the vine, you are the branches, says the Lord: whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit.” // John 15:5 I hung up the phone call in disbelief. Did I understand this correctly? Someone I loved was in desperate need of help. My mind was trying to process the details of the situation because they didn’t make sense. All I knew was that I had to get into the car and go immediately. As I drove, I cried out to God. I was angry and hurt. Our family had already been dealing with a lot, and I didn’t know how much more we could take. I wondered why all our prayers and pleading with God for deliverance from this cross had not been answered. Instead, it just got worse.  In the days that followed, I desperately tried to trust in God when everything looked bleak. The phrase “God is good—all the time” kept going through my head and, frankly, it annoyed me. It’s a quaint proclamation when all is well, but in the thick of suffering, it’s harder to believe.  In today’s Gospel Acclamation, we hear, “I am the vine, you are the branches, says the Lord: whoever remains in me and I in him will bear much fruit” (John 15:5). During this trial God challenged me to remain in Him and cling to His strength. As the weeks passed, I saw glimmers of hope and difficult circumstances actually paved the way to small positive outcomes. The cross is still heavy, but God steps in and provides relief when we need it.  Is there a cross you are dealing with right now? What can you do to help you lean on God more? Perhaps you could kneel before Him in the Blessed Sacrament, receive the grace of the Sacrament of Reconciliation, or just cry and pour your heart out to Him. Or maybe your crosses are lighter, and God is asking you to help bear someone else’s cross.  Come, Holy Spirit, breathe your life in me. Draw me closer to You so I can live through these difficult situations in my life with courage, trust, and peace. May this suffering bear fruit and give glory to God. Amen.

And one of them, realizing he had been healed, returned, glorifying God in a loud voice; and he fell at the feet of Jesus and thanked him. // Luke 17:15-16  “All right, everyone, let’s hear it. What are you thankful for?”   It was a surprising question, considering we had gotten out of the habit years ago—even more surprising given who was doing the asking.   Ever since I could remember, my parents never concluded a Thanksgiving meal without encouraging all who were gathered to share one thing they were grateful for in the past year. If I'm honest, this recurring holiday ritual was likely to incite a ripple of groans around the dinner table before we each gave in and gave thanks for the things that mattered most. Our blessings shared were typically the same: good health, family, the food on our plates, and the perfectly browned crust of the pumpkin pie (Uncle Buddy’s favorite). But every so often, someone would get creative, like the year my sister used the occasion to reveal she was pregnant with her second child. There was no topping that one! For some reason, be it the shift in family dynamics or the stress of my dad's worsening health conditions, we started to grow lax with this long-standing tradition. But now, here was my father casually asking the familiar question over a bowl of cranberry sauce. And when it was his turn to give a response, he simply said, “I’m just thankful to be here.”  Like the grateful leper in today’s Gospel (see Luke 17:11-19), my dad was, by all outward appearances, the least likely to verbalize that statement. Despite all that his physical and mental impairments had taken from him, he recognized the need to be thankful even when nothing is received. And so he “[glorified] God in a loud voice” (Luke 17:15) for the gift of his life. Sister, our very existence is a gift flowing from the generosity of God. When the crosses are burdensome and blessings seem scarce, let this truth sink deep into your soul as you fall at the feet of Jesus and pour out your gratefulness, praising Him with your heart and your life. Have you thanked the Lord today?

Chastised a little, they shall be greatly blessed, because God tried them and found them worthy of himself. As gold in the furnace, he proved them, and as sacrificial offerings he took them to himself. // Wisdom 3:5-6 Suffering. It is intense, painful, messy, and difficult. I hate feeling stuck when I cannot understand God’s will, see the next steps clearly, or hear His voice in prayer. It can be so frustrating. There is a petition that I often ask for in prayer that has been incredibly fruitful in seasons of suffering: Father, please help me to see this as you see this. This is what the Father sees: He sees me, His beloved daughter. He knows me intimately—my strengths, weaknesses, joys, sorrows, wounds, and scars. He uniquely loves me in a way that my heart can understand and receive. He understands every last detail about the situation I am in. He finds me worthy. He sees how He will provide, in generous abundance. He knows my longing to spend eternity with Him in our heavenly home.     Our loving Father also helps us to turn back to Him through a little chastisement. Our harsh, modern understanding of chastisement loses the Latin etymology of castus agere—“to make pure.” The purification of our hearts that comes from redemptive suffering leads us to deeper union with Him. It also strengthens our trustful surrender. Sister, the Father gives gentle reminders to turn to Him, especially in the midst of suffering. As the Psalmist reminds us today, “The LORD is close to the brokenhearted; and those who are crushed in spirit he saves” (Psalm 34:19). Next time you are in the midst of suffering, pray for Him to show you His view. Let your suffering lead you deeper into the safety of the Trinity’s love.

And the Apostles said to the Lord, "Increase our faith." //  Luke 17:5 The hardest and most beautiful week I have ever had was on a mission trip to Haiti in 2017. I felt so inadequate and discouraged because it felt like everything I was doing there would never be enough. Even so, I knew the Lord’s graces were present. We spent the week with the Missionaries of Charity running a summer camp for all the children they served in their school. So many of the people I met showed me the simplicity of life and the joy that comes from gratitude. But the one person I still think about to this day because of what she taught me is one of the sisters from the Missionaries of Charity.   Realizing what had been on my heart all week, I timidly asked her, “Do you ever feel like you’re not doing enough? Or what you’re doing could never be enough?”   Sister Paske’s response floored me. With gentleness and confidence she replied, “I’m not doing enough. But I give them the little bit I can and everything God desires to give them through me. Then I ask God for more. We must not be afraid to ask Him for everything we need, over and over.” Ask God for more.  Ask God for more hope, more patience, more joy, more faith.  In today’s Gospel (see Luke 17:1-6), the apostles recognize that they need to have a greater reliance and trust in God so that they can do the hard things God asks them to do. “Increase our faith.” They see that what the Lord is asking of them is not going to be easy. They acknowledge that they need Him. The apostles knew that the Lord could give them everything they needed.  This is the untapped power of faith.  It can be so hard to ask for more from Someone who has already given everything. But He never tires of giving us what we need (and then some), over and over again. Find comfort in the arms of the Father who gives without cost.

Resplendent and unfading is wisdom, and she is readily perceived by those who love her, and found by those who seek her. She hastens to make herself known in anticipation of their desire; whoever watches for her at dawn shall not be disappointed, for he shall find her sitting by his gate. // Wisdom 6:12-14 It was another late night with a friend, and I found myself trying to speak peace and reassurance into the heart of a mother who was struggling to adjust to life with a fussier-than-usual newborn: “You are a good mom.” “God sees you and loves you.” “I know you can do hard things.” Over the years I have had conversations just like these, time and time again, both personally and professionally. They have taken place in cramped hospital rooms, during late-night breastfeeding sessions, and in kitchens with sinks filled with dirty dishes. Sometimes I take notice of how readily I can speak words of wisdom to the special people in my life—new moms, friends, coworkers—but fail to give the same care and attention to the crevices of my own heart. It’s almost as though the persistent, nagging thought running in the background of my mind is: “Karen’s heart need not apply.” What a lie from the evil one who seeks only to breed confusion and despair! God’s gift of wisdom is for all, sister, and today’s First Reading gives sound evidence of this: “She hastens to make herself known [ . . . ] and whoever waits for her at dawn shall not be disappointed, for he shall find her sitting by his gate” (Wisdom 6:13-14). Do we honor our own hearts with the same truths that we speak to others?  Dear Father, help us to be lovers and receivers of wisdom in every facet of our lives. May we know how deeply you desire to share your wisdom with us, and may we find it waiting today at the doors of our homes and at the doors of our hearts. Amen.

“No servant can serve two masters. He will either hate one and love the other, or be devoted to one and despise the other. You cannot serve God and mammon.” // Luke 16:13 “Ugh, I barely had any ‘views,’” I lamented to my husband one night a couple of years ago. He looked over at me with puzzled eyes and asked me what I was talking about. I had posted an Instagram reel that flopped. I was discouraged and annoyed. My husband is not active on social media and he just didn’t understand.  Get with the times, dude.  But there was something to his social media ignorance. It took me a while to understand it fully, but I was addicted to social media. I was constantly checking Instagram and Twitter. I needed that dopamine hit from seeing likes and views. I craved the validation that came from social media.  And it was making me uncharitable. Yes, I wanted to feel liked and seen, but I was also spending time judging others. I’d see someone’s take on Twitter and feel pity, rage, judgment, or disdain. I was becoming someone I did not recognize. But my husband’s nonchalance about “views” and “likes” opened my eyes. Did it really matter? Nope. And even more so, I was trying to serve the wrong master. So I had to spend time away from social media and reevaluate my relationship with it. In reality, social media is neutral but how I used it was turning my heart away from loving others. After a year or so of sporadic use, I was able to pour myself into the relationships in my real life. Eventually, I was able to utilize social media again—not as my personal dopamine hit, but as a way to actually be social. I wanted connection and friendship, not just superficial “likes” for their own sake. Sometimes I catch myself aching for that validation. But I remember I cannot serve two masters.  Sister, what habits can you examine today? Whether it is social media, gaming, binging shows, online shopping, or gossip, make some time to see how these activities are serving your best interest by leading you to better love God. Where can you make space for meaningful connection in other relationships and evaluate what master you are serving?

“And the master commended that dishonest steward for acting prudently.” // Luke 16:8  I knew all too well what this feeling was of being stiff and frozen in fear. The Lord had just revealed to me a part of my heart that I had overlooked in the last few months. He showed me how I had fallen yet again into that unhelpful habit of murmuring and complaining about even the smallest things. This was an old struggle, yet not something I had struggled with for a while. And now it was clear as day that the last several months I had murmured more under my breath than I had in the previous year.  It was frustrating. There was not much I could do to fix it and go back. And to be honest, I was so embarrassed—with myself, with the Lord, and to those to whom I was complaining. So in this moment of revelation, my heart froze and I did not know how to rid myself of this bad root in my heart, which was bearing a particularly bitter fruit. In many ways my own sin deeply humbled me like the steward in today’s Gospel (see Luke 16:1-8) and gave me a choice of further pouting or acting prudently. How I responded to this realization of my sin mattered more for my present choices than that I had sinned. And in that moment the Lord granted me much undeserved mercy to go forward in the way of blamelessness, thanking Him for allowing me to fall in order to help me further in humility.  Sister, I know all too well what it is like to sit frozen in fear and embarrassment when I have failed to uphold my call to sanctity. But I also know the freedom that comes from not letting fear hold me back from asking for God’s mercy and continuing to strive for virtue and holiness. May we have the grace today to be sincere and honest in our stewardship of our lives. And may we have the courage to humbly ask the Lord for help to continue towards virtue and holiness when we have been dishonest and imprudent in the stewardship to which He has entrusted us.

The waters of the river gladden the city of God, the holy dwelling of the Most High. // Psalm 46:5 When it rained you could smell the moss from the nearby río (Spanish for “river”), the toads croaking, and the fresh wood that had just been cut, along with the odor of horse poop. It was the mixture of smells that awakened my senses as a child to another dimension. The pitter-patter of the rain falling into the río was my favorite sound. I became mesmerized by it. Where was the water going down the río? What adventures did the water have to tell?  My mom’s hometown of Magdalena, Sonora Mexico, was a welcome change of pace for this inner-city girl.  I didn’t have this kind of access to the sights and sounds nature had to offer in Las Vegas, Nevada, so when we visited family in Mexico it made up for my neon-lights, concrete-jungle, twenty-four-hour city that never sleeps.  I felt like I was in a children's book because the río was the uninhibited playground my cousins and I would play in.  We would splash, skip rocks, and run in the río. The rocks under the water were not the softest landing place for little feet, but I didn’t care (crocs weren’t a thing yet). I was inside a page from a book and I was free.  The Psalm (see Psalm 46) for today reminds me of how Jesus used water in His teachings to demonstrate the goodness of God: “Let anyone who thirsts come to me and drink” (John 7:37), and “whoever drinks the water I shall give will never thirst; the water I shall give will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life” (John 4:14).  The río was more than just a natural stream of flowing water to me; it pointed toward God’s goodness. God doesn’t operate out of scarcity. He is a God of abundance, and that río witnessed that to me.  Sister, do you have a memory about a río, lake, or another body of water that has witnessed to you the goodness of God? Let’s offer up our praise for these gifts.

Blessed the man who is gracious and lends to those in need. // Psalm 112:5 I followed my dear friend into her living room, lit only by lamps and candles. My eyes beheld the spread of food she had prepared for our small prayer group: berries, cheeses, chocolate-covered nuts, and springtime mocktails. As I dragged a sugar snap pea through the roasted cauliflower hummus, I choked back tears.  “Would you like a blanket?” my friend asked, bringing me a cozy cover that consumed my body as it sank deeper into the couch. I exhaled. My Bible rested in my lap as our group shared life updates. I held it closer as we dove below the surface, my oxygen in a sea of my sisters’ sorrows.  Then, our friend prayed for us. She encouraged us, in Christ, to persevere in hope. Staggering under the weight of my own crosses, the entire night felt like a retreat.  My friend is always incredibly generous. She is the kind of woman who lives today’s Responsorial Psalm (see Psalm 112), not just on the days she’s feeling generous, but every day. Her own battle with cancer did not stop her from showering us with comfort and care that night. Through hospitality—but even more so through her witness—she loved her neighbor as herself (see Romans 13:9). Her generosity of spirit in the midst of her own suffering illustrated to me what Christ calls us to in today’s Gospel: “Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple” (Luke 14:25-33). She is a true disciple. Yes, my friend had long ago “counted the cost” of following Jesus wherever He leads. She found Him worthy. So her struggles, triumphs, and generosity are all borne from Him and for Him. The fruit her life bears? Love. His Love.  Friends, our crosses can consume us. But when we allow the Lord to love through us, our lives become a testimony to His generosity and provision.  Today, let’s allow Jesus, Whom we follow no matter the cost, to love others through us. How can you be generous toward someone today?

. . . 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 I awake from another night of troubled dreaming, my mind already churning as a litany of worries tumbles into my heart. I have been managing my anxiety so well lately, but it still finds ways to sneak up on me like this, prowling behind me while I brush my teeth, make my bed, stumble into the kitchen for a cup of tea, and wipe barely-repressed tears from the corners of my eyes. I slump wearily into a chair at the kitchen table and close my eyes, desperate for some peace. Lately my holy imagination has been taking me to the Lord’s lap in these moments of distress. I imagine Him smiling tenderly at me as I clamber up onto His knees and press my head against His chest, the way I used to do to my mom when I was a little girl. I imagine Him tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear before wrapping His arms tightly around me, kissing the top of my head, and whispering, “I’m right here.” I imagine the beat of my heart slowing to match His, and my soul quietens within me. We live in a noisy world, and it is hard to still our souls—especially when an onslaught of bad news from media outlets, fears for our loved ones, concerns about our health, and dozens of other stressors clamor for our attention each day. We all need a safe place to be held, to let go and be loved.  Sister, may I invite you to spend some time in the lap of the Lord today? An adoration chapel is the perfect place to practice this kind of childlike presence. Or if that is not possible, find a cozy place to curl up at home. Speak to Him in the stillness—tell Him everything—and let Him hold your head close to His Heart. Allow our Prince of Peace to give you rest.

Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How inscrutable are his judgments and how unsearchable his ways! For who has known the mind of the Lord or who has been his counselor? Or who has given him anything that he may be repaid?  // Romans 11:33-35 Once upon a time, I was left out. It’s simple enough, but as a little girl, it was a shock to my system. All of my friends were going to a party and I wasn’t invited. It was so confusing and it hurt. Eventually an invite came. I went and had fun. That initial jolt of rejection, however, stuck deep inside me.  Acknowledging the seemingly harmless circumstance didn’t change the truth of the wound. The feelings would surface every so often and I learned, as an adult, to rationalize them away. You are a grown woman, I would tell myself, who is greatly loved and richly blessed. Get over it! As time went by, however, I got tired of having to reason with myself each time I felt rejected. I needed healing.  I had known about the incident for years. It was not “repressed.” But I had never considered giving it to Jesus and asking Him to shine His love and light into that memory. I really just wanted to forget it, but in reality I needed more than positive self-talk. I exposed this wound to the Lord and He healed me deeply.  The beauty of abandonment to the Lord is that His mind and counsel are beyond our understanding. The depth and riches and wisdom of God, for me in this sad memory of rejection, took those sad feelings and turned them into something glorious. As I gave that sadness over to the Lord, He handed me back a memory of absolute delight. My friends were all going to a party. Look how happy they are!  And here was Jesus, standing beside me as we watched. There was so much love—the Father’s love for me—that instead of fear and rejection I was filled with excitement and love. It only makes sense in God’s inscrutable economy. God is so good. His ways are unsearchable! In a moment of grace we can turn our present, our future, and especially our wounded past over to Him——and He can take the broken and create something beautiful and new. 

With such affection for you, we were determined to share with you not only the gospel of God, but our very selves as well. // 1 Thessalonians 2:8 There I was, with my husband, in daily Mass at our new parish with a day-old baby. As we walked out, there was Father Philip waiting for us. “You didn’t call me,” he said. “I gave you my number. I would have come to the hospital to give you a blessing.”  He had given us his number. I know now that he would have been happy to come visit, even in the middle of the night. But it hadn’t for a second occurred to me to call him from the hospital. I could see, though, that he was surprised—and maybe even a bit hurt—that we had neglected to let him know personally of our baby’s birth, and hadn’t gotten a blessing for mother and baby as soon as possible. He couldn’t have been more pleasant and friendly about it all, but it was there. And in that one moment it all came washing over me, what it meant to call this man “father.” It wasn’t just another title. It was a relationship he took seriously. He was a spiritual father to me and to baby George and to every person in our parish.  We have a beautiful tapestry of Scripture in today’s Readings, highlighting the responsibilities of priests to their flock, and reminding the faithful of what a blessing it is to have good and holy priests among us. In the Gospel Reading, Jesus uses hyperbole to make a point (see Matthew 23:1-12). Many spiritual leaders in His time and ours claim to be teacher or father or master in order to profit from the honor and power that come with a title, without working to fulfill that role.*  But, of course, we aren’t forbidden to call our natural fathers “father” and nor are we to refrain from referring to our true spiritual fathers as such. Two years later, George was in the hospital again, with acute meningitis. Father Philip was the first person we called and he was there in minutes, as a father should be, to give us the Lord’s blessing.  Which good and holy spiritual fathers can we remember to thank today? *Priests and spiritual leaders failing to live up to their calling to be spiritual fathers is a real tragedy; let us pray for healing of those who have been harmed and for the conversion of all priests to live out the call to holiness.

“For everyone who exalts himself will be humbled, but the one who humbles himself will be exalted." // Luke 14:11 There are two types of people: the ones who want to get on a plane first and sit and wait and the ones who wait to board at the last possible chance. I like to board first. Get myself situated. Put my bag in the overhead bin and pull my Kindle out so I can start reading. But lately, I’ve challenged myself to board last. Well, Jesus challenged me.  It came to me in prayer, as most of His ideas do. Why do you rush to get on? Why not just wait a moment?  I could tell that Jesus was asking me to give up this little luxury, of boarding with Group 1, sitting down for a pre-boarding drink when I’d gotten a free upgrade, mindlessly scrolling my phone or stressing about short connections. There will be plenty of bin space, or you can check your bag. Just wait. For Me.  Jesus only ever asks us to stretch in such a way that He knows will be good for us. And I knew He was trying to teach me humility.  Humility bears fruit. It grows an awareness of God’s goodness within us. It helps us notice the goodness, or even the needs, of others. Humility ultimately exalts, not placing us in a position of power or to a better seat on the plane, but making us more like God Who pours Himself out in love. It helps us to see that God alone is worthy of praise.  Today’s Gospel (see Luke 14:1, 7-11) challenges us to not board first, or speak first, or brag first. It asks us to remain humble, quiet, and to be patient to jump in, so that we can see God’s goodness first and our goodness in light of His. Where is God asking you to be humble? What small (or big) sacrifice is He inviting you to make?  The Litany of Humility (a challenging prayer, so be careful) is a great place to start in embracing God’s call to humility. Pray it today, and embrace the exaltation of God as you yourself are humbled.

"Who among you, if your son or ox falls into a cistern, would not immediately pull him out on the sabbath day?" // Luke 14:6 My cousin walked into my aunt’s kitchen with a look of concern on his face, “There is a calf down in the stream bed—I think it is stuck in the mud.” It had been a snow-heavy winter in the upper midwest, and now with spring finally setting in, the water from the melting snow was pooling above the thawing ground. And this Easter afternoon, as my children had done their annual Easter ride in the truck with their cousin around the farm, they had spotted the calf. My uncle, the male cousins, and my husband all looked at each other. This was not how they had envisioned their Easter celebration, but even on Easter Sunday, the animals had to be cared for, and we folks visiting from the city were ready to help. When the men came back in, several hours later, they were caked with mud, tired, and hungry and ready to celebrate Christ’s Resurrection.  As we ate our Easter dinner, we talked about how the rescue of the calf was like the saying of Jesus to the Pharisees from today’s Gospel (see Luke 14:1-6) and not an unfitting activity when spiritually interpreted.  God saw us stuck in the mud of our sin and fallenness, took on the messiness of human life, and pulled us out, raising us to the level of His “sons”—or for us, His daughters. Further, His descent into hell happened on the Jewish sabbath, and He rose on Sunday, which is the new day of rest and our Christian sabbath. Sister, that is the point of this Gospel. Any day is the right day to be rescued by God, to receive His love, to accept your place as His daughter. I know this message seems so simple, and we have heard it again and again. But do we really know it in our hearts? Do we believe that we are worth being pulled out of the mess, worth being made daughters of God? Go back and read today’s Gospel, imagine yourself in the place of the man whom Jesus healed, and embrace this gift of daughter ship He has given you.

“And this is the will of the one who sent me, that I should not lose anything of what he gave me, but that I should raise it on the last day.” // John 6:39 What about my son? He hadn’t been to Mass for years. (He never got past the scandalous behavior of certain Church leaders.) He drowned in a river in Guatemala; no priest came to give him Last Rites. Yet, a few weeks before he died, he asked my forgiveness for hurts he’d caused and forgave me for hurting him. He regretted his faults, even his hypocrisy. He also lived a life of charity. From what little he had, he gave to the poor. He stood up for the weak and vulnerable. Was he numbered among the faithful? Those of us haunted by such questions find deep solace in the Church’s prayers on All Souls Day.  I’m consoled by Jesus’ teaching that it’s the Father’s will that my son is not lost and that Jesus raise him on the last day (see John 6:39). My son’s Baptism, each Holy Communion he made, and his Confirmation were real encounters with Christ. He most certainly belonged to Christ.  And yet, as much as I’d like to, I cannot glibly claim that he went straight to Heaven. While I remain on this side of eternity, I cannot know. I receive this mystery as an invitation to trust God more fully.  Will you trust with me? Let’s pray for all our beloved who’ve preceded us in death. Together let’s entrust them to God’s mercy and pray for their final purification in Purgatory and entrance into Heaven. And in a distinctly Catholic practice, let’s also ask for their prayers, that on the last day we may rejoice together in the final Resurrection.