JESUS AND THE PIGS

July 2, 2025 Wednesday within the 13th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 8:28–34 There is something hauntingly beautiful about this passage. Jesus enters the region of the Gadarenes—a place avoided, feared, even cursed. And there, He is met not with welcome, but with violence: two men possessed, outcast, and tormented by demons. Their pain was so fierce that no one dared pass by them. But Jesus did. He crosses into the margins—not just geographically, but spiritually—stepping into the very place where human suffering and evil are most raw and terrifying. It moves me deeply that the Son of God does not flinch. He sees them, not just the demons. And in His seeing, He restores. The demons recognize Him instantly and tremble: “What do you want with us, Son of God?” That question cuts into the heart. Because many of us—wounded, ashamed, trapped in our own silent battles—have whispered that same question: Jesus, what do You want with someone like me? And yet, He answers not with condemnation, but with liberation. He casts the demons out, sending them into the pigs. It’s a powerful act of deliverance, but what pierces my heart is what follows. The townspeople, instead of rejoicing, beg Jesus to leave. Sometimes the presence of healing disturbs the comfort of what is familiar—even if it’s broken. They preferred silence over transformation, pigs over people, safety over salvation. This Gospel wounds me and heals me at the same time. It reminds me that Christ will go where no one else dares—into the graves of our past, into the caves of our fears, into the places people have written off. And when He does, demons flee, chains break, and the possessed become whole. But it also challenges me: Will I welcome Him when He disturbs my comfort? Will I choose people over possessions, freedom over fear, healing over hiding? Because Jesus still steps into Gadarenes today—and sometimes, that dark and dangerous place is our very own heart. And even there, He comes not to destroy… but to save. Blessings Fr. Jhack

STORM

July 1, 2025 Canada Day Tuesday within the 13th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 8:23–27 There was a time in my life when I felt like I was doing everything right. I was following Jesus, staying faithful to prayer, serving where I was called—and yet, suddenly, I found myself in the middle of a storm. It came without warning: fear, confusion, doubts I never expected, and silence from heaven that felt deafening. Today’s Gospel scene felt all too real. I was in the boat. I was drowning. And Jesus felt asleep. That’s when I learned this hard truth: the storm is part of the journey. Even when you walk with Jesus, storms still come. But they come with a purpose—to reveal the depth of your faith, the strength of your trust, and the reality of your relationship with God. I used to think faith meant fighting harder, praying louder, or fixing everything fast. But then I looked at Jesus in the boat—asleep. While the disciples were panicking, He was resting. It wasn’t that He didn’t care—it was that He was at peace. That image struck me deeply. I realized I didn’t need to match the chaos around me. I needed to sleep like Jesus—to rest in God, even when everything around me screamed otherwise. Faith, I’ve learned, sometimes looks like surrender. It means saying, “Lord, I don’t understand, but I trust You’re still in control.” And that’s when peace came—not because the storm disappeared immediately, but because I knew I was safe. Safe not from pain, but from despair. Safe not from loss, but from hopelessness. Jesus stood up in the boat then, and He still stands up in our lives now. He speaks calm into our chaos. I look back at that storm now not with fear, but with gratitude. It taught me to respond with trust, not terror. Because when you trust in the Lord—not in the absence of storms, but in the presence of the Savior—you are truly, deeply, and eternally safe. NB: On this Canada Day, I thank God for the gift of this country that welcomed me, shaped me, and gave me new ground to serve. May we continue to grow as a nation rooted in peace, compassion, and unity. Let us not only celebrate our freedoms—but use them to lift others up. God bless Canada, and may we always walk humbly with Jesus. Blessings Fr. Jhack

The cost of following Jesus

June 30, 2025 Monday within the 13th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 8:18–22 There is something quietly piercing about this Gospel. Jesus doesn’t turn people away—but He doesn’t sugarcoat the journey either. When a scribe enthusiastically says, “Teacher, I will follow you wherever You go,” Jesus responds not with praise, but with sobering honesty: “Foxes have dens and birds have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay His head.” It’s as if He’s asking, “Are you ready to follow Me, even if it costs you everything familiar?” This passage confronts us with the raw truth that discipleship is not about comfort—it’s about surrender. I’ve felt that surrender. Leaving behind people I loved, places I was rooted in, and dreams I once held close. There were moments I wanted to say, “Lord, let me just take care of this first.” But Jesus’ words echo clearly: “Follow Me, and let the dead bury their dead.” Not because He lacks compassion, but because He knows our hearts can delay with good excuses that quietly become chains. To follow Jesus means to walk away from safety into sacred uncertainty. It means choosing Him even when it hurts, even when it’s lonely, even when no one claps. But I’ve also found this to be true—when we let go of everything else, we fall into the arms of the One who gave up everything for us. And that’s when we discover: it’s not about what we give up… it’s about who we gain. Blessings Fr. Jhack

When Grace Found Them… and Me!

A Personal Reflection on the Solemnity of Saints Peter and Paul Matthew 16:13-19 Every year on this solemn feast of Saints Peter and Paul, I find myself pausing—not just in admiration, but in awe. These were not men born into sainthood. Peter denied Jesus when He needed him most. Paul hunted down the very followers of Christ with rage in his heart. And yet today, the Church doesn’t just remember them—we celebrate them as pillars of the faith. How did they get there? Not by perfection, but by surrender. Not because they were flawless, but because they let grace do the impossible in them. I look at my own life and see echoes of their stories. I’ve had my own moments of denial—not always with words, but in silence, in hesitation, in fear. And I’ve had my own moments of pride and blindness, where I was so sure of my way, I didn’t notice God quietly offering a better one. But like Peter and Paul, grace found me. Not when I had it all together, but when I was most lost. It didn’t shame me—it called me by name. It didn’t erase my past—it transformed it. That’s the power of God’s mercy: it makes saints out of sinners, preachers out of persecutors, and hope out of heartbreak. Peter and Paul remind me that heaven isn’t reserved for the blameless—it’s promised to the redeemed. So I keep walking, stumbling sometimes, but always getting up… because the same God who built His Church on shaky ground can build something sacred in me too. Blessings Fr. Jhack

Not worthy yet loved

June 28, 2025 Saturday within the 12th week in Orinary Time: Year C Matthew 8:5–17 In today’s gospel we encounter two moments of deep human need—a Roman centurion whose beloved servant is suffering terribly, and many others who come to Jesus with sickness and affliction. What stands out is not just the healing that takes place, but the heart that dares to ask. The centurion, a man of authority, approaches Jesus not with pride, but with profound humility: “Lord, I am not worthy to have you under my roof.” It is a line that has echoed for centuries in our Eucharistic prayers. Behind those words is the aching heart of someone who loves deeply—who is willing to set aside status, power, and reputation just to see someone he cares for be restored. And Jesus, moved not by rank but by faith, marvels. This Gospel reveals a love that crosses boundaries—cultural, religious, personal. Jesus heals not just because He can, but because His heart is always drawn to the suffering. He enters Peter’s house, sees his mother-in-law lying sick, and touches her hand. There’s no grand miracle here—just a quiet gesture of compassion that lifts her up and restores her strength. And then, like her, we are called to rise from our own healing and begin to serve. The grace we receive is not meant to end with us—it must overflow. Healing is not only about physical restoration; it is the reawakening of the soul, the stirring of gratitude, and the rebirth of purpose. This passage reminds us that no suffering is hidden from the gaze of Christ. Whether we are pleading like the centurion or lying helpless like Peter’s mother-in-law, Jesus comes close. He doesn’t just cure diseases; He carries our burdens, fulfills Isaiah’s prophecy, and enters into the wounds of humanity to bring light. This is our hope—that even in moments when we feel unworthy, broken, or far from help, He is willing to come under our roof. His presence heals. His word restores. And in every Mass where we whisper, “Lord, I am not worthy…” we are echoing the cry of the centurion—and trusting in a love that still heals today. Blessings Fr. Jhack

Solemnity of the Sacred Heart of Jesus

June 27, 2025 Friday within the 12th week in Ordinary Time: Year C Solemnity of the Most Sacred of Jesus Luke 15: 3-7 There is something unspeakably tender in this short parable—the image of a shepherd leaving ninety-nine to search for one. Not because the one is better. Not because the one deserves it. But simply because the one is loved. This is not the logic of the world, but the logic of the Heart of Jesus—the Sacred Heart that beats with mercy, longing, and relentless love. On this feast, we do not just celebrate a doctrine—we celebrate a Person: Jesus, whose heart still burns for the lost, still breaks for the wounded, and still rejoices when even one soul turns back to Him. When we hear this Gospel on the Feast of the Sacred Heart, it’s as if heaven is whispering to each of us, “You are that one sheep.” We who have strayed in big ways or small, we who sometimes feel unworthy, unseen, or forgotten—He has not forgotten us. He comes not with condemnation, but with compassion. He lifts us not with scolding, but with joy. Can you imagine it? God rejoicing—celebrating—over you? That’s the kind of love His Heart holds: personal, passionate, and patient. A love that would suffer, bleed, and be pierced—just to carry you home. The Sacred Heart is not a symbol of comfort alone—it is a call. A call to trust that no matter how far we wander, His mercy is greater. A call to let ourselves be found, to stop hiding behind shame, fear, or pride. And perhaps even more, a call to love like Him—to be the ones who seek out the hurting, carry the weak, and rejoice not in perfection, but in repentance. Today, as we gaze upon His wounded Heart, may we feel the ache of His love and hear Him whisper: “I see you. I’ve come for you. And I will never stop loving you.” Blessings Fr. Jhack

FAITH IS NOT ABOUT LIPS SERVICE

June 26, 2025 Thursday within the 12th Week in Ordinary Time: Year C Matthew 7:21–29 There are times when I read the Gospel and feel Jesus looking right into my soul. Today’s words—“Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven…” they struck me like a quiet thunder. It’s not because I don’t love Him, but because He’s reminding me that love is more than words. It’s not just about calling Him “Lord”—it’s about letting Him be Lord over every part of my life.Faith is not lip service—it is lived obedience. “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’” reminds us that discipleship is not about sounding holy but about surrendering to God’s will. What pleases the Father is not the grandness of our declarations, but the quiet, faithful doing of His will in love and humility. Today’s Gospel is not a threat—it is a merciful invitation. Jesus isn’t trying to scare us. I truly believe He’s pleading with us, lovingly, like a Father who wants His children to live in truth and not illusion. We can get so busy doing good things—even religious things—yet our hearts can still drift far from Him. I’ve had moments where I realized I was building on sand: the need to be liked, the desire to appear strong, or the pride of being “right.” But Jesus is gently saying, “Come back to Me. Build your life on Me. I am the Rock that holds through every storm.” So if today you feel shaken or unsure—if life feels like a storm—you’re not alone. Maybe that’s exactly where Jesus wants to meet you, not to tear you down, but to rebuild something beautiful with you. Slowly, patiently, faithfully. My prayer for all of us today is this: “Lord, don’t just be on my lips. Be in my choices, in my heart, in how I love. Help me build my life on You—secure, honest, and true.” Blessings Fr. Jhack

BEWARE OF FALSE PROPHETS

June 25, 2025 Wednesday within the 12th week in Ordinary Time: Year C Matthew 7:15-20 There’s something piercing in the words of Jesus: “By their fruits you will know them.” It’s not just a warning about false prophets—it’s an invitation to self-examination. These words speak to the aching truth we often try to ignore: that what we appear to be and what we truly are can be very different. Jesus reminds us that our faith is not proven by the words we speak or the image we present, but by the fruit we bear—in love, in patience, in truth, in mercy. What grows from our lives reveals the roots of our soul. Jesus speaks these words not with anger, but with deep sadness and concern. He knows how easily people can be misled by appearances, by charisma, by voices that sound religious but do not come from a heart rooted in God. He also knows how easily we can deceive ourselves—believing we are on the right path while harboring bitterness, pride, or hypocrisy. And yet, this Gospel isn’t meant to condemn—it’s meant to wake us up. It’s a gentle but firm call to return to the authentic path of holiness, where fruit is not forced, but grows naturally from a heart that abides in Christ. If you feel burdened by your failures or afraid that your life is not bearing enough fruit, take heart: God is the patient Gardener. He does not uproot in anger—He gently prunes, waters, and nourishes. Sometimes, the most beautiful fruit grows in seasons of great pain and surrender. The measure of a good tree is not perfection, but perseverance in love. Let this be our prayer today: “Lord, make my heart true. Let my roots grow deep in You, so that what flows from me is real, lasting, and filled with grace.” May we live not to impress the world—but to bear fruit that brings joy to heaven. Blessings Fr. Jhack

HIS NAME IS JOHN

June 24, 2025 Solemnity of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist Luke 1:57-66 The birth of Saint John the Baptist is a sacred testimony to one of the most consoling truths we can hold onto: God never forgets. Elizabeth, once called barren, now cradles a miracle in her arms. What seemed impossible became real—not because of luck, but because of a faithful God who sees even the hidden tears. In a world where people often forget promises, birthdays, and even names, our God forgets nothing—not your prayers, not your pain, not your purpose. God has no dementia. He remembers each soul, each sigh, and every longing heart. Zechariah, once silenced in disbelief, now proclaims with joy, “His name is John.” It’s a name chosen by heaven, not by custom. This moment shows us that when we surrender to God’s will, even after seasons of silence, our voice is restored, and our hope is renewed. God is never late. He is never distracted. While we may grow weary in waiting, God is always faithfully working in the background, weaving our story into something beautiful and eternal. Our delays are not denials—they are divine preparations. And so the neighbors ask, “What then will this child be?”—because even they sense something holy unfolding. When life feels barren, when we think we’ve been forgotten, we must remember this: God doesn’t forget anyone. Not Elizabeth, not Zechariah, not you. Even if everyone else overlooks you, God remembers. His love is not fading. His memory is not weak. Your name is written on the palm of His hand, and His plan for you is more faithful than time itself. Let that truth console your heart: God never forgets. God has no dementia. Blessings Fr. Jhack

DO NOT JUDGE

June 23, 2025 Monday within the 12th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 7:1-15 In today’s Gospel, Jesus speaks words that are both challenging and healing: “Do not judge, so that you may not be judged.” These words are not meant to condemn us, but to free us—from the burden of always measuring others, and from the loneliness that judgment brings. Often, when we judge others, we are carrying unhealed wounds within ourselves. We become quick to point fingers, not because we are strong, but because we are afraid. But Jesus gently reminds us to turn inward first—to see clearly our own hearts, and to let God’s grace transform us with love. It is easy to focus on the faults of others. But Christ calls us not to fix others, but to love them. Not to condemn, but to understand. Judging closes hearts—love opens them. Judgment divides, but love reconciles. And when we choose love, we begin to see people not as problems, but as brothers and sisters, just like us—carrying burdens, struggling, and yearning to be understood. Jesus invites us to remove the log in our own eye, not with shame, but with the quiet courage that comes from being honest before God. Only then can we help others with gentleness and grace. Friends, if you have felt judged or misunderstood, know this: God does not look at you with harshness, but with mercy. And that same mercy, we are called to extend to others. Let us stop judging—not because we are weak, but because we are strong in love. Let us start loving—not because others are perfect, but because God loved us first, even in our imperfection. In a world full of noise and hurt, may we become bearers of peace, not critics. Healers, not accusers. Let us walk with one another, patiently, kindly, and humbly—just as Jesus walks with us every day. Blessings Fr. Jhack

CORPUS CHRISTI SUNDAY

June 22, 2025 Corpus Christi Sunday Luke 9:11b-17 In the Gospel today, we see a beautiful image of God’s heart in action. The crowds follow Jesus, hungry not just for food, but for truth, healing, and hope. And Jesus welcomes them. He does not turn them away. He teaches, He heals—and then, He feeds. When the disciples suggest sending the people away, Jesus says something deeply moving and challenging: “You give them something to eat.” At first, this seems impossible—they only have five loaves and two fish. But when placed in Jesus’ hands, a miracle happens. There is enough for all. More than enough. This moment is not only a miracle of food—it is a foretaste of something far greater: the gift of the Eucharist. The multiplication of the loaves points us toward the mystery of the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist. Just as Jesus fed the multitudes with earthly bread, He now feeds us with His very Body and Blood. In every Mass, He takes the simple gifts we offer—bread and wine—and by the power of His word and Spirit, He gives us Himself. Not a symbol. Not a reminder. But truly, fully, and completely—Jesus, present in the Eucharist. The miracle of the loaves fills stomachs; the miracle of the Eucharist fills souls. And while the bread on the hillside was temporary, the Bread of Life is eternal. In a world starving for meaning, love, and peace, Jesus still says to the Church: “You give them something to eat.” And we do—not by our own strength, but by offering the Eucharist, the greatest treasure of our faith. When we adore the Blessed Sacrament, when we receive Holy Communion with reverence, when we live lives rooted in the Eucharist, we proclaim: God is truly here. He has not left us. He still feeds His people. Let us return to the altar with awe and gratitude. In the Eucharist, we encounter not just bread—but the living Christ, who loves, heals, and satisfies the deepest hunger of our hearts. Blessings Fr. Jhack