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33rd Sunday in Ordinary Time 2025

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A preacher once stood in the pulpit, pounded the side of it for good measure, and shouted, “Repent! The end is near!” Someone in the pews raised a hand and said, “Father… do you mean the end of the world or the end of the homily ?” Because depending on how long the homily goes… sometimes the two can feel very similar! We laugh, but the truth is that people really do wonder about the end of time — especially these days. Wars rage across the globe. Our own country feels divided and anxious. Natural disasters, violence, and unrest seem to dominate the headlines. It’s not unusual for someone to ask me, “Father, do you think these are the signs? Do you think the end is coming?” And today’s readings almost seem to encourage that question. Malachi speaks of a day “blazing like an oven.” Jesus talks about wars, earthquakes, kingdoms falling, persecution. Anyone who hears that could be tempted to panic a little. But notice what Jesus actually says: “Do not be terrified.” He doesn’t tell ...

Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica 2025

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 I took this picture of the interior of St. John Lateran Basilica in Rome last month while on pilgrimage.  Pictured here is the Cathedra or the "Bishop's Chair".  The Bishop of Rome is Pope Leo XIV. Last month, during our Jubilee Year of Hope pilgrimage to Rome, I had the chance to visit one of the most important — but often overlooked — churches in the world: the Basilica of St. John Lateran. Many people think St. Peter’s Basilica is the Pope’s church because that is where you see the pope often on TV.  But it’s actually St. John Lateran that holds that title. It’s the cathedral of the Bishop of Rome — the mother church of all churches in the world.   Over the door, carved in Latin, are the words: “Omnium urbis et orbis ecclesiarum mater et caput” —  “The mother and head of all the churches of the city and of the world.” Standing there in that ancient basilica, I couldn’t help but think: this building has seen everything.  It’s been destroyed and rebu...

All Souls Day 2025

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I am pictured here with my dear friend, Sr. Lucille Beaulieu, OSM, who passed away in 2024.   Maybe you have a photograph on your dresser, or on the refrigerator — a loved one who’s gone before you. You see that picture every day. You might even find yourself saying a little hello when you walk by. That’s not foolish or sentimental. That’s love. And love never dies. That photograph is more than paper and ink — it’s a reminder that the bond you shared is still alive in God. Brothers and sisters, today is a tender day in the life of the Church. All Souls’ Day is not flashy, not loud, not triumphant. It is quiet. It is prayerful. It is a day when the Church invites us to do something sacred, something deeply human: to remember. We remember faces we still miss. Voices we can still hear in our minds. Hands we once held. We remember people who shaped us, loved us, and in some cases—carried us through life. And even if the world expects us to “move on,” our hearts know better. Love does n...

Feast of All Saints 2025

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  I’ve been reading The Seven Storey Mountain by Thomas Merton lately, and there’s a scene that really stayed with me. Merton is walking with his friend Robert Lax, talking about what he wants to do with his life. He says something like, “I guess I just want to be a good Catholic.” Lax looks at him and says quietly, “What you should say is that you want to be a saint.” Merton laughs, “How do you expect me to be a saint?” And Lax replies, “By wanting to. All that’s necessary to be a saint is to want to be one.” That line stopped me in my tracks. All that’s necessary to be a saint is to want to be one. Merton said that conversation changed him. He realized that holiness wasn’t just for mystics or monks or people with halos in stained-glass windows. It was for ordinary people who desired God deeply, who let that desire shape who they were and how they loved. Today, as we celebrate the Feast of All Saints, the Church invites us to rediscover that same desire. We remember the great sa...

28th Sunday in Ordinary Time 2025

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  Fr. James Martin, SJ, speaking at the  2025 Immigrant Integration Convening at Fordham University Lincoln Center (Photo by Fr. Chris Looby). Several years ago, I read a wonderful book by Jesuit priest Father James Martin called Between Heaven and Mirth: Why Joy, Humor, and Laughter Are at the Heart of the Spiritual Life.   I loved that book. It reminded me that joy isn’t a distraction from faith — it’s a sign of it. God delights in His people, and holiness and humor can live side by side. I was so moved by it that I decided to write Father Martin a short note, just to say thank you.  Nothing fancy — just a few lines of appreciation.  A couple of weeks later, I went to the mailbox and found a letter from him — a thank-you note for my thank-you note!  I laughed and thought, “Now wait a second — I’m not sure who’s thanking who anymore!” That simple exchange of gratitude stuck with me. Because that’s what gratitude does — it connects us.  It doesn’t end ...

27th Sunday in Ordinary Time (2025)

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  When I was in middle school and high school, my parents did something I didn’t really appreciate at the time — something that, looking back now, I see as one of the clearest examples of living the Gospel I’ve ever witnessed. They took in my mother’s parents — my grandparents — to live with us.  My grandmother had Alzheimer’s and could be very difficult to care for.  My grandfather had only one leg and later was diagnosed with colon cancer.  And all of this was happening while my parents were raising seven children on my father’s teacher’s salary.  Seven kids, two elderly parents in need of constant care, and not a whole lot of money to go around. And here’s what I remember: there were no awards, no public recognition, no one stopping by to say, “Wow, what saints you are.”  There were no “thank you” speeches. It was just what they did. Day after day, year after year.  Because it was the right thing to do. Because that’s what love does. At the time, I ...

26th Sunday in Ordinary Time 2025

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  When I was in New York City recently for a conference with our bookkeeper Jackie Black and Starr Burke from our Outreach Center.   Our first night there the three of us went out for a snack in the evening.  On the way back to our hotel, we passed a man sleeping on a park bench.  One of us asked, “Is that man homeless?” I answered, “Yes, that is his home for tonight.” And then, suddenly, we looked away and hurried back to the hotel without mentioning the man again. As I’ve reflected on that moment, I realized something important:  We talked about him, but not to him.  We noticed his situation, but we didn’t know his name, his story, or even say hello.  Instead we looked away and walked away faster toward our warm and safe hotel. He was right there in front of us, but in a way, he was invisible.  In that moment, he was Lazarus at our doorstep. That’s what happens in today’s Gospel. The rich man wasn’t violent toward Lazarus. He didn’t chase...