As you may have already noticed, my writing is pretty sporadic. I spend what time I can doing it, but there are a few other things I must put first.
At the end of June, I was diagnosed with an aggressive form of leukemia. If I were to leave it untreated, it gives me 6 months to live. But I am treating it; I’m in the hospital right now. In fact, chemotherapy begins this morning. The doctors are confident that I can beat this thing.
Their confidence is my prayer. God is the only One Who can beat it, and I hope and pray that is His will. If it is, then wonderful. If not, then, no matter what, His will is my will. As we all know, He put His son on the cross, but didn’t keep him there.
That sets the pattern for all of us. This cancer is my cross, and I will bear it, just like all of us do. Maybe not always gladly, and certainly not without help. Thanks to all who have, are, and will pray for me.
At least for the foreseeable future, I’ll publish what I can, when I can. Thanks for reading whatever you have read of mine, and may Almighty God bless you now and always.
Deacon Rick
Category: Catholic
-
To my readers
-
Designing the Perfect Mother
Memorial of the Immaculate Heart of Mary
Isaiah 61:9-11; Luke 2:41-51
Think for a moment: If you could design the perfect mother, what would she be like?
If you asked me, she’d be tender; a safe haven in the storms of life. Someone who comforts us when we’re hurt, consoles us in our suffering, who nurtures and teaches – not just with words, but by her quiet, steady presence. Maybe above all, she’d be someone who not just remembers us, but treasures us.
Isn’t that what every heart really longs for?
The Gospel today gives us just such a mother: Mary. Yes, she is the mother of Jesus, but remember – Jesus gave her to us from the Cross. Mary is our mother, too.
I think St. Luke understood that. While he doesn’t focus much on Mary (for good reason; the gospel is about Christ), twice he presents us with the lovely image of Mary doing something we all recognize: treasuring things in her heart.
What’s more, Luke allows his word choice to deepen the image. First, he says that when Mary looked back on the events of our Lord’s birth, she kept all these things, reflecting on them in her heart (Luke 2:19). Here, the word for kept means gathering things up carefully, like the pieces of a puzzle, and holding onto them even though they don’t fit together yet. Then today, when finding Jesus in the Temple, Luke says that Mary kept all these things in her heart (Luke 2:51). But here, his second word for kept means to treasure, to guard lovingly because it’s something you never want to lose.
That’s Mary. She takes every word, every gesture, every event in the mystery of her Son, and holds them in the quiet, contemplative shelter of her heart. Not because she understands it all, but because she loves him.
This, I think, goes right to the heart of Mary. When someone in a crowd once spoke of his mother being blessed, Jesus didn’t respond, blessed are those who understand; he said, blessed are those who hear the word of God and keep it (Luke 11:28). That’s what Mary does; she is her Son’s first and most perfect disciple. In her great love of God, Mary listens, gathers up, treasures, and obeys. Even though she doesn’t grasp it all, she remains faithful.
Let’s allow that to give us peace. How often in our own lives do we carry things we don’t understand? We have questions that go unanswered, suffering that seems senseless. We want clarity, we want answers. Instead, God offers us His presence.
Every time we wonder what to make of all this is a time to turn to the heart of Mary. Given to us by Christ, Mary is always near to comfort us, console us, and hold us close; a mother born of our heart’s deepest longing – to be remembered and treasured when we feel forgotten and useless. Above all, Mary remembers us to her Son and her Lord. No one brings us to Jesus more gently than Mary, and no one knows him better than she. So, when your heart is heavy, give it to her. If your path is unclear, ask her to walk it with you. And if you ever feel alone, remember that you don’t need to wish for a perfect mother. You already have one, and her heart is always open, always listening, and always holding you in love.
—
-
Let Your “Yes” Mean Yes
Saturday of the 10th Week in Ordinary Time
2 Corinthians 5:14-21; Psalm 103:1-4, 9-12; Matthew 5:33-37
Psychologists and those who study social media behavior have found that people tend to form groups and make friends with others who share their interests or beliefs. On platforms like Facebook or Instagram, these “echo chambers” reinforce shared views—people like and share what “fits,” and ignore what doesn’t.
Dig a little deeper, and something more emerges. When posting within these like-minded groups, people tend to tailor their words to what they think the group will approve of. That is, they don’t always say what they really believe—they say what they think will be popular.
Why? Because we all want to belong, we all want to be liked. Unfortunately, some people want it so badly they will sacrifice their honesty to get it.
But imagine Jesus with a social media account. Do you think for one second that he would trade honesty for popularity?
Of course not. He says so plainly in today’s Gospel: “Let your ‘Yes’ mean ‘Yes,’ and your ‘No’ mean ‘No.’ Anything more is from the Evil One” (Matthew 5:37).
Truth matters. Integrity matters. It’s not just about the words—it’s about being consistent, undivided, and unafraid.
It’s also about how those words are said, and to whom. In 2 Corinthians, St. Paul reminded us that we are a new creation, entrusted with the message of reconciliation. That doesn’t mean shouting or condemning, but being honest, courageous, and above all, merciful – in imitation of our Lord, who, as the psalmist said, is kind and merciful.
At the same time, neither kindness nor mercy mean compromise. The same God who is kind and merciful is also true. So are we called to be – clear, compassionate, and rooted in something much deeper than popularity.
God doesn’t need people trying to fit in. He needs ambassadors; people who live with integrity, speak truthfully, and reflect His mercy with courage and love. So let us resolve to do that, keeping in mind that, long after social media and all its groups, politics, and ephemera are gone, the only ‘like’ that will matter is the one that comes from Christ—on the post of our life.
—
-
Getting Out of Our Own Way
Thursday of the 10th Week in Ordinary Time
2 Corinthians 3:15–4:1, 3–6; Matthew 5:20–26The evidence of history shows pretty clearly that Alexander the Great was one of the most naturally gifted individuals of all time. Educated by Aristotle, a voracious reader, charismatic, politically astute, a brilliant general… the list goes on and on. By the age of 33, Alexander had conquered most of the known world. Yet, at that same age he died, likely of complications related to alcohol abuse. At least one historian has sadly noted that, in the end, this gifted young man was able to conquer everything except himself.
As Alexander so perfectly (and tragically) shows, it isn’t always the most gifted who go farthest in life. Often, success goes to the ones who subordinate their will; who, rather than “doing it their way,” allow coaches, mentors, and teachers to lead and guide them. Raw ability can take us far, but probably not as far as the willingness to be transformed – or to “get out of our own way.”
We see it in the spiritual life as well. St. Paul knew; he spoke of it when he described the “veil” that lies over the hearts of those who remain closed off from Christ. Though Paul was referring specifically to the children of Israel, his words are also meant for us. Is there a veil over our hearts? Perhaps pride – maybe I listen to Scripture or Church teaching with a selective ear, focusing on the parts I agree with and ignoring or minimizing others that don’t? Or fear; maybe I avoid speaking up when that would mean having to go against what my friends or neighbors think, and instead silently go along with the crowd.
Whatever it is, the more we persist in doing it our way, the more real transformation will elude us. That’s why Jesus speaks so strongly in the gospel of the righteousness that shows itself not merely in outward observance but in deep, heart-level change. What does that change look like? It looks like us when we swallow our pride and put aside anger, insult, division, and anything else we allow to divide us, and reconcile our differences. Only when we face our weaknesses and allow God to help us surrender ourselves to the work of the Holy Spirit will the veil over hearts be lifted.
Like all Christ’s teachings, that sounds wonderful – and it is – but it’s very difficult to achieve for a couple of reasons. First, it takes genuine humility to admit to ourselves and everyone else that we can’t go it alone; second, it takes letting go of our self-will and allowing Christ – who is already and perfectly the way – to lead us.
This is what the Christian life, most successfully lived, asks us to undertake, and it is the hardest battle of all: mastery over ourselves through surrender to God. Unlike Alexander, who conquered the world but not himself, the saints show us what true greatness looks like: a heart fully surrendered to Christ. That is the real conquest. That is the truest measure of success.
—
-
Each End a Beginning
Saturday of the 7th Week of Easter
Acts 28:16-20, 30-31; John 21:20-25
We often say about books that when a good story ends, it’s really the beginning of another. And that’s exactly what today’s readings show us.
We read in the Acts of the Apostles that Paul’s journey seems to just… end. There he is, in Rome, under house arrest. We might be anticipating a trial, passion, and death like Stephen, but all we get is the quiet, almost anti-climactic line: … he proclaimed the Kingdom of God and taught about the Lord Jesus Christ (Acts 28:31). That’s it. The curtain falls. No drama, no swan song.
But, of course, we know the story is far from over. The Gospel didn’t end there; indeed, this was just the beginning. The torch God lit on the road to Damascus and carried through storm and shipwreck was passed to the next generation – to Timothy, Titus, and a cast of unknown thousands. And from all of them to us.
Which brings up some questions: To whom are we passing it? And how well are we carrying the torch – or, as John might say, testifying to the light?
Speaking of John, we heard him end with this: There are also many other things that Jesus did, but if these were to be described individually, I do not think the whole world would contain the books that would be written (John 21:25).
Again, in one sense an ending, but in another, a beginning. It’s as if he is saying, “Christ’s life can never be captured in a book.” And his whole gospel is a way of saying that if we want to know how the story continues, we should look at your own lives and the lives we touch.
Today, as we prepare to celebrate the beginning of the Church’s mission to the world at Pentecost, Scripture reminds us that in God’s eyes, endings are never final. Rather, they are thresholds, invitations to new and equally exciting chapters – each replete with its own story, its own unfolding drama, and each focused on Christ.
We couldn’t ask for a better leading man! In Christ no ending is empty, with him every beginning is new, and through him the story of salvation knows no bounds. His story alone, what Bishop Barron has called the Great Story of Jesus, has for generations had the power to touch people profoundly and draw them in completely.
Again, that brings us back to the crucial question: How am I telling the story? If you’re anything like me, I think you’ll find that we tell the story of Jesus best when we live it with an open heart for all to see, as Paul and John did. So then, let us live it well, for a new chapter is beginning – one that leads to the greatest part of the story: eternal life in Christ, who is the Beginning and the End (Revelation 22:13).
—
-
The Swing of Things
Thursday of the 7th Week of Easter
Acts 22:30; 23:6-11; John 17:20-26
In mid-August of 1936 at the Berlin Olympic Games, the rowing crew from the United States, a team of 8 working-class boys, raced against the best teams from around the world – including the highly favored Nazi team – and took home the gold medal. But even beyond that, the American team at times experienced something rarer still, something very hard to achieve. It’s called, “swing.”
In rowing, the boat itself can work against its crew. If even one oarsman is slightly out of sync with the others, the boat pulls to one side and resists moving straight ahead. Only when the team work as one does that resistance ease – or, if their unison is perfect, vanish – in which case it feels as if the boat is gliding on its own. That’s swing, and every now and then, that team of American rowers felt it. Rowing in perfect unity, it would seem as if the boat was sailing through the water all on its own.
That’s the unity Christ wants to see in his Church, the spiritual unity where every member of the Body moves in time with the Holy Spirit. Of course, he didn’t pray and work for that so we could win medals, but that we might be brought to perfection as one (John 17:23).
Like swing, that’s hard to achieve. Why? Because pride is like the boat when the crew is out of sync – resisting, dragging, veering us off course. We’re all given gifts of the Spirit, and we want to use them to their fullest. The problem is that pride tempts us to use them in ways that glorify ourselves. Too often, that ends badly. That’s what we see with the Sanhedrin in this story from Acts. The issue really wasn’t that they were in conflict with each other; creative, spirit-filled people will disagree. No, the real issue was division. God had given them gifts more than sufficient to achieve unity – if their pride would allow them. Unfortunately, it didn’t. The result? A war of words, perpetual division, and no peace.
I think that’s why Holy Father Leo recently said something that strongly echoes a theme in our gospel: ‘Peace is possible when disagreements and the conflicts they entail are not set aside, but acknowledged, understood, and surmounted.’ Like a great rowing crew, each of whom has their own strengths, every person in the Church is gifted by God but also called by Him to subordinate our desire to dominate and use our gifts not for dominance but for the common good.
What the Sanhedrin failed to achieve is still possible for us – if we will it; if we, like that champion rowing team, choose to surrender to a shared rhythm, trust one another, and keep our eyes fixed on the same goal. Remember that Jesus prayed “that they may all be one.” That unity will come only when we surrender our pride, fear, and agenda, so that the Church may glide, not by her own strength, but by the grace of God.
—
-
Not a One-Person Project
Thursday of the 6th Week of Easter
Acts 18:1–8
Not long ago, I was vacationing in Amish country – a place I’ve come to love for its quiet beauty and deep sense of tradition. One morning, I heard about a barn-raising that had happened nearby. Storms and the wear of years had left a farmer’s barn in ruins. While he might’ve been able to rebuild it himself, something else happened.
His neighbors came. Dozens of them – men, women, and children. Working together, down came the old, and up went the new. In a few days, that man had a brand new, beautiful barn.
What struck me most about it wasn’t the end result, as nice as I’m sure it was, or the amount of lumber, tools, or labor it took. Rather, it was the love and solidarity that clearly went into it. This wasn’t a one-off kind of thing; the Amish do this for their neighbors all the time. That’s the kind of stuff that builds a lot more than a sturdy barn – it builds a sturdy and life-giving community.
As if that isn’t enough, it’s also a powerful reminder that some things are just too big to do alone.
We see something similar in our reading from the Acts of the Apostles. Paul, newly arrived in Corinth, was just one man, like that Amish farmer. But as we also saw, it didn’t take long for God to surround him with help.
First, there were Aquila and Priscilla, fellow tent-makers, who helped in two ways: They took Paul in and joined him in spreading the Word. Next came Silas and Timothy. The presence and help of those four allowed Paul to focus entirely on what he did best – preaching the Gospel. What happened? The Church in Corinth began to grow. In time, it became an important center for Christianity. And while his beautiful and influential letters to the Corinthians turn our minds to him, St. Paul would be the first to say that building the Church wasn’t a one-person project; it took the effort of many people.
The Gospel was never meant to be a one-person job, and neither is the Christian life. We are saved as a people, not as isolated individuals. When our Lord ascended into heaven, he didn’t say, “Good luck, Peter, you’re on your own!” No, he promised to send the Holy Spirit to guide them (note, them) into all truth.
What does this have to do with us? Well, maybe today the Lord is asking us a couple of questions:
- Have we been trying to carry our burdens alone?
- Are we trying to “raise a barn” – be it our faith, our families, our vocation – by ourselves?
- Are we asking for the Holy Spirit to give us the grace to work together to build a parish, a community, and the Church?
Remember the barn-raising. Remember Corinth. Above all, remember this: The Holy Spirit doesn’t just build us as individuals. He builds us together and helps us raise the most magnificent barn of all – the Church, the Mystical Body of Christ.
—
-
Together
Wednesday of the 5th Week of Easter
Acts 15:1-6; John 15:1-8
Talking once to a friend about the Church and his willingness to come into it, I remember him replying, “I don’t need a ‘Church.’ All I need is Jesus and a bible.”
On one level, I understand what he meant. He was looking for a personal relationship with Christ, and we all want that. However, on another level, and especially in light of today’s readings, I have to ask myself, “Is that really what Jesus had in mind?”
As I look at the bible, I don’t think so.
While he did call the Apostles individually, Jesus formed them as a group. They were taught together, rebuked together, and sent out together. This wasn’t just Jesus’ method — it reflected a deeper, communal vision embedded in their Jewish heritage. As Jews, God called them to be His people (Genesis 17:7-8). Even their religious leaders worked as a group.
So, in times of crisis, it shouldn’t be surprising that, as we see in Acts today, the Apostles didn’t go off alone to pray and decide individually. Rather, they met in Jerusalem. They listened. They discerned. They argued. But they did it together.
The same is true for us. Christ calls each of us individually, but he forms and guides us through his Mystical Body, the Church. The Holy Spirit comes to us individually, too, but as we see in the Apostles at Pentecost, He also works powerfully in and through the community.
Thus, being a Christian isn’t simply a matter of striking out on our own. We are called to marriage, vocation, and prayer, but each of these is nourished like branches within a community of faith, where Christ is the Vine. And as branches, we do not grow in isolation. Like the Apostles, we are meant to stay connected – to Christ and to one another. That’s how we bear fruit.
That’s also how we make big decisions. Since the Apostles, there have been hundreds of local councils and twenty-one ecumenical (world-wide) councils — including the Second Vatican Council in our own time. Molded by Christ, we never go it alone; we bring issues before the Body, before the Lord. We listen, discern, and even argue, but we do it together.
So, yes, a Bible and prayer life are essential. But they aren’t enough. Why? Because Christ didn’t leave us a bible. He left us the Church. And it’s in that Body, guided by the Holy Spirit, that we always have – and will always continue to – find truth, strength, and fruitfulness.
—
-
Finding a Way
Saturday of the 4th Week of Easter
Acts 13:44-52; John 14:7-14
I’ve noticed, as I’m sure you have, that rivers rarely travel in a straight line. Rather, they meander; curving, winding, splitting – anything to find a way forward. Water never fights the terrain, but flows patiently with it, shaping the land and nourishing everything in its path. One of the best examples is the Colorado river. It doesn’t blast its way to the sea, but winds through rock and desert, and in so doing, has gently carved one of the greatest natural wonders on Earth – the Grand Canyon.
The reading from Acts today shows how the Word of God does something very similar. Proclaiming the Gospel to the Jews, Paul and Barnabas face rejection. The crowd has turned, jealousy stirred, and the two are driven out. But does that stop them? No; as Luke says, the word of the Lord continued to spread through the whole region (Acts 13:49). In other words, the Word kept flowing, changing direction, moving toward those ready to receive it – in this case, the Gentiles.
And if we look through the lens of history, we see a similar result. Through this process of going out to the nations, preaching the Gospel, nourishing those who accept and working around those who reject, the Church established by Christ eventually became the single most influential institution in human history, shaping the landscape of history time and again.
That continues today. We might see places like Europe where the faith is now met with resistance or indifference and wonder if the Word has stopped flowing. There are signs of some rebirth in Europe, but if you want something more obvious, look at Africa! There, the Church is vibrant and growing. Vocations flourish. The Word has found fertile ground, just as it did with the Gentiles in Acts.
What is the lesson in this for us? I can think of three:
First, we are invited not to fight against the flow of the Word by trying to make it suit our plans, or by resisting the challenge to follow Christ more closely. When we work against it, we struggle — and sometimes get stuck. But when we do the hard thing and move with it, we prosper.
Second, let’s not be discouraged when others reject Christ or have a hard time accepting God into their lives, or when we ourselves struggle with spiritual dryness. Remember the Colorado river. Even in our own spiritual desert, God’s grace is still moving, always finding to reach where it wants to go. And look at the result. If water can carve something as wondrous as the Grand Canyon, imagine what the Holy Spirit can carve in our life!
Finally, remember in the Gospel what our Lord promised: whatever you ask in my name, I will do (John 14:14). Take him at his Word: Ask Christ to help you trust the flow, to keep open to it. Because when the Word of God moves through us, He doesn’t just pass by—He shapes us. Slowly, deeply, like the river shaping the canyon, He transforms everything.
—
-
Who’s Writing the Script?
Monday of the 4th Week of Easter
Acts 11:1–18, Psalm 42/43; John 10:1–10.
If you’ve ever seen the late Robin Williams in an interview or movie, you know how good he was at taking a simple “Yes” or “No” and exploding it into a five-minute burst of voices, stories, and laughter. For him, it was as if there was no script; he followed the spark, and suddenly there was life and possibilities that no one had seen before.
This is especially true in his role as the Genie in Aladdin. The writers didn’t bother to give Williams a script. Instead, they gave him the framework and allowed him to improvise. The result? Where about an hour of dialog might’ve been expected, he gave them sixteen! Overjoyed and inspired, the writers and animators built the movie around it. What might have seemed like chaos was pure creativity, full of life.
That’s exactly what today’s readings reveal about God.
In Acts, Peter has seemingly failed to “stick with the script” by going to Gentiles. But, in his role as shepherd, Peter allows God to write the script, and God is making it clear that the Holy Spirit will come down on Gentiles just like He did the Apostles. Wisely, Peter then speaks the line we all need to hear: “Who was I to hinder God?”
Behind Peter’s challenge is the voice of Christ in the Gospel, who refers to himself as “the gate.” That is all the framework we need; He is not a wall, checkpoint, or entrance for a select few. He is the way in for all, and all who enter through him receive not just life, but abundant life.
Thus, the readings remind us that God isn’t bound by our scripts. Rather, he is completely free; He pours mercy where we don’t expect it and calls people we might never choose. Like the wind that blows where it wills (John 3:8), the Holy Spirit moves in ways we don’t always understand, but always with purpose. And, just like with Robin Williams in Aladdin, when God starts moving, our best response is to listen and try our hardest to do His will. No matter how difficult, no matter how unexpected.
Of course, that’s challenging. Think of the three martyrs we remember today. The first two, Achilleus and Nereus, understood their role as soldiers very well. However, when they encountered Christ, it became clear to them that although Caesar had cast them in one role, God had chosen another. They listened, laid down their swords, and eventually, their lives. The third was just a boy, 14 years old. Called before the Roman authorities, young Pancras was pressured to deny Christ. At an age when most people expect the script to be a happy, full life, Pancras allowed God to give him his lines, even if that meant death, which it did. He was martyred alongside Nereus and Achilleus.
Together, these and all the saints remind us of two things. First, God calls whom He wills. Age doesn’t matter. Status doesn’t matter. What matters is willingness. Second, they allowed God to re-write the story of their lives, even if it cost everything.
So, what about us? Today, let’s ask ourselves: Do I try to keep God inside my comfort zone? Do I write the part I want Him to play? Or am I ready to be surprised by mercy, and willing to do whatever He asks?
Peter’s question is our question. Who are we to hinder God? Let’s let Him speak, even if we think it’s off-script. Because His script is written to bring us exactly what Christ said in the gospel: Life – life to the full.
—
Mark 10:45 