THE PARABLE OF THE SOWER

July 23, 2025 Wednesday within the 16th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 13:1–9 In the parable of the sower, Jesus draws our attention not merely to the soil, but to the astonishing resilience of the seed — the Word of God — that is scattered with hope, even in unlikely places. Though some of it falls on rocky paths, thorny ground, and shallow soil, the seed still carries within it the power to grow. This story reminds us that the Word of God is not fragile. It is dynamic, alive, and capable of surviving even in the hardest circumstances of our lives. Our hearts, like the varying soils, receive God’s Word differently — sometimes distracted by worry, sometimes hardened by pain, and sometimes shallow in faith. But even when life feels barren or overgrown with fear and stress, the seed is still working, still pushing to take root. We must never let the thorns of worry or the heat of trials make us believe we are barren. Growth often happens underground, in silence and struggle, where God is at work deep within us. Faithfulness is not about perfect soil, but about allowing the seed to remain and do its work. Ultimately, this parable is about hope — the hopeful persistence of God’s Word and the potential within us to bear fruit, even in difficulty. We grow when we stay, when we receive, and when we allow God to shape us through our challenges. Fruitfulness does not come from comfort, but from our willingness to be tilled, watered, and stretched by grace. So let us not focus too much on how broken we are, but on how generous the Sower is. Let the Word land, and let it live in you. Blessings Fr. Jhack

FEAST OF MARY MAGDALENE

July 22, 2025 Feast of Mary Magdalene Jn 20:1-2, 11-18 The story of Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb is one of the most intimate and personal encounters with the Risen Christ in all of Scripture. In today’s gospel, we find her weeping outside the tomb, grieving the loss of not only her Lord but also the meaning and hope she had found in Him. Her tears are not just about death—they are tears of confusion, loss, and love. She remained, even when others went away. And it was in her staying, her longing, and her faithful love that Jesus met her. What is most beautiful is that the Risen Lord chose to reveal Himself first to someone the world might have dismissed. Mary Magdalene was not a high priest, not a scholar, not a public leader—but a woman once healed, now fully devoted. This tells us that Jesus is not bound by status or power, but moves toward the heart that stays, searches, and loves. When He calls her by name—“Mary”—her eyes are opened. The Risen Christ meets us personally, in the language of love and recognition. He does not scold her tears but honors them by showing her the truth. In moments when we are overwhelmed by sorrow, confusion, or silence, Mary Magdalene reminds us to stay by the tomb a little longer. Resurrection often comes to those who choose not to run away from the pain. Her story assures us that Jesus comes not only in glory but in the garden of our grief. And when He calls us by name, our despair turns into mission—as it did for Mary, the first witness of the Resurrection. From her tears came a testimony. From her mourning came a message: “I have seen the Lord.” Blessings Fr. Jhack

THE SIGN OF JONAH

July 21, 2025 Monday within the 16th week in Ordinary Time Year C Matthew 12:38-42 There were moments in my life — and even in my priesthood — when I begged God for a sign. A whisper of assurance, a miracle to ease the ache, or a light to make sense of the dark. Like the Pharisees in today’s Gospel, I wanted something visible, something loud, something immediate. But heaven seemed silent. And in that silence, I felt abandoned, unseen, maybe even unloved. But that’s when this Gospel struck me deeply: “No sign will be given… except the sign of Jonah.” The sign I was looking for was not in the sky, but on the Cross — and in the empty tomb. The sign of Jonah is not flashy; it is buried in pain. It is found in the three long days when it seemed all hope was lost — when even Jesus was wrapped in death. And yet, it is the greatest sign of all: that love goes to the deepest places, and still rises. That God does not always answer with thunder, but with resurrection. And I realize now, the times when I thought God was most absent were the very moments He was drawing me into His mystery. Not to impress me, but to transform me. Faith is not built on signs; it is born from surrender. Like the people of Nineveh who heard a prophet and changed their lives, I am learning — still learning — to listen with my heart instead of my eyes. When God seems silent, I look to the Cross and I see the loudest message of love ever spoken. And in the echo of the empty tomb, I find this truth: The greatest sign was never in the sky, but in the Savior who died and rose again — for me. Blessings Fr. Jhack

THE BETTER PART

July 20, 2025 16th Sunday in Ordinary Time Year C Luke 10:38-42 There are days in ministry when I feel like Martha—pulled in many directions, doing what I believe is necessary and good, yet deep inside, there’s a quiet ache for something more. This Gospel reminds me that even in service to God, I can get lost in the work and forget the One I’m working for. Jesus does not scold Martha for serving; He lovingly invites her to something deeper—to choose the better part, as Mary did: to pause, to listen, to simply be with Him. I’ve learned the hard way that when prayer is compromised, everything else slowly begins to unravel. Without moments of silence, my words become shallow; without time at His feet, even sacred responsibilities feel heavy. Ministry without prayer becomes performance. But when I make time to sit with Jesus, even briefly, I rediscover the peace and purpose behind the calling. In the chaos of life, listening to Jesus is not a luxury—it’s a lifeline. We live in a Martha’s world—rushed, noisy, always demanding more. But I pray to live with Mary’s heart: a heart that treasures presence over productivity, intimacy over activity. The “better part” is not found in doing more, but in being with the Lord more. In every homily, every visit, every decision, I want to carry not just a mission—but the stillness of someone who has sat with the Master. That’s the only way I can keep going. That’s the only way I can truly serve. NB: The better part is listening before serving. Kneeling matters more than moving. Friend, do not lose the One you’re serving. Blessings Fr. Jhack

HOPE FOR THE WOUNDED SOUL

July 19, 2025 Saturday within the 15th werk in Ordinary Time: Year C Matthew 12:14–21 This passage always strikes me deeply. While the Pharisees were plotting to destroy Jesus, He quietly withdrew. He didn’t fight back. He didn’t raise His voice. He simply walked away—and continued healing people. That moment teaches me that not every battle needs to be fought with noise or force. Sometimes, like Jesus, we are called to be faithful in silence. We keep doing good, even when misunderstood or opposed. That takes a kind of strength that doesn’t shout—it endures. I’m moved by the words: “He will not break a bruised reed or quench a smoldering wick.” How many times in my own life have I felt like a bruised reed, bent by exhaustion, doubt, or disappointment? And yet, the Lord never broke me. He never gave up on me. He gently lifted me, quietly healed me, and gave me strength to go on. God’s justice is not harsh—it’s tender. It doesn’t crush the broken; it restores them. That is the kind of justice the world needs. That is the heart of Jesus. Reading this Gospel reminds me of the kind of priest I want to be—and the kind of Christian we’re all called to be. I want to serve not by overpowering others, but by quietly lifting them up. I want to protect the weak, not judge them. I want to be a reflection of Christ’s gentle strength. In a world that often rewards noise and power, Jesus shows us another way: the way of mercy, of peace, and of quiet, faithful love. Blessings Fr. Jhack

BLESSED ARE THE FAITHFUL

There were many times in my journey as a priest when I was tempted to walk away—not from my vocation entirely, but from certain people, duties, or even moments of deep inner struggle. There were days when I showed up to pray, but my heart was dry. Days when I smiled at others, while secretly wrestling with exhaustion or doubt. And yet, I stayed. Not because I was strong, but because I believed faithfulness matters to God. God never asked me to be perfect. He never demanded that I always feel inspired, joyful, or on fire. What He asks is that I remain. That I return to Him, again and again, with all that I am—weakness and all. I have learned that faithfulness to God is not about how I feel, but about who I believe He is: a faithful Father who never gives up on His children. So I hold on. I stay close. I keep showing up in prayer, in the sacraments, in service—because I know He is always there. Faithfulness has also taught me something deeper about love. In relationships—with family, friends, parishioners—it’s not the grand gestures that matter most. It’s the daily presence, the quiet sacrifices, the choice to listen even when tired, to forgive even when hurt. And in my responsibilities as a priest, faithfulness means being present even when I feel invisible, preaching with fire even when I feel empty, and celebrating Mass with reverence even when my heart is heavy. Because at the end of the day, it’s not about being extraordinary—it’s about being faithful. And that’s the kind of priest I pray to be—not perfect, not always strong, but faithful. Because faithfulness, even when unnoticed by the world, is always seen by God. And that is enough. Blessings Fr. Jhack