My soul is thirsting for you, O Lord my God. O God, you are my God whom I seek; for you my flesh pines and my soul thirsts like the earth, parched, lifeless, and without water.  // Psalm 63:2 My friend shares a photo of the beautiful basilica she is visiting on Instagram, and, a couple of posts down, she shares about taking loaves of freshly baked bread to her local Sisters of Charity. My other friends share an evening of praise and worship at a Blessed Is She night. Another friend recently shared how she and her family were going to a family retreat house that has a Eucharistic chapel connected to it. I am grateful for these women who witness to me the fullness of the faith.  I can’t help but want to be where my friends are, partaking in those experiences. It offers hope to my spiritual deprivation. At the risk of sounding like a Disney princess, I want so much more for my community. I want to see the Fransican Friars of the Renewal walking along the Las Vegas Strip and in our downtown area. What a sight it would be if religious Sisters and Brothers were in greater abundance than the slot machines that take tourists’ money before they even sit down.  I want to see my newly named archdiocese through the same kaleidoscopic lens as I see other archdioceses and dioceses.  Maybe you're like me and you have been in the same city you were born in and change has felt slow. The desert can feel that way. It's hard to believe there is an oasis after journeying through so much parched land.   The longings we have are never in vain. We only have to look to the Old Testament to be reminded of the ways God hears the good, deep yearnings of our hearts.  Sister, is there an action you can take today to ignite the desire Jesus has placed in your heart as His disciple? As the lay faithful, let's empower each other to build up God’s Kingdom right here, right now.   My prayer is for all of us to align our wills with the Lord’s and to allow Him to use our longings for His greater glory. May our thirst be fulfilled with the drink He offers us.

Let love be sincere, hate what is evil, hold onto what is good;  love one another with mutual affection; anticipate one another in showing honor. // Romans 12:9-10 I pushed aside the heavy mirror with the chipped frame to reveal a large image lying behind it amidst the grime. The heaviest artwork was stacked on the floor, propped against the wall in the corner of the dusty, musty thrift store. I was in search of a perfect mirror and instead found an image that captivated me. It is the image of what I want my own life to reflect. In a blissfully intact brass frame was a beautiful image of The Visitation. The older Saint Elizabeth stands at the top of the steps with arms outreached in welcome to a young Mary, Mother of God. One can’t gaze upon this image without feeling the emotion shared between the two women, and we know the words they spoke at this greeting for they are repeated in the Hail Mary and the Magnificat (see Luke 1:42-55). They are words of love, hope, and joy. Each of us has the honor of being little tabernacles of the Lord. Like Mary, we too can carry Him within ourselves and share His love, hope, and joy with all those around us.  The picture now hangs in my living room. It isn’t the mirror I was searching for, but instead it reflects so much of what I seek. It is a visible reminder of the importance of hospitality and the opportunity we have with each encounter to share the love of God. Saint Paul’s letter to the Romans in the First Reading gives us a beautiful recipe for this interaction—love sincerely with mutual affection. In a world that is increasingly a place of loneliness for so many, our face-to-face interactions can be life-giving. Spend some time today praying for someone you know to be lonely. Reach out to them and let them know you care.

Beloved, I urge you as aliens and sojourners to keep away from worldly desires that wage war against the soul. // 1 Peter 2:11 For more than a decade, I called a lovely little mountain town in northern Arizona home. Or . . .  I tried to.  In those eleven years I moved no less than eight times. With every new place I hoped that this would finally be my last change of address—until of course it was time to move into my forever home with my forever husband. (A single girl can dream, right?) But it was always something. The rent would skyrocket, or my roommate got married, or my friends had another baby, or (maybe the most heartbreaking) the family decided to turn my beloved basement apartment into an Airbnb instead.  After years of moving but never staying, it began to feel like the city itself was rejecting me. All I wanted was to put down roots, to build a home and a life and someday, please God, a family. Why couldn’t I settle down?  With every cardboard box the discouragement grew heavier—until I met Abraham.  Abraham of Genesis, father in faith, who was called to leave his homeland and follow the One True God. Abraham, who lived in tents and did not even have a place in which to bury his wife because they were strangers in a foreign country. Abraham, who was “looking forward to the city with foundations, whose architect and maker is God” (Hebrews 11:10).  Abraham was an alien and sojourner—and so am I. And so, dear sister, are you.  This world is not our home. Though our houses can be wonderful warm resting places, our true home is Heaven, and Heaven is perfect unity with the Most Blessed Trinity.  Aliens and sojourners though we are, we have a home in the Catholic Church where Christ Himself dwells. And until we receive that Beatific Vision, we can see Him with the eyes of faith, humble and hidden in the Most Blessed Sacrament.  So if today you’re wondering where you belong, if you’ve been lonely or discouraged, make your way to the nearest Eucharistic Adoration chapel and there you will find rest for your weary, wandering heart.  There you will find home.

Since you have purified yourselves by obedience to the truth for sincere brotherly love, love one another intensely from a pure heart. // 1 Peter 1:22  It’s amazing what a drive with the windows down to the music of Taylor Swift can do for a student’s conversion. That was the case that particular night when we drove one of our students around town. “I have never had so much fun!” she told us.  Recently these small moments have been sitting more deeply in my heart. Perhaps because I’ve been so moved by the need for true authentic friendship.  While I’ve seen conferences, Bible studies, or intense conversations through which Jesus loves our students, I have also seen Him do so through a car ride down I-65 South while belting out a break-up song. Or through 1 a.m. conversations about boys and giggling about our friends’ crushes. Or through canceling Bible study and running to the grocery store to get ice cream because it was just that kind of day. All simple moments that may pass us by, but simple moments of pure and absolute sisterly love.  As I sit in a season where I’m tempted to despair on how to love those around me, He reminds me that those who loved me best in hard seasons did so in the most human ways. Whether by a friend sending me a children’s book in the mail or a simple invitation to the grocery store, Jesus has encountered me in that sincere brotherly love from today’s First Reading (see 1 Peter 1:18-25). This love He is inviting us into is often so simple, so human, so mundane that we can miss His invitation to love radically in this way.  Sister, how has the Lord loved you through simple and pure sisterly love? Ask the Lord for just one way in which you can love a friend today. Either by having a mini dance party or calling a night in to watch Pride and Prejudice, ask Jesus to show you how He wants to love those around you through your own particular, unique, and unrepeatable love. You never know what miracles can come from a simple and pure gesture of love. 

As he who called you is holy, be holy yourselves in every aspect of your conduct, for it is written, Be holy because I am holy. // 1 Peter 1:16 I was an 8th grader in 1994, and, at least in my school, white canvas Keds were The Shoe all the girls wanted. My best friend had a pair, making my desire for these Keds more intense. It seemed like a dream to own a pair of those (impractical, impossible to keep clean) shoes.  Thirty years later, I can’t say I’ve changed much; there’s still a part of me that wants to have the “cool kid” shoes. I don’t usually buy new, trendy shoes, but there are other ways in which I do imitate others: whether I’m adopting meal prep habits, reading a recommended book, or joining a fitness or business challenge, you name it, I’ve probably tried it.  Yet no matter how many good tips and habits I imitate, I’m not content; I keep looking for more tips and tricks, ways to improve my life. No amount of “1% better” habits will make me who God made me to be. It’s not that the women I admire don’t do very good things (they do!), but Saint Peter’s direction in today’s first reading is far simpler—and greater. The call is to be holy, as Jesus is holy (see 1 Peter 1:16). Saint John of the Cross echoes Saint Peter: “First, let us have a habitual desire to imitate Christ in everything that we do” (Ascent of Mount Carmel I, 13:3).  Sister, if this seems too difficult or unrealistic—after all, who can be like Jesus?—remember how Jesus taught us to pray in the Our Father. I think Jesus gives us the key to holiness with His own words: “Thy will be done.” In all things, we can be like Jesus simply by desiring to do God’s will.  In my relationships, Lord, Thy will be done. While I work, Thy will be done. As I run my errands, Thy will be done. In my seeking You, Thy will be done. Jesus, make me holy. It is only by Your grace that I can be who the Father made me to be, holy just as You are holy. Amen.

Jesus, looking at him, loved him . . . // Mark 10:21 It was 2:30 p.m. My toddler was hysterical, having woken up early from his nap courtesy of his little sister who’d boycotted hers all together. What should have been a few moments of respite from the demands of staying home with young kiddos was unraveling into chaos, as was my patience.  My refusal to give in to the three-year-old’s demand for cookies just added fuel to the fire and I feared there would be no relief until bedtime.  More demands for cookies. More tears. More screams, now from both kids. Less patience—from all of us. As much as I wanted to give in to the request for the dessert, I held firm. I was able to recognize the behavior was coming from a place of sheer exhaustion and snack-time hunger, but I also knew (from experience) that giving in wouldn’t solve the problem and the cookie wouldn’t satiate him for long. He would have one after dinner as was discussed earlier and would (hopefully) learn a little patience right alongside his overwhelmed mama. In today’s Gospel we read that in response to the rich man’s inquiry of what he needed to inherit eternal life, “Jesus, looking at him, loved him,” and told him he must sell his possessions and give to the poor (see Mark 10:17-27). Christ loved this man by instructing him on what he needed to do, even if it wasn’t what he wanted to hear. And when the man went away sad, Jesus didn’t change His mind or make an exception to avoid the discomfort or placate him.  It’s only now, as a mother, that I am coming to understand how hard that must have been, to see one you love so immensely walk away from that love, unable to recognize that what you’ve asked of him may be hard, but it’s not impossible. Sister, what is something God is asking of you that feels impossible? Bring that fear to Him, asking questions like the disciples, and trust that He will answer with the assurance that, indeed, “All things are possible for God” (Mark 10:27).

When they saw him, they worshiped, but they doubted. // Matthew 28:17 After a long day at a retreat center with deacon candidates and wives, we gather for Eucharistic Adoration, and I’m painfully aware of my own doubts and discomfort. We sing a traditional hymn the Church provides for a Holy Hour. The lyrics were penned by Saint Thomas Aquinas in the thirteenth century. We sing in Latin, which I don’t fully understand—making it difficult to grasp the meaning.    A few more prayers, then all is silent until an annoying fly buzzes around my head. I choose to turn my thoughts back to Jesus. Does it matter to You that I’m hot and irritable and unable to focus? Why don’t I sense Your presence? I squirm in the uncomfortable chair.Silence . . .  Nothing . . . The fly returns. Ugh!!!  Just as Jesus was fully aware of the disciples’ doubts when He sent them to preach the Gospel before His Ascension, He knows my doubts when He sends my husband and me to lead a marriage retreat.   After almost an hour, it’s time for Benediction and the Divine Praises. It seems almost miraculous that reciting the words of this ancient prayer renews my love and fills me with the peace and joy I was sent to share. God has a work for you to do today, dear sister. I hope you will pray with me the Divine Praises and allow the Holy Trinity—on this Solemnity celebrating our one God as three Persons—to dispel any lingering doubts: Blessed be God.  Blessed be His Holy Name.  Blessed be Jesus Christ, true God and true Man.  Blessed be the Name of Jesus. Blessed be His Most Sacred Heart. Blessed be His Most Precious Blood. Blessed be Jesus in the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar. Blessed be the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete. Blessed be the great Mother of God, Mary most Holy. Blessed be her Holy and Immaculate Conception. Blessed be her Glorious Assumption. Blessed be the name of Mary, Virgin and Mother. Blessed be Saint Joseph, her most chaste spouse. Blessed be God in His Angels and in His Saints. Amen.

“Let the children come to me; do not prevent them, for the Kingdom of God belongs to such as these. Amen, I say to you, whoever does not accept the Kingdom of God like a child will not enter it.” // Mark 10:14-15 I take a moment to sit down and observe the children bustling around our Montessori classroom. James* takes notes on his paper, computing the math figures for the multiplication work. Angela is coloring an illustration of a story she wrote. She sings, “Jesus . . .  Jesus . . .  Jeeeesus,” in a sweet sing-songy voice as she works. Margaret and Anna sit across from each other at the snack table. An occasional spray and half-chewed apple piece drop to the table as they try to both eat and share stories.  My assistant has wiped both tears and a spilled bucket of water this morning. She helps Paul choose something new, showing him how to carefully take a bead and slowly string it on the shoelace. I notice the work mats have been heaped on top of the basket and the library books abandoned on the floor. The math corner will have to be re-organized this afternoon. I pause and look into the Atrium, our room for Catechesis of the Good Shepherd, and see the catechist light a candle for a small group of boys around the prayer table reading a Scripture card. Our life together here is not perfect, but it is beautiful. “Whoever does not accept the Kingdom of God like a child will not enter it” (Mark 10:15). Am I welcoming the Kingdom in my own life like a child? Do I welcome the Kingdom in my work, in my tears, with my friends, in my need for help, in all I am learning, and even with a song to Jesus? Do I welcome the Kingdom with joy? That’s what I learn the most from the children—to live in joy. Despite the mess and occasional chaos and spills and emotions, there is love and learning here, but most of all joy. And it comes from our connection with Jesus.  Today will you let Jesus see the little girl inside of you? Will you let Him hug you and hold you and bless you? What might happen if you let your own heart come to Him? (*All names above are changed to protect privacy.)

But let your “Yes” mean “Yes” and your “No” mean “No,” that you may not incur condemnation. // James 5:12 I could feel the people-pleaser in me begin to bellow deep within. It was a slow groan at first, starting with a tightening of the chest before its quick release shot through my mouth.  “Yes,” I blurted out to her. “I will help you with your meeting.” Her face softened and her shoulders relaxed. It was a meeting to determine the fate of a program she wanted to start, and my presence seemed to satisfy a bit of her anxiety. The only problem was that this commitment simultaneously provoked a bit of my anxiety. Immediately after my yes, the mental gymnastics began. I glanced down at my calendar to see the two other yeses I had committed to on the day of the meeting. I began trimming—allocating some of my time here and some of my time there, and some of my time squished in between the two.  In the end, all of the yeses I had committed to became frail and devoid of the support I had promised. Each yes led to an unanticipated no—a no to my time, sanity, and full support.  People-pleasing is something I continually struggle with, and if I am not careful, the yeses begin to build up until I am left fragmented and frazzled.  Today’s first reading is a beautiful reminder of how we are called to live with one another: “But let your ‘Yes’ mean ‘Yes’ and your ‘No’ mean ‘No’” (James 5:12).  I wonder, dear sister, if you struggle with the same thing, if your need to please regularly inhibits the commitments you’ve made in your life. If so, I invite you back to today’s First Reading; walk through your commitments with the Lord, asking Him to show you where your yeses and nos should be.  More often than not, a firm no can be so much better than a watered-down yes. May the people-pleaser in us all take refuge in that truth.

"If your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. It is better for you to enter into life maimed than with two hands to go into Gehenna, into the unquenchable fire." // Mark 9:43 Today’s Gospel (see Mark 9:41-50), when read honestly and carefully, can lead us to deeply consider the way we live. It can help us examine our consciences in the following way:   Do I treat my fellow Christians with dignity simply because they share faith in the same Christ our Redeemer, or do I tend to believe the worst of their intentions? Do I cast them aside because they hold opinions about the Church or world that I do not?  Have I caused a little one to stumble? Have I not protected the innocence of my children? Have I scandalized someone who does not know Christ by my failure to follow His precepts in public, online, or through how I treated someone else?  Have I allowed sinful parts of my life to continue because I’ve been unwilling to cut them off? Have I let bad habits of committing small sins go unchecked and unconfessed? Have I not plucked out how I think and treat other people because I simply accept it as part of myself and my personality? What do I refuse to let go of? What do I grasp on to more tightly than my faith? Do I choose to walk along a path away from God simply because I wouldn’t want to challenge my own sense of self? Is my idea of my own individuality causing me to refuse to be conformed to Christ by clinging to sin? Where in my life do I purposefully walk farther from the ways of God?  Have I allowed myself to be stripped of my flavor as a daughter of God the Father by simply blending into the crowd around me? Have I refused to step outside my comfortable circle of friends, to get to know and engage with people outside my faith and act like salt to an unbelieving world?  Christ’s words today are speaking directly to my heart and to yours. Christ offers us forgiveness and love, but we have to choose to follow Him, and that requires changing how we live. Let’s make a commitment to begin our conversion anew today.

“You have no idea what your life will be like tomorrow. You are a puff of smoke that appears briefly and then disappears.” // James 4:14 I felt the familiar vibration of a text notification in my pocket. A message from my sister with a prayer request: a friend of her friend had been tragically killed in a car accident, along with her husband. The Catholic couple left behind their six young children. My stomach dropped and my heart broke as I began to try to wrap my mind around the devastation of such a loss. Lord, have mercy. Just the day before I had finished re-reading Thornton Wilder’s Pulitzer Prize-winning play, Our Town. One line has stayed with me all these many years since I first read it as a high schooler. In the third act the character Emily, now deceased, looks back at a day from her life and asks from her grave, “Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it?—every, every minute?” (source). Do we, sister? Do we realize what a gift we have in every blessed moment the Lord bestows upon us? More often than I care to admit, I find myself mindlessly scrolling social media, lost in thought on some worldly anxiety, or simply going through the motions of my daily routine. I am distracted from the details of my life, failing to really live in the present. Open my eyes to Your presence, Lord.  I want to grin at my daughter’s sticky face as popsicle juice drips down her chin. I want to inhale the sweet scent of my beloved roses every single time I pass them in bloom. I want to notice the grays appearing in my husband’s hair as we grow older together. I want to live fully alive! I want to live well, that one day I might spend eternity with You.  Father, creator of every good gift, thank You for this moment. Help me to recognize the beauty and wonder You delight in giving me. Holy Spirit, inspire in me a deeper desire to seek Your will for my one precious life—every, every minute of it. Amen.

“Beloved: Where do the wars and where do the conflicts among you come from? Is it not from your passions that make war within your members?” // James 4:1 I knew what I had to do; I just didn’t want to do it. A hard conversation with a dear friend was looming and it felt like a monstrosity of a task at the time. It was as if a war raged within me—I knew what I ought to do, it was just easier not to. I knew what I had to do; I just didn’t want to do it. I’d committed to a weekly obligation that I was now frustrated with myself for making. Six more months of this!? I thought to myself. It was my commitment to keep against my desire to bail. I knew what I had to do; I just didn’t want to do it. It was that time within my day that I’d blocked off for a workout. No part of me wanted anything to do with it. No one would know. It was my word to myself against my deep desire to do something else. I knew what I had to do; I just didn’t want to do it. Our five-year-old wanted another glass of milk, but I had just finally sat down for the first time that day. I grumbled as I got up again—forgetting the fact that I was living in an answered prayer. We are human, and some days are better than others—Jesus understands. Yet how often is it that I allow my passions, my personal wants, and my pursuits to overtake what I know He needs me to do today? And how often do I show up with fists clenched, dragging my feet, rather than with hands wide open at a pace that He alone has set for me? Jesus, teach me today to receive Your abundant love, so that I may empty myself in the ways You call me to. May I not fear the emptiness. Help me to recognize each duty and responsibility I have as placed in my hands purposefully by You. Guide me today to appreciate each gift a bit more—that I may fight the wars within knowing You're here by my side.

“[S]he gave me fruit from the tree, and so I ate it.” // Genesis 3:12 I took a deep breath and bit my lip a little bit, enough to distract my mind somewhat from the excruciating pain of learning to breastfeed my son, who was also learning to latch. We were both not happy, but we kept at it, every couple of hours trying the process once again while holding a pillow over my C-section scar. As a mother, I was entrusted with the task of nourishing him, and I would have done it in any way necessary.  This task of nourishment, though, is perhaps naturally bound up in my being a woman. As we hear in today’s First Reading, Eve gave Adam fruit to eat—forbidden, sadly, yes. But she fed him. Eve is the precursor to our Mother Mary, who as a woman and mother also nourished. She gave Jesus food to eat. She prepared meals for her loved ones. But more than all of this, Mary fed the disciples—past and present—from the fruit of the Tree of Life, that is, Christ Himself on the Cross.  I invite you to take a moment to pray with an image from a scene* in the movie The Passion of the Christ by Mel Gibson. Place yourself in prayer with Mary, holding the lifeless body of her holy Son. She does not clench her hands or keep them closed in anger. Instead, she embraces His shoulder with one and lays the other open on His chest while gazing out to each of us as if to say, “Come, take the fruit. Taste and see the goodness of the Lord.” As blood and water flowed from the side of Christ for the whole world, Mother Mary was there not only as a witness but as a mother, a woman, entrusted to go forth and nourish all of the living. She was the new Eve.  May we let Adam’s words be redeemed in us as we say of Mary, “she gave me fruit from the tree, and so I ate it.” She gives us Christ. Let Mary, Mother of the Church, nourish us. *If you are familiar with the movie, you will know that Jesus’ body is very graphically bloody. Please only watch the scene if you are able.

And suddenly there came from the sky a noise like a strong driving wind, and it filled the entire house in which they were. // Acts 2:2 (From the Readings for Pentecost Sunday - Mass During the Day) Sometimes I like to imagine my soul as an estate home, or as Saint Teresa of Ávila called it, a mansion. If you have ever watched Downton Abbey or read a novel like Rebecca or Jane Eyre, then you’ll be able to visualize a house with many levels, rooms, or corridors.  Our hearts are like this, are they not? Expansive, textured, weathered, detailed. There are rooms in which we invite guests, rooms in which we rest, and rooms we would rather neglect. There are hallways that lead to splendid dining rooms and hallways that lead to underground cellars of protection. We show off the sparkle of some rooms while others gather dust.  On this glorious feast of Pentecost, the Holy Spirit invites us to open all the doors and windows in the houses of our hearts.  During that first Pentecost, Scripture says that the Holy Spirit’s presence “filled the entire house in which they were” (Acts 2:2). The entire house. Today, He wants to fill the entire house of your heart, too. How do we let Him do this? The Gospel for today’s Mass During the Day (see John 20:19-23) provides the answer: “And when he had said this, he breathed on them and said to them, ‘Receive the Holy Spirit’” (John 20:22). Jesus is the One Who breathes the Holy Spirit into our hearts. For His breath to reach us, we must be close to Him.  We like to keep the Lord at arm’s length, letting Him see only the rooms that are “suitable.” But His desire is to fill our entire house, and that means letting Him be close enough to behold every corridor. What rooms are you withholding from the Holy Spirit? Draw close to Jesus today. Invite Him into the interior of your house. Ask Him to breathe on you. Open the windows and let the “strong driving wind” touch every corner!

"What if I want him to remain until I come? What concern is it of yours? You follow me." // John 21:22 The weather had been sweltering for days. I was sweating, holding my one-year-old son as he squirmed and squawked. Putting him down was not an option—he was a runner. But this big, old church didn’t have air conditioning and I was panic-level hot. I had long since given up trying to pray during this Mass. This was a survival mission. And then I looked up and saw her: a beautiful young woman in a barely-there dress. The judgment bubbled over before I had a chance to squash it: Who would wear a dress like that in public in the daytime, much less to Mass? I felt every uncomfortably squishy and overheated part of my own motherly body.  It is important to dress appropriately for Mass, but it is not everything. So many times we jump to judge before we have the full story. Who knows what hurdles each soul in the church had to clear in order to be there?  In today’s Gospel (see John 21:20-25), Saint Peter has just been forgiven by Jesus for denying Him three times the night before the crucifixion. He turns and sees the disciple “whom Jesus loved,” that is, Saint John the Evangelist. Jesus tells Peter to keep his eyes on his own work, and then He gently reminds Peter to follow Him, leaving everyone else to Him. We are only in control of our own actions, our own faithfulness. What if instead of judging someone based on their appearance or behavior, we committed to loving radically, welcoming all who approach the altar with open arms and hearts? What if we treated each brother and sister in the way we want to be treated on our worst, most humiliating day? What if we just kept our eyes on Jesus and our arms open to each other? What a beautiful Church that would be.

Do you love me more than these? // John 21:15 I flopped onto the couch after another day where the minutes melted into hours. I was spent. But I was at peace and happy.  I sat amazed at how love mixes with gratitude. The day was my long “thank you” to Mom who sacrificed for us in millions of ways through the years. I had arrived months prior and immediately stepped into an altogether new rhythm. I shuttled Mom to church, doctors, specialists, and physical therapists. And I spent spare moments Googling words from these appointments and researching best practices to help her recover and to support her as she grieved the sudden loss of her husband, our father. Many things faded into the background as she and I built her days of recovery around Mass and prayers. Useless things could not fit. At the end of those days, I often felt newly edified as I thought of my family and friends who had been making similar sacrifices for years to raise their families. I was more accustomed to different kinds of sacrifices of religious life, and I was amazed at how the Lord provided this opportunity for me to learn to serve in this way. And it was helpful that my mom is an easy patient! What enables us to make big adjustments in life? How do we learn that being other-centered is life-giving? What enables us to live through life’s refining fires mostly unperturbed and still be available for the next thing? Love. We hear those haunting words in the Gospel today: “Simon [Peter], do you love me more than these?” (John 21:15). Saint Peter grew in strength throughout his life and died heroically. Saint Paul stands seemingly unperturbed before his fearsome interrogators in the First Reading today (see Acts 25:13-21). He, too, died a martyr.  How can we face down our fears? Love.  The love we know through, with, and in Jesus is not the love the world prescribes: self-focused and self-congratulatory. Our love is turned outward, available to receive all the strength we need from God Who enables us to do all things in Christ.

“I pray not only for these, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me.” // John 17:20-22 This past winter, I was listening to a podcast where one of the hosts suggested that we should be more interested in Jesus’ Heart, over being interested in His hands. To love His Heart and the ways that He loves us, instead of just loving what He can do for us. Feeling convicted, I took this to prayer the following day. As I began to reflect on different attributes of His Heart, I asked Him: How can I love You today? He tenderly responded: You can love Me by allowing me to love you. Friend, I want to gently encourage you to allow Him to love you. Including all the places where you don’t love yourself, the places you’re ashamed and afraid of, the areas of darkness and isolation. Jesus is not ashamed and He’s not afraid to enter into our areas of darkness—He has already descended into the darkness of death for us. He wants to love us in those places, not condemn, and bring His Resurrection to them.  In today’s Gospel we hear Jesus say, “I pray not only for these, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, so that they may all be one, as you, Father, are in me and I in you, that they also may be in us, that the world may believe that you sent me” (John 17:20-23).  Our hearts are like little tabernacles. Jesus dwells within your heart with the Father and the Holy Spirit. He is within you, available to you at all times. We can allow Jesus to tear down the walls or caution tape we’ve placed around our hearts, and allow them to be reconstructed and healed by His tender love and mercy. Jesus, we love You. You are within us; help us to remain in You. May You work through us, so that Your light and love may be known to others. Help us to receive Your love. Amen.