Father Chris Looby

  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...

  Good Friday draws us to the final moments of Jesus’ life—to words that are few, but full of meaning: “I thirst”… “It is finished.” “I thirst.” On one level, it is simple. Jesus is dying. His body is exhausted, broken, dehydrated. The One who created the oceans now asks for a drop of water. But this is more than physical thirst. He thirsts for us. He thirsts for the hearts of those who have abandoned Him… for Peter who denied Him… for the crowds who turned away… for every sinner in every age. He thirsts for love. He thirsts for souls. Even now, from the cross, Jesus is not thinking about Himself. He is thinking about us. And that means something for us today. Because Jesus still says, “I thirst.” He thirsts for our faith… our trust… our return… our love. And then, those final words: “It is finished.” Not, “I am finished.” But, “It is finished.” The mission is complete. The work the Father gave Him is fulfilled. Sin is defeated. Love has gone all the way to the end....

  Tonight we enter the upper room. On the night before He died, Jesus gathers with His disciples for a meal. They expect something familiar—a Passover meal, prayers, tradition. Instead, Jesus does something unexpected. He gets up from the table… takes off His outer garment… kneels down… and begins to wash their feet. This is not just a kind gesture. It is shocking. The Teacher becomes the servant. The Master takes the place of the lowest slave. And then He says: “I have given you a model to follow.” That action—more than anything else—explains everything that happens this night. Because on this same night, Jesus also gives us the Eucharist. He takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them, saying: “This is my Body, given up for you.” The hands that wash feet… are the same hands that break the bread. The love that kneels before the disciples… is the same love that gives itself in the Eucharist. The Eucharist is not just something we receive. It is the very life of Christ—...