Father Chris Looby

 On the first part of the journey, I was looking at all the life. There were plants and birds and rocks and things. There were sand and hills and rings. The first thing I met was a fly with a buzz, and the sky with no limits and no clouds. The heat was hot and the ground was dry, but the air was full of sound. I dabbled through the desert on a horse with no name. It felt good to be out in the rain. In the desert, you can't remember your name, because there ain't no one for to give you no name. My sisters and brothers, a few years ago, I reflected on these lyrics at Mass, and I thought a renewed consideration would be helpful for Lent 2025, because we believe here at home. Now, I have a pretty good idea of your age if you recognize any of the lyrics of this hit tune by America called A Horse With No Name . Now, why in the world would the bishop call our attention again to this old-time classic on this first part of the journey of Lent? Furthermore, what did the songwriter mean ...

A few years back, I found myself on a road trip with my friend Cindy.  Her daughter, Maria, was chasing her acting dreams, performing in Jesus Christ Superstar at a summer stock theater up in Michigan.  Cindy invited me along, and I thought, "Why not?"  The drive was long—miles of open road, changing scenery, the radio humming in the background. We had plenty of time for conversation, for laughter, for moments of quiet reflection, and, yes, a few unexpected detours along the way.  You really get to know someone when you travel with them, right?  How they handle the unexpected, the delays, those sudden turns you didn’t see coming. And it struck me: you also get to know Jesus when you journey with Him. That's what this season of Lent is all about—a journey, a pilgrimage of faith alongside Jesus.  And here we are, on this First Sunday of Lent, stepping into the desert with Him. He’s just been baptized, and now the Spirit leads Him into the wilderness, for for...

Imagine waking up one morning to find that everything you’ve built—your home, your livelihood, even the land you’ve cultivated—has been reduced to ashes. That was the devastating reality for a group of urban farmers in Altadena, California, who recently lost everything in a massive wildfire. Decades of careful planting, harvesting, and nurturing the soil—gone in an instant. But in the face of such loss, these farmers didn’t give up. Instead, they resolved to rebuild and replant, saying, “We will grow again, even more than ever before.” What a powerful image for us as we begin this season of Lent! Today, we receive ashes as a reminder of our mortality—“Remember, you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” But just like those farmers, we are not meant to stay in the ashes. Lent is our opportunity to rebuild, to return to God, and to grow in faith even more than ever before. And that is precisely why, in our parishes, we are embracing the Jubilee Year of Hope as our Lenten them...

  Hanging over my desk in my office I have this wonderful framed image of a laughing Jesus. I often glance at it during the day, and it never fails to lift my spirits.  This image captures how I imagine Jesus interacting with people – joyful, warm, and with a deep sense of humor.  When I read today's Gospel, I can’t help but picture Jesus with that same wide, hearty laugh as he gently teases his disciples about the absurdity of a blind person leading another blind person or someone with a wooden beam in their eye trying to remove a tiny splinter from another’s. In today’s Gospel, Jesus asks, "Can a blind person guide a blind person? Will not both fall into a pit?"  And then he says something almost comical: "Why do you notice the splinter in your brother’s eye, but do not perceive the wooden beam in your own?"  It’s a bit like Jesus is telling a funny story to make a serious point. I can see him smiling as he says it, maybe even getting a chuckle from his audien...