📖 Revelation 7:2–4, 9–14 | Psalm 24 | 1 John 3:1–3 | Matthew 5:1–12a

A little boy was visiting a church with his grandmother. Sunlight streamed through the stained-glass windows, illuminating the faces of the saints. “Grandma, who are those people?” he asked. “Those are the saints, sweetheart.” A few days later, his teacher asked the class, “Does anyone know what a saint is?” The boy raised his hand. “A saint is somebody the light shines through.” That’s a beautiful answer, isn’t it? Most of us imagine saints as extraordinary people who never lost their tempers, never made terrible decisions, and probably never said anything they regretted. If those were the requirements, heaven would be a remarkably empty place! But that little boy understood something profound. Saints are not people who produce their own light. They are people who allow God’s light to shine through them. And sometimes that light shines through lives we would least expect.

In today’s first reading, Saint John sees an enormous multitude from every nation, race, people, and tongue standing before God’s throne, dressed in white robes. Heaven is filled with people from every background, united not by their records but by God’s mercy. Their robes weren’t white because they had never gotten dirty. They were white because Christ had made them clean. Think about Peter, who denied Jesus when his friend needed him most. Think about Paul, who persecuted Christians before becoming an apostle. Think about the criminal dying beside Jesus. He couldn’t undo his crimes, recover his lost years, or repair everything he had broken. He could only turn toward Jesus and ask to be remembered. And Jesus promised him paradise. God’s mercy didn’t change his past. It changed his future.

Perhaps one of the hardest things about being here isn’t simply the locked doors or the lack of freedom. Perhaps it’s wondering whether the people you love still think about you. Whether your children remember the good things about you. Whether someone you disappointed will ever look at you the same way again. Sometimes, when the world seems to have forgotten us, we begin to wonder whether God has forgotten us too. But listen to Saint John’s astonishing words: “See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God.” Not someday, when we finally get everything right. Now. Before anyone gave you a number, God gave you a name. Before anyone pronounced a sentence, God knew you as His child. Your mistakes matter. The people you’ve hurt matter. Taking responsibility matters. But there is an enormous difference between saying, “I have done something terrible,” and believing, “I am nothing but something terrible.” The first can lead to repentance. The second leads to despair. And despair is not God’s voice.

God’s forgiveness isn’t simply permission to stop feeling guilty. It is an invitation to stop becoming the person who caused the harm. That’s why Jesus gives us the Beatitudes. Blessed are the merciful, the peacemakers, those who hunger for righteousness. He isn’t describing people who never struggled. He’s showing us what a changed heart looks like. You may not control when a heavy door opens. But you can choose whether bitterness will control your heart. You can tell the truth when lying feels safer. You can refuse to humiliate someone who is already down. You can pray for someone you’re not yet ready to forgive. And sometimes holiness means keeping your mouth shut when somebody gets on your last nerve. If you can manage that while living with someone who snores like a chainsaw, argues about everything, and believes he’s always right, you may already be halfway to canonization!

But perhaps the most hopeful words today come from Saint John: “What we shall be has not yet been revealed.” Think about that. You are not finished. Some relationships may never be restored. Some consequences may remain. Some wounds may take years to heal. But none of that means God has stopped working in you. Holiness isn’t pretending the past never happened. It is allowing God’s grace to shape what happens next. Every honest apology, every act of kindness, every temptation resisted, every prayer whispered when nobody is listening becomes part of the man you are becoming. You may not see the change immediately. But God does. Remember that little boy looking at the stained glass windows? He said a saint is somebody the light shines through. Perhaps your life feels like broken glass right now: broken promises, broken relationships, broken dreams. But stained glass becomes beautiful not because every piece is perfect, but because the light passes through them. God doesn’t pretend your life has no broken places. He doesn’t ask you to pretend either. He asks you to let His grace enter them. You don’t have to wait until you leave this place to begin becoming holy. You can begin today. Your past may explain how you got here, but it does not have to decide who you become. A saint is not someone who never needed God’s mercy. A saint is someone who allowed that mercy to change his life. And hear this clearly, my brothers: God is not finished with you yet.

A PRAYER

Lord Jesus, You know my whole story, the mistakes I regret, the people I miss, the wounds I carry, and the fears I seldom share. Give me courage to face my past without losing hope for my future. Help me take responsibility for what I have done and make right whatever I still can. When I feel forgotten, remind me that You know my name. When I feel worthless, remind me that I am Your child. When bitterness fills my heart, teach me mercy. And when I cannot see anything beautiful in my life, help me trust that Your light can still shine through me. Lord, don’t let me give up on the man You are helping me become. Amen.

Download this Homily in Spanish

SOLEMNIDAD DE TODOS LOS SANTOS DIOS TODAVÍA NO HA TERMINADO SU OBRA EN TI 01-11-26