Father Chris Looby

 My aunts Margaret Randall and Sr. Mary Elizabeth Looby when they were toddlers.  They are twin sisters.  The apostle Thomas' name means "twin".  Who was his twin? Did you notice what John calls Thomas in today’s Gospel? “Thomas, called Didymus”—which means Twin . But here’s the thing: the Gospel never tells us who Thomas’s twin actually is. There’s no sibling mentioned. No other Thomas walking around. Maybe that’s the point. Maybe you are the twin. Maybe I am. Maybe Thomas is meant to be a mirror—a reflection of us in all our confusion and questions and longings.  Because let’s be honest: we all have a little Thomas in us. We want to believe, but we also want proof.  We say we trust in God, but sometimes we hold back. We pray for peace, but we’re still anxious. We proclaim Christ is risen, but still carry grief or regret. And here’s the Good News: Jesus meets Thomas—meets us —right where we are. Let’s step into that upper room. The disciples are huddled ...

  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...

  When Jesus saw his mother and the disciple there whom he loved he said to his mother, “Woman, behold, your son.” Then he said to the disciple, “Behold, your mother.” And from that hour the disciple took her into his home . As we stand before the cross of Jesus on this Good Friday, we are reminded of the immense love and sacrifice that Jesus showed for us. But we are also reminded of the love and sacrifice of those who stood by him in his hour of greatest need, including his mother Mary. In this passage from John's Gospel, we see Jesus entrusting his mother to the care of his beloved disciple. It's a moment of profound love and compassion, as Jesus ensures that his mother will be taken care of after his death. But it's also a moment that speaks to the importance of community and connection in our own lives. Just as Jesus entrusted his mother to the care of his disciple, we too are called to care for one another, to support each other in times of need, and to build relation...

  Feet are weird. Some people pay good money for pedicures—massaging, buffing, polishing every little toe. Others avoid feet like the plague. They cover them up, hide them in socks year-round, and can’t stand the thought of touching anyone else’s. Even the word “feet” makes some people squirm. Ask someone to touch someone else’s feet—and most folks will say, “Absolutely not.” It’s not hard, then, to understand why Peter was shocked that Jesus would want to wash his feet. And remember: feet were probably even more unpleasant in Peter’s day than they are now. No nice shoes. No odor eaters.  Just leather sandals, worn every day over rocky, dusty roads. The disciples walked everywhere—village to village, neighborhood to neighborhood. Their feet were dirty. Tired. Calloused. And yet—Jesus kneels down, picks up a basin and towel, and washes them. Peter is appalled. This was the job of a servant, not the Master. Hosts didn’t wash feet. They provided the water and let their servant...

My friend, Danielle and her son, Charlie, are together changing the world! So can YOU! My friend Danielle is the mother of a child with special needs. Her son, Charlie, was born with autism and epilepsy. He needs constant attention.  A couple of weeks ago, he was rushed to the hospital, and for a few terrifying days, Danielle and her family truly feared that they might lose him. Thanks be to God, Charlie pulled through. He’s recovering. But in the days that followed, Danielle found herself reflecting on everything her family had just been through — the hospital, the fear, the sleepless nights, the love, the help from others. She wrote about how grateful she felt: Grateful that Charlie was still with them.  Grateful for her daughter, Ryan, who stepped up to help at home. Grateful for her husband, Jim, who wasn’t there when Charlie was born, but who loves him with the fierce devotion of a father. Grateful for her coworkers who replied to her emails at odd hours, not expecting h...