In Your Embrace

This homily was given at Our Lady of the Mountain Catholic Church, Ashland, OR on the Twelfth Sunday of Ordinary Time, June 25, 2023.

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A seminarian I know went to Tijuana as a missionary.

He spent a summer working with the poorest of the poor, preaching the Gospel.

And many of the people he preached to and prayed with were set free from sin and healed from lifelong wounds, coming to follow Jesus in the Catholic faith. 

At the end of the summer, that same man, who had preached fearlessly in the slums, came home to California.

Back home, “Jesus talk” was not welcome.

And as he sat at the kitchen table with his parents, who had marriage trouble, and his brothers, who were trapped in dead-end jobs and struggling with addictions and vices, a coldness came over his heart and sealed his lips.

His own family and friends were every bit as desperate as the poor in Tijuana for the saving truth of the Gospel, but he felt sure they would reject it… they would reject him.

Fear keeps us from acknowledging Jesus Christ before others, especially those closest to us—not the fear of death or torture, but of their reactions or potential judgments: fear of rejection, being mocked, insulted, ashamed.

And so, out of fear, we stay silent and say nothing.

But as we do, the cold chain of fear tightens around our hearts and keeps us bound.

As we choose to say nothing, we become slaves to fear…

And we know who’s holding the other end of that chain.

Fear is among the Devil’s most prized instruments, to hold us captive and keep us from doing the will of God.

Jesus Christ comes to set all the captives free and to break every chain, including fear, that holds us enslaved.

When Jesus says, “Fear no one,” he’s not giving an impossible command.

Rather, he’s telling us to live in the truth, to live in accordance with grace.

It’s only natural for us sometimes to feel afraid.

But the gift of grace given through Jesus Christ, without eliminating our emotions or any other part of our human nature, lifts up our humanity to the point of sharing in His divinity, so that we can now do things beyond our natural capacities: not only what is human, but what is divine.

In other words, Jesus is not telling us not to feel afraid; we can’t choose what we feel.

He is telling us we don’t have to live in slavery to fear; we can choose to live in the freedom offered us by grace, the freedom to do what is right and necessary, even in the face of fear and resistance.

We may be surrounded by terror on every side, but the Lord says to us what he said to his prophet Jeremiah: “Do not be terrified on account of them, for I am with you.”

Our Lord Himself is with us to strengthen us, and He directs our attention away from what terrifies us back to His presence with us.

“I am with you to deliver you.”

Today, now, at this Holy Mass, we renounce the spirit of fear in the name of Jesus and we receive the Holy Spirit of confidence in the truth. 

For the Enemy has no power over us except what we allow him – and by the grace of Christ on the Cross, we take even that back.

As we receive the Body of Christ in Holy Communion, we receive a share in His fortitude, His courage, His confidence in the Father’s love.

And as we act more and more in the truth of that love, freely acknowledging Christ before others, Christ also speaks freely of us before His Father, the Son telling his Father the names of those He loves.

The Father loves us in the Son, and the perfect love of the Father drives out our fear.

For the Father holds us in his hand.

Jesus says, “All the hairs of your head are counted!”

He’s that close to us, and He will never reject us.

And on the last day, when our earthly lives are ended and our mission here is done, we shall be joined with God and all those who love Him in the very heart of divine love, the heart of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

This homily was given at St. Mary Catholic Church, Eugene, OR on the Eleventh Sunday of Ordinary Time, June 18, 2023.

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At one tense moment in Homer’s Odyssey, Odysseus and his men sail through a narrow channel between two towering cliffs.

On one cliff, in a dark cavern, dwells the six-headed sea monster Scylla.

On the other side, among sharp rocks, is Charybdis, the devouring whirlpool.  

It’s an impossible choice: Sail too close to Scylla and they will be eaten alive; too close to Charybdis and their whole ship will be sucked down beneath the surface of the sea.

In today’s Gospel, the Church of God is in a similarly desperate situation.

Jesus sees His people troubled and abandoned, like sheep without a shepherd.

In Greek, that word “troubled” is skullo, the same word as Scylla in the Odyssey: it means to be flayed, mangled, hunted like prey.

God’s sheep are not just lost, but hunted and harassed by enemies on every side.

The flock is wounded by false teachers, corrupt and abusive leaders, attacks from within and without.

And worst of all, they have no Odysseus, no captain to lead them out of danger.

For the shepherds have abandoned the flock, or worse, turned out to be wolves themselves.

This is the Church: a lone ship sailing between Scylla and Charybis, a flock of weak and wounded sheep, hemmed in by enemies, betrayed, abandoned.

It’s no wonder we can grow cynical and self-reliant.

We feel alone, with no one to save us.

Jesus, the Good Shepherd, sees the plight of his sheep.

His Sacred Heart is moved with compassion at the sight of our desperate, desolate hearts.

But Jesus sees our crisis differently, more clearly, than we do.

Jesus looks at the scattered crowd of His disciples, and in His loving gaze he sees not only the forsaken sheep, but ripe fruit clamoring to be picked.

“The harvest is abundant.”

The fields are ripe with wounded sheep.

So Christ, the Good Shepherd, is also Master of the Harvest.

He comes to save His flock from wolves and to gather up the fruit of souls, wounded hearts, sanctified and converted by many trials, into the harvest of Heaven.

But Jesus will not do all this alone.

“Ask the master of the harvest to send out laborers for His harvest.”

The disciples pray, as He commanded, and Jesus sends them. 

He calls the Twelve out from the midst of the flock, giving them His own power and authorityto heal, defend, and shepherd His sheep.

What an image of the priesthood!

The Good Shepherd raises up new shepherds after His own heart from among His sheep.

The Twelve are weak and wounded sheep themselves, and yet He makes them shepherds and sends them to carry on His rescue mission.

In fact, the priesthood of Jesus Christ is a continuation of His Incarnation—His “rescue mission” to save His flock.

Through the Sacrament of Holy Orders, the priest’s humanity shares mystically in Christ’s own humanity: he becomes an alter Christus, another Christ, sent to teach, sanctify, and shepherd the Church in persona Christi capitis, in the person of Christ the Head.

Today, at this Holy Mass, ask the Lord of the Harvest to send out laborers for the harvest, more good and holy priests for the Archdiocese of Portland.

And you young men, don’t be surprised if the Lord answers your prayer by calling you.

As we receive Him in Holy Communion, pray especially that we, your unworthy shepherds, may be faithful and true to our mission, true spiritual fathers, who care for God’s people with the Father’s heart.

And as we all join in Christ’s rescue mission, whatever our role, whether as priests or parents or any other members of His whole priestly people, we shall find the crisis truly is a harvest, and the harvest is abundant.

The Kingdom of God is taking shape in our midst.

The Lord is saving His people, bringing recreation out of disaster, leading His flock into eternal life.

There, we will share with the Apostles and all the saints in the glory of that Kingdom, which we will not only inhabit, but rejoice in having helped to build, the Kingdom of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, always, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

This homily was given at Mater Dolorosa Catholic Church, South San Francisco, CA on the Fifth Sunday of Easter, May 7, 2023. The audio is available here.

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Once again, Jesus is asking the impossible.

“Do not let your hearts be troubled.”

Our hearts are troubled by so many things: illnesses, financial worries, family members who are suffering…

But deep down, beneath all the worries of life, our hearts are really troubled by one thing.

It’s the original wound of every human heart.

“Can I trust you, God?”

As usual, Jesus puts his finger right on the deepest wound, the dark place within us that is so afraid to trust.

We walk through life as if we’re on the edge of a cliff.

We’ve heard that there’s a net somewhere down below to catch us if we fall.

We may believe it’s there; we may trust the ones who told us so; but still, we’d rather trust in our own agility than take a chance on the net.

So every new obstacle, every time our foot slips, plunges us into anxiety.

We may have faith in God, like the net at the bottom of the cliff.

We believe in Him in an abstract, intellectual way: that He exists; we may even believe that He is good, that He loves us, that He has a plan for us.

But the wound in our hearts cries out: “Can I trust you, here and now, in this present circumstance, in this distress?”

“Can I trust you now that I’ve lost my job, now that I have this diagnosis, now that my daughter has left the faith?”

“Can I trust you, God … or am I all alone?” 

An intellectual faith in God alone is not enough to heal our troubled hearts.

So Jesus says, “You have faith in God; have faith also in me.”

Faith in Jesus moves from the head to the heart, not only believing in God and what we’ve heard about Him, but trusting Him, personally, the way people in love trust one another.

Think of a young couple: They may say “I love you” a hundred times a day; they may demonstrate that love by giving each other gifts, a kiss, a picnic in the park—but there’s no empirical test to prove the existence of their love.

Nonetheless, that young couple will surrender themselves completely to each other, without hesitation.

They’re not shuffling along the cliff edge, wondering if the other person will catch them if they slip; they’re running and dancing, so confident in their beloved that they hardly think of the danger.

How can they be so naïve? Don’t they know the risk?

Certainly they know it, but for them, the danger has become something more abstract than the reality of their beloved.

They know the cliff is there, but they also know, they trust, they have such faith in the one they love, that their hearts sing out freely over the abyss.

We can only really trust when we love with all our might.

And only this kind of loving trust and self-surrender to the one we love can really heal our troubled hearts.

Today, whatever may be troubling our hearts, Jesus is with us.

Jesus, the One who loves us more than any human being.

The One who went to the Cross to heal our poor, wounded hearts.

Jesus trusted in the Father precisely from that dark place where we find it so hard to trust in God.

Jesus went there, into the dark place of our deepest wound … and there, feeling all of our fear and uncertainty, He trusted in God, persevering in loving trust and self-surrender until His final breath.

There, in the dark, at the cliff’s edge, His Father was more real to Him than death and danger.

And so by his faith and trust in God, Jesus healed the wound of our mistrust, making it possible for us to follow in his footsteps, and He restored a place for us in Heaven, if only we, too, can persevere in loving trust and self-surrender.

Today, as we receive His Body in the Holy Eucharist, we place our trust in Jesus.

We surrender ourselves to Him in love.

For Jesus is “the way and the truth and the life,” the one sure way through life’s dangers and trials.

Trust in Him is the one true way that ends in Heaven.

And we, who place our trust in Him until our final breath, will open our eyes again in that never-ending kingdom to find that Jesus Himself is our reward, our love, our happiness, and the joy of our hearts, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages.

This homily was given at Mater Dolorosa Catholic Church, South San Francisco, CA on the Third Sunday of Easter, April 23, 2023. The audio is available here.

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They’re going the wrong way, Cleopas and his friend.

That very morning, Easter Sunday, Mary Magdalene and Cleopas’ wife— “the other Mary”—were at the tomb very early, before the dawn, to anoint the body of Jesus, but of course, his body was not there.

Instead, they had a terrifying vision of an angel, who told them He was alive! 

And on their way home, filled with wonder, the women saw the risen Jesus Himself, who told them, “Go and tell my brothers to set out for Galilee, where it all began. There, they will see me.”

So the women ran home, afraid and yet filled with joy!

“Jesus is alive! He’s going to Galilee! Get up, go after him!”

But the other disciples did not believe them.

“Jesus, alive? What are you, crazy? We saw him die on Friday night.”

They went and saw the tomb themselves: empty, yes, but no vision of angels, no risen Jesus there to meet them. 

So Cleopas and his friend in today’s Gospel are not going north to Galilee.

They’re walking west, towards Emmaus, a little village outside of Jerusalem.

They’re taking their time, talking things over, arguing about the Scriptures, how it seemed like Jesus was really the Messiah.

All those healings, all those miracles, and even when He was on the cross…

“Did you see how the soldiers cast lots for his garments? Just like the Psalms said would happen to the Messiah!”

“I heard one of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, just like the prophet Zechariah predicted…”

On and on they walked and talked, and yet the more they said, the further they travelled, the cloud hanging over them only grew darker.

“We were hoping that He would be the one to redeem Israel, but now…”

He is dead.

Jesus is dead; they are convinced.

And His former disciples are walking away.

They may be on the road, but they’ve left the path of life.

Faith in Jesus Christ is the path to eternal salvation.

These disciples on the road to Emmaus, faithless, hopeless since the death of Jesus on Good Friday, have lost their way, their sense of direction.

In fact, spiritually speaking, they’re on a path to nowhere.

But these men, in all their conversations and debates, miss something kind of important.

Jesus is with them!

Jesus is alive!

And not only that—He’s right next to them, walking with them, although “their eyes were prevented from recognizing Him.”

Sometimes, we may feel like these disciples, walking along life’s journey on a path to nowhere.

Going over all the events of our past in our minds: “Where did it all go wrong? How did I end up here? And where’s God, anyway?”

The great saints and mystics of our beautiful Catholic tradition teach us that precisely when God seems to be absent, to be hidden, He is closer to us than ever.

And this whole encounter between Jesus and His friends on the road to Emmaus is all about restoring their faith and their hope in Himself, who is closer to them than they could possibly know.

Notice how Jesus is almost playful with them: He pretends like He’s going to keep on walking, instead of coming in for dinner, and when they recognize Him, He disappears, like it’s a game of hide and seek.

But when He vanishes from their sight, they know He’s not gone.

Faith has opened their eyes.

Jesus has truly been raised.

And He is truly with us.

Today, at this Holy Mass, Jesus is with us, and those with the eyes of faith will see Him in the breaking of the bread.

As we receive Him in Holy Communion, cry out to Him in your hearts with faith: “Jesus, my Lord and my God! I believe; I hope in you; I love you. Increase my faith.” 

Jesus only hides Himself, even under the appearance of bread and wine, in order for us to find Him. 

By faith, we find Jesus, we recognize Him, wherever we may be.

Though our lack of faith might lead us astray, one act of faith—“Jesus, I believe in you”—is enough to restore us to the path of life, which is Jesus Himself, the way, the truth, and the life.

And on the last day, when we arrive at our final destination, the heavenly Jerusalem, our faith will open up unto the vision of God, abounding joy in His presence, and delights at his right hand forever and ever, and unto the ages of ages.

This homily was given at Byzantine Divine Liturgy at Mater Dolorosa Catholic Church, South San Francisco, CA on the Third Sunday of Pascha, April 23, 2023.

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Early in the morning, before the dawn, Mary Magdalene and the other women set out to anoint the body of Christ.

But the angel who appeared to them in terrifying glory said: “Myrrh is good for the dead, but Christ has shown Himself a stranger to corruption!”

“Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death!”

“Rejoice, you myrrh-bearers, forget your sorrow; leave your spices here at the tomb, and go, proclaim to the world: The Savior, Jesus, is alive!”

As they left the empty tomb, trembling with fear, the women saw Jesus Himself, in His glorified Body.

And seeing Him in the flesh, they indeed anointed Him, not with myrrh, but with kisses for His feet and tears of gladness.

Like these women, we anoint the Risen Body of Christ, not with myrrh, but with our faith.

Myrrh is for the dead; but joy, love, trust, repentance, surrender, are better gifts to offer our living and Risen Lord.

Today, at this Divine Liturgy, leave the myrrh of bitterness, of regret, of sorrow; leave it at the empty tomb.

For Christ is risen, granting the world great mercy.

As we receive His Risen Body, veiled in the bread and wine, anoint Him with the fragrance of our faith, the spiritual anointing He desires above all.

“Jesus, I firmly believe that you are the Christ, the Son of the living God, who has come into the world and risen from the dead to save sinners, among whom I am the first.”

And like the women, who came to anoint the dead body of Jesus and found life, we who anoint His Risen Body with our faith will find in it abundant life, life without end, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

This homily was given at Mater Dolorosa Catholic Church, South San Francisco, CA on the Second Sunday of Easter (Divine Mercy Sunday), April 16, 2023. The audio is available here.

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The doors were locked, that day in Jerusalem.

The disciples knew they were in terrible danger … and they were terrified.

Now fear, in itself, is not wrong.

But in the grip of fear, we can easily fall into sin.

When we’re afraid, we lose our capacity to think clearly, to act deliberately.

Instead, we act on sheer instinct, doing whatever we can to protect ourselves.

And when fear rises up in our hearts, the enemy of our human nature is always there to suggest some subtle temptation.

Let’s say a conservation with your boss goes badly.

You feel afraid: you might get a bad review; you might lose your job.

You want to protect yourself.

And the thought might arise: go over his head; make a report about your boss to his boss; make him look bad before he can make you look bad. 

The fear is natural, but the Devil uses it to propose calumny, a sin, under the appearance of self-protection.

It looks like a reasonable way out, to protect ourselves from danger.

But as soon as we consent to sin, then the Devil, who strung us along with soft words and empty promises, turns on us like a raging lion.

“Look what you did! How could you? You coward, you useless, good-for-nothing. You’re just a loser, aren’t you? You’ll never change.”

And as we bear the shame and the consequences of our sin, then what began in fear can quickly end up in despair… 

Because what seemed to be a way out of suffering was only a way deeper in.

It seems that sin and the misery it causes last forever, that there’s no way out.

Like the disciples, on the verge of despair behind locked doors, Jesus shows up in the midst of our fear, our pain, our misery, our sin, and He says:

“Shalom. Peace be with you.”

The doors may be locked, but Jesus has the key to all of our hearts.

He comes in and stands beside us, and His word is powerful and effective.

“Peace”—and there is peace, the peace of Christ that surpasses all understanding, the peace that drives out fear.

Jesus is the one way out.

The way out of fear, the way out of sin and all the misery that comes from sin, the way out of the self-made prisons of our hearts.

Jesus is the answer to the whispering of the Tempter and the lies of the Accuser.

Jesus, the face of Divine Mercy, the love of God who comes down into our misery to heal and to save us, bearing away sin, and setting us free to live in a new way.

See, mercy is more than just tolerance.

Jesus does not tolerate our sin.

He bears sin and all its consequences away on the Cross, taking them upon himself, and now, risen from the dead as conqueror of sin and death, Jesus makes it possible for us to choose differently.

With Jesus, in the peace of His presence, we can choose to bless those who persecute us and return love for hatred.

We can choose to renounce sin and worldly vices and take our misery instead to Him, who truly bears it away and gives us only merciful love in return.

Today, at this Holy Mass, Jesus stands in our midst, offering us these gifts of peace and freedom.

Choose to accept them.

As we receive Jesus, Mercy Incarnate, in the Holy Eucharist, choosing to receive His peace, His freedom, His mercy, our souls are filled to overflowing … with a peace that blows open the doors that were locked, out of fear, and drives out the spirits of the evil one.

And as we live in this peace of God’s presence, we discover a dazzling truth:

Misery, the consequence of sin, is a thin and empty and passing thing.

It does not last forever.

It scatters and disappears before the coming of Christ like dust in the wind.

But mercy, the love of God for sinners: His mercy endures forever.

And we who choose Jesus, who choose peace, who choose freedom, who choose mercy, who choose a life of repentance, will live forever in the heart of mercy, the Kingdom of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen. 

This homily was given at Mater Dolorosa Catholic Church, South San Francisco, CA on Palm Sunday, April 2, 2023. The audio is available here.

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When Jesus came to Jerusalem, the people cried out, “Hosanna! Save us!”

It was a cry from the heart, a cry for life in the face of death.

But Jesus, the Son of David, proved to be a different kind of Savior than they expected: a poor and humble king, riding on a donkey; a suffering man of sorrows, not a triumphant conqueror.

Soon the very same people who cried out to Him for life … were calling for His death.

We long for life; we need a Savior; but we, too, could miss Him and reject Him, right in front of us, because He doesn’t come as we expect.

Jesus is God, the One who gives life to man.

In the beginning, God breathed His Spirit into Adam, the man he formed from the dust.

And God gave him all the fruit of the Garden to eat, all the good things He had made, except one—the knowledge of good and evil, which our first parents were not strong enough to eat and live.

When Adam fell, having eaten the one forbidden fruit, and being eaten alive by evil himself, God became man to save us, Adam’s sons and daughters, from sin and death and to restore the gift of life that man had lost through disobedience.

On the night before he suffered, Jesus freely tookhis life into his own hands, in order to give it away.

TAKE, EAT; THIS IS MY BODY. TAKE, DRINK; THIS IS MY BLOOD.

Jesus offers nothing other than Himself, His whole self, for consumption.

He identifies Himself completely with the bread and the wine in a sacrifice of love.

He knew nothing less than God Himself could satisfy our need for life.

Every other food, even the choice fruits God gave Adam in the garden, satisfies us for a few hours at a time, until we need to eat again.

Only the bread from heaven, the flesh of God, nourishes us with eternal life, divine life, the true life of man: it gives us a share in the life of God.

But in order to give Himself away to us— to give us life, and so to save us from death—Jesus’ Body and Blood had to be separated and handed over; His most pure Body, broken; His life-giving Blood, poured out.

Christ’s Mass, the first Mass, begun at the Last Supper, is finished the next day on Calvary.

What Jesus did with the bread and the wine is done to Him on the Cross.

His body is broken; His Blood, the essence of life, is poured out on the earth. 

Yet that precious Blood of God, which watered the ground on Calvary, is the same Blood we receive sacramentally today, at this Holy Mass, at every Holy Mass: the life of God which has become the life of man.

Today, the first day of Holy Week, be attentive.

Don’t miss Him.

God hides Himself in bread and wine, as He came into Jerusalem hidden in humility and poverty, yet He is the One life-giving God, the One and only Savior, who can deliver us from death and make us sharers in life without end.

As we receive the Body and Blood of Christ in the Holy Eucharist, cry out in your hearts: “Hosanna! Save us, Jesus, Son of David! Save us!”

For we who eat the flesh of the Son of Man with faith will have life in abundance, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen. 

This homily was given at Mater Dolorosa Catholic Church, South San Francisco, CA on the Fifth Sunday of Lent, March 26, 2023. The audio is available here.

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Lazarus has died.

And Martha, his sister, is furious.

Yes, she’s grieving; her heart is broken; but she is seeing red.

As she makes the funeral preparations, as she and her sister Mary anoint the body of their brother with myrrh and wrap him in the burial cloths…

There is a deep fire of anger blazing inside of her.

Because she, Martha, knows that their friend Jesus could have stopped it.

Everyone knows the miracles Jesus has done.

Just last week, he healed a blind man!

Anyone who can do that could have healed her brother.

She sent a messenger to Jesus, to carry the news that Lazarus was sick.

But there was no reply.

As her brother quickly got worse, the little candle of his life flickering and going out, and for three days after that, they heard nothing from Jesus.

Mary didn’t say much.

But Martha’s anger, fueled by her grief, channeled into all her work and busyness yet only growing and growing, more and more, inside of her… gave birth to a terrible thought.

Jesus didn’t really care about them after all.

When they really needed him, Jesus was nowhere to be found.

Then, the fourth day after Lazarus died.

The body is buried, the tomb is sealed, the funeral is done, the guests are lingering but beginning to disperse.

And finally, Jesus comes.

Hearing that he’s been seen on the road, Martha marches out to meet him.

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died!” 

But seeing his face, that familiar face she thought she knew so well, her anger melts away and all she can feel is the pain, the betrayal, the confusion.

She begins to weep.

And Jesus wept with her.

God cares deeply about our pain, our grief, the ones we have loved and lost.

He loves them, too, and when we weep for them, He weeps with us.

For in Jesus Christ, God has become man, and He knows what it is to love and to grieve.

Yet even so, God permits suffering and death and the pain of separation.

And sometimes, in that suffering, He is nowhere to be found.

Our prayers seem to go up to Heaven and disappear with no response.

When Jesus receives the message from Martha that Lazarus is sick, He says, “This illness is not to end in death, but is for the glory of God.”

It’s not to end in death.

But Lazarus will have to pass through death, just as Mary and Martha and Jesus Himself will have to pass through death and grief and sorrow, in order to reach the end which glorifies God: Resurrection.

Yes, God could prevent anyone from dying, but Jesus reveals: Without death, there can be no resurrection, no rebirth to a new and better kind of life—there can be no Easter Sunday without passing through Passiontide.

Having become man, like us, Jesus dies.

He enters into death itself for our sake; His body is anointed with myrrh and wrapped in burial cloths; the tomb is sealed; three days go by.

And on the third day, when He is called forth by the Father, raised up from the dead, the stone of death is rolled away for all mankind, and the way lies open for us, now, to enter eternal life.

We may have to suffer many things, and ultimately, death itself—but death is not the end.

Death is the door; life is changed, not ended.

And just like Lazarus, our resurrection is close at hand.

Today, Jesus comes to us and says, “I am the resurrection and the life; whoever believes in me, even if he dies, will live.”

“If you believe, you will see the glory of God.”

Friends, our resurrection begins today—not only at the end of time, but here and now, as we believe in Jesus, we live a new kind of life.

A life rooted in Heaven, a life filled with hope, a life too strong for death.

As we receive Jesus in Holy Communion, trust Him.

Believe in Him, like Mary believed.

And on the last day, we who have believed in Jesus will rise with Him to the glory of God the Father, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.