Father Chris Looby

  This is a picture of my mom holding me shortly after I was born in 1970! When I was in Ireland, I noticed something peculiar: sheep — everywhere — and many of them spray-painted with bright splotches of blue, red, green, or orange.  I figured it must be some kind of rural Irish fashion trend. But I learned quickly there was a very practical reason: the farmers mark their sheep with paint to show who they belong to.  In areas where flocks graze freely and mingle together, it’s a simple way to say, “This one is mine.” That image comes to mind every year on Good Shepherd Sunday, especially today when Jesus says, “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me.”  Jesus is the Good Shepherd. We are His flock. We are His people — marked not with paint, but by baptism, by grace, by love.  “This one is mine,” He says of us. And this year, we have a special reason to reflect on this image. Just days ago, a new pope was elected. The cardinals have chosen Pope ...

Pont Jacques-Cartier which connects the city of Montreal with the south shore of the St. Lawrence River.   If we were to jump into our cars and drive to Montreal, in order to enter the city we’d have to pass over a bridge — the Pont Jacques-Cartier .  That bridge spans the Saint Lawrence River and connects the island city of Montreal with the south shore. It’s a vital link. Without it, getting in and out of the city would be complicated and difficult. The French word “pont” means “bridge.” And that word got me thinking this week — not just about steel and concrete bridges, but about spiritual ones.  Because one of the titles we use for the pope is Pontiff , and that word comes from the Latin pontifex , which means bridge builder . That’s exactly what the pope is: a bridge builder — a man chosen to connect heaven and earth, to unite people of faith across nations, and to hold together the Body of Christ.  And this week, with the Church still mourning the death of Pope...

 My aunts Margaret Randall and Sr. Mary Elizabeth Looby when they were toddlers.  They are twin sisters.  The apostle Thomas' name means "twin".  Who was his twin? Did you notice what John calls Thomas in today’s Gospel? “Thomas, called Didymus”—which means Twin . But here’s the thing: the Gospel never tells us who Thomas’s twin actually is. There’s no sibling mentioned. No other Thomas walking around. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe you are the twin. Maybe I am. Maybe Thomas is meant to be a mirror—a reflection of us in all our confusion and questions and longings.  Because let’s be honest: we all have a little Thomas in us. We want to believe, but we also want proof.  We say we trust in God, but sometimes we hold back. We pray for peace, but we’re still anxious. We proclaim Christ is risen, but still carry grief or regret. And here’s the Good News: Jesus meets Thomas—meets us —right where we are. Let’s step into that upper room. The disciples are huddled ...

  Every Easter, we hear the story of the empty tomb—and every year, we hear it a little differently. Because we’re in a different place. We’ve walked different roads. We’ve carried different crosses. Where we are on our own journey to Jerusalem and Calvary shapes how we hear the angel’s words, how we see the stone rolled away, how we recognize the risen Jesus. Maybe this Easter, you’re celebrating the safe return of someone you feared you had lost—a child, a spouse, a friend.  If that’s where your heart is, then the empty tomb is more than a symbol. It’s a promise: that God is with us even during the darkest nights and along the most dangerous roads. Maybe you are grieving—carrying the weight of a spouse, a parent, a child, or a dear friend who has died.  And maybe this morning, the angel’s question pierces your heart: "Why do you seek the living among the dead?" It’s not a rebuke.  It’s the first light of hope. It’s the gentle promise that the Risen Christ has lo...