Father Chris Looby

  In the almost two years I’ve been here, I’ve learned something about these three parish communities. If there’s ever a need… it doesn’t stay a need for very long. Somebody steps up… and before you know it, something good is happening. And when you stop and think about it, that’s exactly what has happened again and again in our parish communities. In Peru, those two houses across from the church—Rogers House, where furniture, books, and household items are made available to those who need them… and St. Vincent de Paul, providing clothing for individuals and families. The former school building—now a place where a community meal is served every week… and now even a disaster hub. When St. Joseph’s Church in Treadwells Mill closed… it didn’t just disappear. It became St. Joseph’s Outreach Center. And St. James and St. Alexander's have been right there in the middle of it all—supporting, giving, and making this work possible in ways that often go unseen. None of that just happened. A...

  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...