HOMILY – SOLEMNITY OF ALL SAINTS GOD IS NOT FINISHED WITH YOU YET 11-1-26

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📖 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.

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

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THIRTIETH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME: THE HARDEST PERSON TO LOVE MAY BE THE ONE RIGHT NEXT TO YOU AND SOMETIMES THAT PERSON IS YOURSELF

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Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

THE HARDEST PERSON TO LOVE MAY BE THE ONE RIGHT NEXT TO YOU And Sometimes That Person Is Yourself

 

📖 Exodus 22:20–26 | Psalm 18 | 1 Thessalonians 1:5c–10 | Matthew 22:34–40

Someone once said that living with other people is the greatest test of Christian love. Whoever said that obviously never had to share a cell. There are people who complain about everything, borrow things and forget to return them, and snore so loudly you wonder whether a motorcycle is running inside the building. And the worst part? You cannot exactly say, “I’ve had enough. I’m going home!”
One man supposedly asked his cellmate, “Is there anything about me you actually like?” The fellow thought for a moment and answered, “Yeah. When you’re asleep.” We laugh because we recognize something about human nature. Loving people is easy in theory. It’s the actual people who make it difficult.


Today Jesus tells us that the greatest commandments are to love God and love our neighbor as ourselves. Notice what He doesn’t say. He doesn’t say we must like everybody, trust everybody, or pretend nobody has hurt us. He simply says we must love. And love is more than a feeling. Love is refusing to let another person’s behavior turn us into someone we don’t want to become.


That matters especially here. There are many things in prison you cannot control: when the doors open, what is served for dinner, or who lives next to you. But something still belongs to you: the freedom to decide what kind of man you will be. You can refuse to humiliate someone who is struggling. You can listen to a man who hasn’t received a letter in months. You can walk away from an argument. Sometimes the strongest man in the room isn’t the one who can win a fight. It’s the one who could start one and chooses not to.


In Exodus, God commands His people not to mistreat the stranger, the widow, the orphan, or the poor. These were people society easily overlooked. Yet God says, “If they cry out to me, I will hear them.” Think about that. The Creator of the universe listens to people the world barely notices. Perhaps you know what it feels like to be forgotten or remembered mainly for your mistakes. But God hasn’t forgotten you. He knows your name, not just your number. He knows what you have done, but He also sees who you can become.


And that brings us to something we rarely discuss. Jesus says, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” But what if the person you find hardest to love is yourself? Have you ever looked back and wondered how different life might have been if you had made just one different decision? One conversation you wish you could take back? One moment when you wish you had walked away?


Sometimes we become our own harshest judges. A voice inside keeps repeating, You ruined everything. You’ll never amount to anything. But there is an enormous difference between taking responsibility and believing we are worthless. Guilt says, “I did something wrong.” Shame whispers, “There is something wrong with me.” Jesus wants us to face the first without surrendering to the second.


Real repentance means acknowledging the harm we have caused, accepting responsibility, and repairing what we can. Some relationships may never be restored. Some people may never forgive us. But our failures need not become the final definition of our lives. God doesn’t love us because we have changed. We begin to change because God loves us.


Paul praises the Thessalonians because they turned away from their old ways and began living differently. Their faith became visible through their actions. And perhaps that is how your own transformation will happen. Someone notices that you no longer respond to insults with anger, that you listen more than you argue, that you have become someone others can trust. No applause, no awards, perhaps not even a word of appreciation. But something extraordinary is happening: you are becoming a different man.


You may not be able to change where you sleep tonight or how many years remain on your sentence. But you can change how you treat someone tomorrow. You can decide that another person’s suffering matters. And you can begin looking at yourself with the mercy God asks you to show others. Not with excuses or self-pity, but with the determination to become better than yesterday. If God hasn’t given up on you, why should you give up on yourself?


So tomorrow morning, when that difficult fellow starts complaining again, remember today’s Gospel. He may still talk too much, get on your nerves, and snore like a freight train. Jesus never promised to make your neighbor easier to live with. But He offers you the grace to become someone different.


Perhaps that is the miracle God wants to begin in your life. Not erasing your past, but refusing to let it destroy your future. Not changing everyone around you, but transforming the person within you.
Because the walls around you may remain exactly where they are. But with God’s help, the walls inside your heart can begin to come down.


And sometimes, my brothers, that is where the greatest freedom begins.


A PRAYER FROM THE HEART


Lord Jesus,
You know our mistakes, our regrets, and the people we miss. You know the conversations we wish we could take back and the nights when our thoughts refuse to let us sleep. You understand the burdens we carry, even those we have never shared with anyone.


Lord, we cannot change yesterday, and sometimes we are frightened of tomorrow. But we still have today. Help us not to waste it.


When anger rises, give us patience. When someone is lonely, help us notice. When another person is struggling, remind us that we may be the kindness he has been praying for.


Teach us to take responsibility without losing hope, to acknowledge our mistakes without becoming prisoners of them, and to forgive ourselves without forgetting what we have learned.


Bless the people we love and cannot hold tonight. Protect our families, heal the wounds we have caused wherever healing is possible, and give us peace about what we cannot change.


Above all, Lord, don’t let these walls make our hearts smaller. Make us more compassionate, more honest, more patient, and more capable of love.


And when another day ends, help us recognize that even if nothing around us has changed, something good may have begun to change within us.


Because we don’t want to spend our lives merely counting the days.


We want to use those days to become the men You created us to be.


Amen.

 

 

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TWENTY NINTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME THE IMAGE THEY CANNOT ERASE 10-18-26

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📖 Isaiah 45:1, 4–6 | Psalm 96 | 1 Thessalonians 1:1–5b | Matthew 22:15–21

A man once found a twenty-dollar bill in the pocket of an old jacket. It was wrinkled, stained, and looked as though it had survived a washing machine, two hurricanes, and possibly a family argument. He took it to a store, wondering whether the cashier would accept it. She examined it, held it up to the light, and put it in the register. It was still worth twenty dollars. The bill had been through a lot, but its value hadn’t disappeared. I wonder how many of us have trouble believing that about ourselves.


In today’s Gospel, Jesus is asked a question designed to trap Him: Is it lawful to pay taxes to Caesar? If He says yes, He risks alienating His people. If He says no, He risks arrest. Jesus asks for a coin. “Whose image is this?” They answer, “Caesar’s.” And Jesus replies, “Repay to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God.” But beneath His answer lies a greater question: If Caesar’s image is stamped on a coin, whose image is stamped on you? God’s. Coins can be damaged, rejected, or melted down. But God’s image within you cannot be erased by any court, criminal record, or human mistake.


Here, people are identified by numbers, records, charges, and sentences. Those things may describe someone’s circumstances, but they cannot tell the whole story of a human life. Some of us carry terrible regrets: decisions that hurt people we love, words we wish we could take back, opportunities we threw away. Others carry wounds inflicted by people who should have protected them. And sometimes the hardest part isn’t what others think of us. It’s what we have come to believe about ourselves.
There is an important difference between guilt and shame. Guilt says, “I did something wrong.” Shame whispers, “I am something wrong.” Guilt can lead us toward repentance and change. Shame convinces us that change is pointless because we are beyond repair. Sometimes we hear what is wrong with us so often that we forget there is still something sacred within us. But God has never forgotten. He sees our sins without losing sight of His image.


Notice whom God addresses in our first reading: Cyrus, a foreign king who doesn’t even know Him. Yet God says, “I have called you by your name.” Before Cyrus recognizes God, God already knows Cyrus. God doesn’t wait for someone to become religious or get everything right before calling them. Perhaps someone here needs to hear that today. You don’t have to wait until you get your life together for God to begin working in it. He knows your name, your struggles, your regrets, and the goodness you may have stopped seeing in yourself.
And being loved by God doesn’t mean our mistakes don’t matter. They matter enormously, especially when others have suffered because of them. But repentance isn’t spending the rest of our lives hating ourselves. It’s finding the courage to face the truth, take responsibility, seek forgiveness, make amends where possible, and begin living differently.


Saint Paul praises the Thessalonians for their endurance in hope. And if anyone understands endurance, it’s people living behind these walls. Some days seem endless. You miss people you love. You count the days, and sometimes the days seem to count you. But Paul isn’t praising people for having easy lives. He’s praising them because even in difficult circumstances, faith and love continue bearing fruit. Endurance isn’t simply surviving another day. It’s refusing to let another day pass without becoming a little more human, a little more loving, a little closer to God.


And that can begin right here. Refusing to join in when someone is humiliated. Choosing not to answer an insult with another insult. Praying for someone you haven’t spoken to in years. Or finally admitting, without excuses, “I was wrong.” These choices may not open a locked door, but they can open something within us. We may not always have the freedom to change our circumstances, but with God’s grace, we can begin changing the person we are becoming.
Remember that crumpled twenty-dollar bill? The cashier didn’t have to iron it, clean it, or make it look brand-new before recognizing its value. She recognized what was already there. And that’s what God wants you to understand today. He sees the damage, the scars, and the mistakes. He doesn’t pretend they aren’t there. But He also sees what they have never been able to destroy.


Your past may explain where you are, but it does not have the authority to decide who you will become. Your mistakes may have changed your circumstances, but they have not changed whose image you bear. And the God who gave you that image has not given up on you.

 

CLOSING PRAYER
Lord Jesus, You know my name, my story, and the parts of my life I wish I could change. You know the people I miss, the mistakes I regret, and the worries that keep me awake at night. Sometimes I feel forgotten. Sometimes I struggle to forgive others, and sometimes the hardest person to forgive is myself. Give me the courage to face my past honestly without believing that my past is all I am. Help me recognize Your image within me, even when I struggle to see anything good in myself.


Lord, I cannot change yesterday, and I do not know what tomorrow will bring. But I can give You my heart today. Teach me patience when I am frustrated, kindness when I am hurting, and hope when the days seem endless. Bless the people I love, the people I have hurt, and those who have hurt me. Help me make peace where I can and accept what I cannot change. And whenever I begin to believe that my life no longer matters, remind me that I am still Your child, still made in Your image, and still capable of becoming the person You created me to be. Amen.

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Homily – TWENTY SEVENTH SUNDAY IN ORDINARY TIME THE WORST CHAPTER IS NOT THE LAST 10-04-26

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