When I was ten, my dad gathered our family around the table in small-town Vermont and told us we were moving to the big desert city of Phoenix, Arizona. We were leaving behind family, friends, and everything familiar. None of us knew what to expect.

But something beautiful happened. As we made the move together, our family grew closer. In retrospect, I’m amazed at my parents’ courage to go on that adventure. Even as a kid I realized our family found, in that challenge, a deeper unity and mutual love.

My brothers and sisters,

Something is on the horizon - a New Day is dawning!

As Scripture says: “Stand erect and raise your heads because your redemption is at hand.” Lk. 21:28

May this Advent Season be a reflective and thought-provoking time for each and everyone of us. Let us encounter the calm of the season as we seek reconciliation with our God and neighbor.

In this 3rd Sunday of Advent we hear from the gospel: “Behold,.I.am.sending.my.messenger.ahead.of.you;. he.will.prepare.your.way.before.you.” This is referring to John the Baptist, but in many ways, Mary, the first disciple, also prepares the way for us to come to Jesus.

This past Monday we celebrated the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary.

On this First Sunday of Advent, so many centuries after the time of Christ, there is a pertinent question we might consider. What is the primary reason for our faith in Jesus Christ? Many Christians, perhaps a majority, would say that having faith is essential if one wishes to have heaven as a destination. Keeping the faith, it is widely thought, is how one avoids the eternal flames of fire, and is thus granted eternal life. And so, the focus of many people is “getting saved,” which is seen as a strictly individual matter. But God in Christ is redeeming the world, not merely inoculating individuals one by one. Faith is trusting in God’s love and living for the future fulfillment of God’s redemptive purposes for creation.

Not long ago, I was called to a hospital to anoint a woman in her early 80s. She was dying, and visibly in pain. But what struck me most wasn’t her suffering — it was the atmosphere in the room. She had eight children and 30 foster kids, and many of them were gathered around her. You’d expect sorrow, fear, maybe even despair. But the room was filled with something else entirely — a quiet strength, a kind of sweetness. It was as if she was suffering not just with them, but for them. And they, in love, were suffering for her. The pain was real. But so was the peace. I didn’t want to run. I felt as if I was in a little paradise, beeping machines and all.

When I was a kid growing up in New England, I’d occasionally go on a whale watch. Once we went out with calm waters and clear skies. But on the way back in, the sea got rough. I was just a kid, and I remember thinking we should turn left or right toward the shoreline I could see. But the pilot of the boat kept going straight — right into the waves — focused on a small, discouragingly distant lighthouse. Even when it flickered in and out of sight, he stayed the course. He knew where he was going.

This Sunday's Gospel, according to Saint John, places us in an episode close to the Jewish Passover (Jn 2:13-22), in which the Jewish people commemorated their liberation from slavery in Egypt. In this celebration, animal sacrifices were offered for the forgiveness of the sins of individuals and the community, and it was also a way of drawing closer to God.

Jesus is indignant when he sees the way the people and the merchants are behaving, and he begins to drive out the merchants who were in the temple, saying to them, “Take all these things away; do not make my Father’s house a marketplace” (Jn 2:16).

Dear Parish and School Families,

As we gather to celebrate the Feast of All Souls, my heart is drawn to the quiet moments of remembrance that this sacred day invites. In our Catholic tradition, November 2nd is set aside to honor and pray for all the faithful departed, our loved ones, our ancestors, and even those who have no one left to pray for them by name. It is a beautiful and solemn reminder that in Christ, death does not end our story, it transforms it.

One of the often repeated themes of Sacred Scripture is the special care God has for the poor, the underprivileged, and the outcasts of society. We find that theme in today’s readings. The Old Testament prophet, Sirach, says “the Lord God hears the cry of the oppressed and he is not deaf to the wail of the orphan; the prayer of the lowly pierces the clouds.” That, by the way, is sheer poetry.

Usually, the Responsorial Psalm is a kind of reflection on and a repetition of the theme of the First Reading. And sure enough, in today’s Responsorial Psalm, after each verse comes the refrain: “The Lord hears the cry of the poor.”

A woman in my parish has an adult son who has rejected his faith. She prays for him every day. She lights candles, says rosaries, and asks God again and again to bring him back. But nothing changes. Is God listening? Is He delaying? She told me once that she feels like the widow in Jesus' strange parable - crying out for justice, but hearing only silence. And yet, she said, she is at peace. I asked why. She responded, "God is already answering. I just can't see it yet."

Leprosy would make one ritually impure. It is against this background that we should understand the episodes in the first reading and in the gospel. In the first reading it was Naaman, the Syrian, and in the gospel ten unnamed lepers. The striking difference lies in the sense of gratitude shown by those who were healed. The 9 Jewish lepers healed by Jesus were more concerned about getting their healing confirmed and certified by the religious leadership, where as the only non-Jew had no such strings attached. So, he went straight back to Jesus praising God. He prostrated before him and thanked Jesus.

A priest friend of mine received a call from a family whose elderly mother was dying. Within thirty minutes, he was at her bedside, offering the consolation of the sacraments, anointing her with the oil of the sick, and commending her soul to God. She passed not long after, and for months, her family spoke of their deep gratitude for his presence. When I phoned him to commend his faithful ministry, he simply said, “I was just doing my job.”