Father Chris Looby

  I recently came across this story in the news about a man in Wisconsin.   Not long ago he was walking through a scrapyard—just doing his job—when something caught his eye.  Sticking out of a pile of scrap metal was a golden shepherd’s staff… a bishop’s crosier. And the first thing he said was, “That doesn’t belong here.” And he was right. That crosier didn’t belong in a scrapyard. It belonged in the hands of a shepherd—guiding, protecting, leading. But there’s something even deeper in that moment. When he saw it, he didn’t just realize it was out of place… he knew it belonged to someone. A shepherd. A bishop. Someone entrusted with caring for God’s people. And he didn’t just admire it… he tracked down a bishop and returned it. Because he knew—it had to be back where it belonged. And maybe that’s what makes the story so powerful. Not only was something sacred in the wrong place… there was also a sense that someone was missing. And here’s what makes the story even more...

  After returning from their mission around the moon, the astronauts of Artemis II said something striking. They said, “We are bonded forever… no one else will ever fully understand what we went through together.” Think about that. They had seen something almost no one else has ever seen. They had gone through something intense, beautiful, even overwhelming—together. And that shared experience created a bond that will last the rest of their lives. Some experiences don’t just stay with you… they bind you forever. And in a very different way, that’s exactly what’s happening in today’s Gospel. Two disciples are walking away from Jerusalem. They’re discouraged. Confused. Heartbroken. “We were hoping…” they say. They had hoped Jesus would be the one. But now it all seemed over. And as they walk, Jesus comes alongside them—but they don’t recognize Him. He listens. He walks with them. He opens the Scriptures to them. And something begins to happen. Later they will say, “Were not ou...

I am the oldest of seven children. I have five brothers. And even though none of us are twins, we do get mistaken for each other all the time—because we look alike, we sound alike, we even act alike. I remember years ago, a friend called me and asked, “Are you moonlighting?” I said, “What are you talking about?” He said, “I’m pretty sure I just saw you driving a UPS truck delivering packages in my neighborhood.” I started laughing—because at that time, my youngest brother John worked for UPS. My friend had seen my brother… but he thought it was me. He confused us. In today’s Gospel, we hear about Thomas the Apostle—and we’re told something interesting about him. He’s called Didymus —which means “the Twin.” But here’s the thing: the Gospel never tells us who his twin is. We don’t know if he actually had a twin brother or sister. And maybe… that’s intentional. Because maybe the real “twin” of Thomas… is us. Think about Thomas for a moment. He’s not a bad disciple. He’s not an unbeliever...

  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...