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