Mark 10:45

Tag: Word of God

  • Remaining Connected

    Remaining Connected

    Acts 15:1-6; Psalm 122:1-2, 3-4ab, 4cd-5; John 15:1-8

    As Acts of the Apostles 15 begins, the Church finds herself in serious disagreement. This is no small matter; it’s about salvation itself. Should Gentiles adopt Jewish customs and practices, or not?

    So what do they do?

    First, notice what they don’t do: They don’t split into new churches. They don’t ignore the problem and hope it will go away.

    Instead, they do what the Psalm describes: they “go to the house of the Lord.” That is, they come together. They go to Jerusalem. They talk. They argue. They discern.

    And that’s exactly what Jesus told them to do, though perhaps not in the way we expect.

    Before he ascended to the Father, Jesus knew his Church would encounter things he had not addressed explicitly. So, how did he deal with that – by leaving them a rule book, or saying, “When problems arise, just remember what I said and you’ll be fine”?

    No. As John reminds us, Jesus said, “Remain in me, as I remain in you… If you remain in me and my words remain in you, ask for whatever you want and it will be done for you.”

    “Remain in me…” doesn’t mean just remembering the past. It’s staying connected to the living God — the Vine, without whom we can do nothing.

    And he adds, ‘if my words remain in you.’ Not just remembering them, but letting them take root in us… shape us… change what we desire. So that, when we ask, we are no longer asking only for what we want… but for what God knows we need.


    Ultimately, we find, as in Acts today, we may not always have the answer right away… but by staying united, staying attentive, and open to the Spirit, the right answers will come.

    Before the Church could say, “It has seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to us”… they first had to remain.

    Remain together. Remain in Christ. Remain open.

    The Church bears fruit not because she always has quick answers… but because she remains in Christ long enough to receive the right ones.

    This is true in our own lives too, of course. When we or someone we know is suffering, in conflict, or going through a difficult time, it’s tempting to want quick answers. This is only natural. Still, as Christ reminded us in the gospel, without him, we can do nothing. In him, we can do all things – even endure what we may have thought was unendurable. And, we may well find that the endurance of that suffering leads to great fruit indeed – a deeper, more lasting union with Christ than we ever thought possible.

    —

  • Set Apart and Sent:

    Set Apart and Sent:

    Wednesday of the 4th Week of Easter

    Acts 12:24-13:5a; John 12:44-50

    The word St. Luke uses for “worshiping” or “ministering” is the word we know as liturgy. In the liturgy, we don’t just worship God; we are drawn into what God is doing. And what God is doing is always this: He speaks, He calls, and He sends.

    We saw that in the reading from Acts, when the Holy Spirit set Barnabas and Saul apart, and sent them.

    So, since the earliest times, our liturgies have given birth to mission.

    But mission for whom – certain people only? It might seem that way, especially when we think of Sacraments such as Baptism, Confirmation, and Holy Orders. But the fact is that every time we gather, as we do now for the Eucharist, the Holy Spirit says again, “Set apart for me those I have called.”

    Who’s that? All of us.

    And why does God send us? Because of what Jesus says in the Gospel: ‘Whoever sees me sees the one who sent me.’ Jesus Himself is sent, and everything Jesus does reveals the Father. So when we are sent, it is for the same reason: to make the Father visible in the world.

    St. Catherine of Siena lived exactly this way. Long before she was a woman of action, Catherine was a woman of the liturgy. She grew in her love for Christ from baptism through the Eucharist. So thoroughly did she consecrate herself with Christ to the Father in the Holy Eucharist that for the last several years of her life, her only food was the Eucharist. She drew her very life from the Blessed Sacrament, discovering in it a source of endless spiritual energy that united her to Christ in charity.

    In other words, Catherine’s extraordinary mission — reforming the Church, calling popes to return the papacy to Rome — did not come from her. It came from liturgy. It came from the altar.

    The fearlessness it took for her – a laywoman with no formal education – to write to popes and kings didn’t come from human confidence, but from the same Spirit who said to the Church at Antioch: “Set apart for me Barnabas and Saul.” Catherine heard the Spirit, and like Barnabas and Saul, poured out her life in obedience.

    I remember once asking my spiritual director about this. Hearing that people like St. Catherine lived only on the Eucharist made me wonder, “Is that to be a model for me? Should I hope, someday, to live on nothing but the Eucharist?” Father replied, “God gives us such saints, not that we imitate their level of piety or virtue, but that we push ourselves a little further in that direction. God is probably not asking you to live only on the Eucharist, but He may well be asking you to increase your desire to receive Him and be transformed by His grace.”

    I think that’s a good answer. It reminds us that the Holy Spirit is speaking to us personally – right here, right now. Each of us is set apart and sent. From this altar. Today. It is also a reminder to pray during the liturgy, especially Holy Mass, for the strength to answer the Spirit’s call. It’s easy and tempting to allow fear to take hold, which is why St. Catherine once said, “Don’t look at your weaknesses. Realize instead that in Christ crucified you can do everything.”

    St. Catherine of Siena, pray for us.

    —

  • Overcoming Familiarity

    Overcoming Familiarity

    Wednesday of the 4th Week in Ordinary Time

    Mark 6:1-6

    When Abraham Lincoln first met Frederick Douglass, he didn’t think much of him. He certainly didn’t regard him as an equal; to the contrary, he believed that Douglass had nothing to teach him. But over time and repeated meetings, Lincoln came to see that Douglass, while not educated the way he was, possessed a moral clarity and insight on the issue of slavery that he himself lacked. He came to depend on Douglass for advice. At Lincoln’s second inauguration, when policemen barred Douglass from coming near, Lincoln insisted that he stay. In fact, he took Douglass by the hand and said, “There is no man in the country whose opinion I value more than yours. What do you think of my speech?”

    Because Lincoln opened himself to listen to Frederick Douglass, a deeper truth was allowed to shape history. Sadly, this was not the case with the people of Nazareth, who allowed familiarity with Jesus to harden their hearts to the point that God was left with no room to work. As Mark tells us, he was not able to perform any mighty deed there (Mark 6:5).

    We all know the old adage that familiarity breeds contempt, but I think it can also breed dismissal. The people of Nazareth dismissed the idea that Jesus had anything to teach them; as far as they were concerned, they already knew everything worth knowing about him.

    I can’t really criticize them. I’ve seen a similar attitude at times in myself. Because I’ve studied theology a lot, read many books and articles, and taken many classes, I get tempted to think, “OK, now I think I know everything I need to know about God.” If you’ve ever had similar thoughts, I urge you to remember this gospel passage, for that’s exactly the kind of thinking that closes the door to God, giving Him no room to work in us or through us.

    Our faith thrives on openness, and the key to openness is humility. That’s what brought Lincoln around – the humility to recognize his own limits, and to start listening where he least expected wisdom to be found.

    Today’s gospel presents us with the same choice. It’s not whether Jesus has power, but whether we will allow him to teach us again; perhaps through Scripture passages we’ve heard many times before, a person we think we already understand well enough, or a moment that feels ordinary.

    The people of Nazareth could not move past asking, “Isn’t this the carpenter?” The question for us is simpler and more unsettling: Have we already decided who Jesus is, and stopped listening?

  • Sowers and Seeds

    Sowers and Seeds

    2 Samuel 7:4–17; Mark 4:1–20

    When I’ve reflected on the Parable of the Sower, I’ve stuck with the explanation Jesus Himself gives: He is the sower, the seed is his word, and we are the soil. I’ve seen the truth of it in my own life, and I suspect you have, too. There have been times when my heart was like the hard-packed path, other times rocky or choked with thorns—and, by God’s grace, moments when it was good soil that bore fruit.

    Recently, I learned that Vincent van Gogh also spent a lot of time thinking about this parable. He painted and sketched it repeatedly. But van Gogh saw it a little differently. For him, his art was the seed, and he was the sower.

    We see something of both perspectives in the reading from 2Samuel. David has clearly been good soil: chosen, formed, and blessed by God. From that abundance, he now sees himself as a kind of sower, offering to do what he believes a faithful king should do: build a house for the Lord.

    But God gently reminds him through the prophet Nathan exactly who has built whom. It was God who first chose David, God who established his kingdom, and God who built David’s “house” — not of stone, but a lineage that would lead to the Messiah.

    The lesson is unmistakable. No one, no matter how great, gifted, or faithful, is the architect of God’s plan. We are its recipients. God first plants the seed. Only then does He invite us to share in the sowing. David becomes a sower of the Kingdom not by his own initiative, but because of what God has already done in him.

    The same is true for us. Discipleship is never our initiative; it is always God’s. We are chosen first, claimed in baptism, and only then entrusted with a share in His work.

    That’s how van Gogh understood his own vocation. Painting was his seed, his “holy task.” He cast it broadly, often into rocky, unreceptive soil, painting not with certainty of success, but with hope. In much the same way, our words, choices, and acts of love or mercy are the seeds we sow. We do not control where they land, what takes root, or how long they take to grow.

    No, God has assigned us a task that is simpler — and harder — than that: to sow generously, love without counting the cost, give without guarantees, and trust that God always controls the growth.

    In the end, the Kingdom of God grows not because we manage it well, but because God, who first planted His word in us, is faithful and always brings it to harvest.

  • The Shoot and the Fruit

    The Shoot and the Fruit

    The 2ndSunday of Advent, Cycle A

    Isaiah 11:1-10; Matthew 3:1-12

    It may not seem like it, but today Isaiah presents one of the most striking images in all of Scripture: A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse. To us it sounds poetic, and is, but for the prophet’s audience, it was also practical, and its symbolism powerful. Why? Because the Hebrews knew that a shoot growing from the stump of an old olive tree, when properly cared for, grows into a new olive tree. Then and now, the olive tree was a symbol of resurrection: What looked dried up and dead is alive again; a whole new tree, fresh and full of fruit.

    To this, the prophet adds two things: First, he gives the stump a family name – Jesse, King David’s father – in effect prophesying a son from that family endowed with spiritual gifts. Second, this son would usher into the world a kingdom of peace beyond our imagination. On this side of the resurrection, it’s easy to see this son of David as our Lord, Jesus Christ, and creation at the end state God planned from all eternity: healed and restored, with its people living in justice and peace. What a perfect picture.

    But, as we all know from times we’ve pictured ourselves having reached some new personal milestone, there has to be a path to get us there. We don’t just become a new self; real effort is involved. Sometimes, I think I need a drill sergeant to push me where I want to go. Once I find out how hard the path to a better me is, the less I’m motivated to get there on my own.

    Enter John the Baptist, the first century’s spiritual drill sergeant.

    His words – Repent… prepare the way… make straight the paths… produce good fruit as evidence of your repentance – may sound harsh, but they’re true. They remind us that the kingdom Isaiah pictured takes a lot more than good intentions or warm feelings. It takes real effort; a deliberate, disciplined turning back to God.

    As John none-too-gently reminded his audience when he said, the ax lies at the root of the tree, some pain may be involved. We know the discomfort, the humility of Confession. But we also know that God meets us there, and gives us the grace to cut away the behaviors and attitudes that lead us away from Him.

    It may feel as though all that remains of our old life is a stump, but remember the olive tree – from the stump that remains, new shoots can grow. What are those? Imagine the possibilities: A moment of honesty; a bad habit given up; a virtue practiced on purpose; a relationship tended with patience; less screen time replaced by more and deeper prayer; reconciliation with someone we have avoided. And many more.

    The best news of all? Any of these small shoots will become, if tended, a new tree — a new self — rooted in Christ. And from that tree, the good fruit will begin to appear: gentleness rather than impatience, mercy rather than judgment, courage rather than fear.

    So, this Advent – right now – let’s choose just one concrete act of repentance, one “spiritual muscle” to train, or one place where we invite the Lord to straighten the path. God is eager to do it; He, who raised a shoot from Jesse’s stump will raise a new heart in us as well. And, through that heart, we will bear the fruit that shows we are really doing what God wants most – turning back to Him.

    —

  • Here in 10 Minutes

    Here in 10 Minutes

    Genesis 18:1-10a; Colossians 1:24-28; Luke 10:38-42

    Years ago, my wife and I heard the plea of a missionary to sponsor seminarians in his country, so we decided to pay for a young man to do so. One Sunday afternoon long after, that missionary called me. “You know,” he said, “I’m not far away. I’d love to stop by and see you.” “Where are you, Father?” “About 10 minutes away. See you soon!”

    I didn’t panic… until I looked around the house. Even by my standards, it needed help. When my wife heard, the scramble really began. My job was to straighten up myself and the house, while she put together snacks, coffee, and tea. Just as we finished, there he was. It turned into a nice visit, but in no way was I really prepared for it.

    That experience and today’s readings got me thinking: What if my guest hadn’t been the missionary priest, but Jesus Christ himself? “Hi, I’ll be there in 10 minutes!”

    Well, one clue as to what I should do is in the first reading. What did Abraham do? He rushed to show hospitality to his guests. His focus was on them; he was ready to serve them. In turn, that readiness became the opening for God’s promise that he and Sarah would have a son. The lesson? Welcoming our Lord opens the door to a miracle.

    But then there’s an example closer to my experience that afternoon – the gospel. My typical way of looking at it is that Mary was right and Martha wrong. Martha’s focus on the “outside” – getting the house ready for Christ – turned into resentment, while Mary’s focus on the “inside” – sitting at the feet of Jesus – showed that she was ready to receive his word.

    Actually, I think the challenge Jesus gives us is to do both: to do things for him and be with him. We know, because Jesus told us, that as often as we feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, visit the sick, comfort the sorrowful, and forgive injuries, we do them to him. But we also know that many people who don’t believe in God do those things, too.

    No, Christ calls us to more. We see clues to that when St. Paul says, in my flesh I am filling up what is lacking in the afflictions of Christ (Colossians 1:24). What could possibly be lacking in Christ’s suffering? Our participation in it. He has prepared a place for us, as he said in John 14:2, but we must do our part. How? By preparing a place for him in our hearts and showing him to the world by what we do. That can be uncomfortable, even painful, but that’s why St. Paul began, I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake. What causes anyone to rejoice in suffering? Love! What parent wouldn’t gladly suffer in place of their child? Yes, it’s painful, but we would much rather it be us than them. That is the love he is talking about – the love that finds joy even in suffering because it is done for the sake of the beloved. That is the love that proclaims Christ to the world (Colossians 1:28).

    So, that is our challenge, but we have to be ready for it. Very soon – at Holy Communion – Christ will be here. We are both Martha and Mary. Are we ready? Have we made space at the feet of Jesus in our everyday lives? Is our heart ready? Have our prayers, works, joys, and sufferings filled up what is lacking in the suffering of Christ? Are we ready to welcome Him like Abraham, and receive the miracle only He can give?

    —

  • Each End a Beginning

    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).

    —

  • Three Roads, One Pattern

    Three Roads, One Pattern

    Thursday of the 3rd Week of Easter

    Acts 8:26-40; Psalm 66:16; John 6:44-51

    Today’s reading from Acts may seem like a beautiful but isolated story – Philip and the Ethiopian riding through the desert – but it is, in fact, just one of three “road encounters” given to us by St. Luke, each a powerful snapshot of how God works through the sacraments. All three stories follow the same pattern:

    1. God initiates an encounter with someone;
    2. He brings the Church in to help; and
    3. The person being helped receives grace that changes them forever.

    The first time Luke gave us this pattern was in his story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. Remember? Christ approaches two discouraged disciples who fail to recognize him. He opens the Scriptures for them, then breaks bread (gives them the Eucharist), and vanishes. Eyes opened and hearts on fire, the pair joyfully rush back to the Apostles as witnesses. Today, God sends Philip, who breaks open the Word for the Ethiopian, baptizes him, and vanishes. Afterward, the man goes on his way, rejoicing. Finally, on the road to Damascus, Saul has a mystical encounter with Christ, who cannot be seen. Later, Ananias anoints him and his eyes are opened. Saul takes his Roman name, Paul, and as we all know goes on to spend his life changing the landscape of Christianity forever.

    This is how Luke shows us the power of the Sacraments: God initiates, the Church mediates, and the person is changed forever. In all seven the pattern is the same: First, God calls us. We may think it’s our idea to be baptized, anointed, forgiven, or given the Eucharist, but it is God who calls us. He always initiates; for, as Jesus says in today’s gospel, No one can come to me unless the Father draws him. Next, we gather; Scriptures are read, and our eyes are opened to better understand its meaning and application to our lives. Then, the sacrament is received. The best example is right here, at the Eucharist, where we receive Christ himself; as he says, the bread that I will give you is my Flesh for the life of the world. Finally, we hear – Go forth. That is, we are sent out, as the two disciples at Emmaus, the Ethiopian, and St. Paul, to witness, rejoice, and change the world – each in our own way. For, as the psalmist sang, “He has given life to our souls… Hear now, all you who fear God, while I declare what he has done for me.”

    That is the voice of someone who has been changed, and cannot help but witness. And that is the effect of the Sacraments given us by Christ, who continues to meet us on the roads of our lives. He has drawn us here, feeds our minds and hearts with his Word, our souls with his Body, and sends us from here to change the world. Every time we receive a Sacrament, let us keep in mind: this is no mere routine – this is an encounter. Christ meets us here; Christ touches us here. And we will never be the same.

    —

  • Seeking the Face of God

    Seeking the Face of God

    Feast of Sts. Philip and James

    1 Corinthians 15:1–8; John 14:6–14

    When Philip says, “Lord, show us the Father, and that will be enough for us,” it might sound as if Jesus was disappointed in him. “Have I been with you for so long a time and you still do not know me, Philip?”

    But over time, I’ve come to hear something different in that response — not rebuke, but compassion. Not frustration, but invitation.

    After all, when Jesus was a boy and Mary found him in the Temple, he asked her, “Did you not know that I must be in my Father’s house?” (Luke 2:49). Surely Jesus wasn’t disappointed in his mother. He knew that even she — Full of Grace — would need to ponder these things in her heart, to grow in her understanding of the divine mysteries. If the Blessed Mother had to wrestle with them, why wouldn’t Philip?

    So no, I don’t believe Jesus was scolding Philip. I believe he saw in his question not failure, but hunger: a longing to know God more deeply, to see Him more clearly.

    In that way, Philip stands for all of us. Don’t we all long to understand the faith better? Don’t we all wish God would just show Himself, and end the doubt, confusion, and struggle?

    But He doesn’t. Not all at once. Maybe that’s because the work of faith — the growth, the struggle, the contemplation — is part of the gift.

    So today, as we celebrate Saints Philip and James, Jesus teaches us two important lessons through Philip’s honest question.

    The first lesson is that God can be right in front of us — and we might not see Him. Again, consider Philip. He spent years walking with Jesus. He saw him heal the sick, feed multitudes, even raise the dead. Still, he didn’t understand that to see Jesus was to see the Father — to see the fullness of God’s love.

    That isn’t just Philip’s problem, it’s ours too. We may not walk with Christ on the roads as the Apostles did, but we have our own sacred encounters.

    • Do we recognize him in the Eucharist — truly present, Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity — or do we doubt?
    • Do we see his face in the people around us — especially those who are suffering, neglected, or difficult to love – or just inconvenience?
    • Do we trust that God truly hears and responds to our prayers, even when He seems silent? Or do we take silence as God’s refusal to answer?

    Jesus is always closer than we think. If we miss Him, it isn’t because He’s not there. It’s because we haven’t yet trained our hearts to see.

    The second lesson is that what we learn about Christ isn’t just for us — it’s meant to be shared. Notice that Jesus doesn’t end the conversation with Philip. He moves it forward by saying, “Whoever believes in me will do the works that I do — and will do greater ones than these.” Greater than healing the sick or feeding thousands? Yes! Because our Lord’s earthly ministry was never meant to end. It was meant to multiply — through the Church, through the apostles, through us.

    That’s exactly what Philip and James did. They didn’t understand everything perfectly, but they believed. They went out. They preached, taught, healed, and led the early Church. Ultimately, they gave their lives for Christ.

    What does this mean for us? At least three things:

    1. We don’t need to be perfect to be disciples. We need only be willing to keep trying.
    2. We don’t need to understand every mystery of the faith to be faithful. We need to keep learning — and keep growing in trust.
    3. We don’t need to have all the answers before we begin sharing the Gospel. We need to believe that God will give us the grace we need to be His witnesses — in word and deed — so that others may see Him in us.

    Today and every day, let us ask Christ for eyes of faith to see him in the Eucharist, in each other, in the Scriptures, and in the silence of prayer. Let us ask, too, for the courage of Philip and James; to take what we’ve seen and heard and carry it boldly into a world longing for the love of Christ. And like them — like all the saints — may we be faithful witnesses to every person God puts in our path. And may we never stop seeking the face of God — in Christ, in each other, and in everyone.

    —

  • Bronze Pennies, Burned Hearts

    Bronze Pennies, Burned Hearts

    Wednesday in the Octave of Easter

    Acts 3:1-10; Luke 24:13-35

    One day in 1947, a teenage boy bought a school lunch and put the change in his pocket. Later, he noticed that one of the pennies, stamped in the Denver mint in 1943, was bronze. Like most people, he knew that pennies minted during those war years were steel, not bronze. When he inquired, government officials said he was mistaken, it was a fraud. Some intrigued collectors offered to buy it. Despite this, he kept it. When he died in 2019, the little one-cent piece he got as change for his lunch in 1947 sold at auction for nearly 2 million dollars.

    Appearance is one thing, value another.

    The reading from Acts makes the same point. The crippled man at the Beautiful Gate would’ve been very happy with a penny, and clearly that’s what he expected when he saw Peter and John. But again, appearances are deceiving, for those ordinary-looking men possessed something infinitely more valuable: the healing power of Christ.

    Then in the gospel, two disciples blinded by sorrow see, not Jesus, but what appears to be an ordinary man. Ordinary, that is, until something most extraordinary happens: he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them (Luke 24:30). And note particularly what happens after this; as Luke says, With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him, but he vanished from their sight (24:31).

    In this way, Luke goes to the heart of the Sacramental power that transforms human sight into vision. When we look around the church, what do we see? In our fonts, water; in the baptistery, oils; in cruets, wine; and on patens, the host. Yet, through the power of the Holy Spirit, the will of the Father, and the passion, death, and resurrection of Christ, these ordinary elements of Earth become the invaluable tools of Heaven; through them and their ministers, our Lord heals and sanctifies every soul who seeks Him with the eyes of faith.

    Just as those two disciples reached Jerusalem with hearts ablaze—no longer discouraged or blind – to proclaim “We have seen the Lord,” so, too, are we sent today. Christ empowers us through Baptism, strengthens us through anointing, and feeds us in the Eucharist. This is the grace that opens our eyes to His presence, that we might see in the familiar – the neighbor who listens, the friend who forgives, the stranger to whom we show kindness – the many opportunities to love others as God has loved us. With this in mind and heart, let us resolve to pray every day, “Lord, open my eyes,” and in each encounter strive to be His hands and feet – revealing that in every ordinary moment lies the infinite value of His love.

    —