Fr. Bob’s Weekly Reflections

Many might remember the 1980 Winter Olympics, held in Lake Placid, New York. That year, the United States men’s hockey team wasn’t expected to go far. Made up of young, inexperienced college players, they were crushed in a warm-up game by the dominant Russian team.

The four Gospels are full of challenges. “Love one another, as I have loved you.” “If you would be perfect, sell what you have and give to the poor.” “Take up your cross daily.” “Forgive, and you will be forgiven.”

Today, we reflect on the last discourse of Jesus. He tells His disciples, “Peace I leave with you. My peace I give to you.” It sounds simple enough. We all know what peace is. But the peace of Christ is far from simple. This tension is powerfully captured in T.S. Eliot’s play, “Murder in the Cathedral.” In one scene, Archbishop Thomas Becket delivers his Christmas sermon. He asks, “Does it seem strange to you that the angels should have announced peace, when, endlessly, the world has been stricken with war and fear of war? Does it seem strange that the angelic voices were mistaken? And that the promise was a disappointment and a cheat?” We, too, might ask with Thomas Becket: does the promise of peace clash with the reality around us? We see war and violence in so many places around the world. There is ongoing conflict in Gaza and in Ukraine. So many countries in our world simply do not know peace. Where could it be? Division and disunity surround us. Amid so much dissension, we may begin to question whether our liturgy is simply wishful thinking. We wish each other peace at every Mass, but it often feels like there is no real peace to offer. The word "peace" does little to erase the harshness of the real world out there. There is also a world inside of us – one that is also at war. We wrestle with our passions, our fears, our anger and our disdain. This internal conflict is part of the human condition. So, what is the peace that Christ promised? What does it truly mean? To understand, we must journey back to the Old Testament. For the Israelites, peace wasn’t just about harmony with nature, others, or even oneself. True peace meant being in a proper relationship with God. Sailors have an old saying: “The storm cannot sink a ship unless it gets inside.” Jesus’ life demonstrates this truth. During His final week, He was surrounded by chaos, yet the storm never entered His heart.  He was surrounded by fear. Pilate feared for his position; the Apostles feared for their lives. But fear never consumed Jesus. He was surrounded by hate. The Jews hated the Romans, and the religious leaders conspired against Him. But hate never pierced His heart. He remained steadfast; one with God the Father. For different people, peace means different things. To a soldier, peace is the absence of war. To a mother, it’s a sleeping baby. To an employee, it’s a good performance review and job security. But the peace Christ offers is deeper than all of these. It’s a peace the world cannot give. It’s the peace of communion with God, a peace that coexists with the chaos, the suffering and the pain of this world. Christ spoke of this joint action when He told us, “In Me, you may find peace. In the world, you have found suffering. But have courage. I have conquered the world.” If Christ conquered the world, so must we. You don’t have to go to the world’s hot spots, but ask yourself: “What wars have I ended in my own backyard? What bombs of envy or hate have I defused? Who hurts less because I’ve chosen to love more?” To experience the peace of Christ, give it away. Help others catch a glimpse of God’s presence. As we reflect on Christ’s promise of peace, we remember that 2025 is the Church’s Jubilee Year, with the theme “Pilgrims of Hope.” This theme is connected to the peace we seek. As pilgrims, we travel with purpose, often through rough terrain. But hope sustains us, leading us towards God’s peace.  This Jubilee Year, remember that even in a world that can be filled with trials and troubles, Christ can guide us to His peace, one step at a time.

In 1996, a 21-year-old man from Chicago named Peter suffered severe head injuries in a car accident, leaving him in a coma with significant brain damage. Doctors gave little hope for his survival or recovery.  But his fiancée, Linda, refused to give up. For three and a half months, she stayed by his side, speaking to him and caring for him. Eventually, Peter showed signs of life – first a slight movement, then a flutter of his eyelash. Ignoring doctors, Linda quit her job and dedicated herself to Peter’s care full-time, even spending her savings on a swimming pool, hoping the water and sunlight might help revive him. After months of effort, Peter’s first word was a grunt, which later turned into clear speech.  Two years later, Peter walked down the aisle at Our Lady of Pompeii Church in Chicago with Linda, although aided by a walker, for their wedding. Their story captured universal attention. People from all over the world wrote letters to the couple, and celebrities called to congratulate them.  Peter went on to live a normal life, speaking clearly and walking without aid. He and Linda even had a child together. Their story serves as a powerful example of what Jesus teaches us in today’s Gospel: “I give you a new commandment: love one another as I have loved you. This is how all will know that you are My disciples, if you have love for one another.” In our world today, we need to rediscover the true power of love – the kind of love that Jesus exemplified. It’s not the superficial love we hear about in songs or see on TV, where love is often confused with lust. The word “love” has been overused and weakened, losing much of its real meaning. Linda and Peter’s story illustrates the sacrificial love Jesus spoke of: a love that never tires of giving for the sake of another. It’s a love that gives until it hurts. It’s the love of a mother for her child. And this kind of love has immense power – a miraculous power, one that can bring people back from the brink of death. From hopeless sickness to perfect health. On the evening news, we witness acts of injustice, violence and killings in the streets of our cities. The strange thing is, that if you were to ask the people involved in these actions what religion they follow, many would say they are Christians – meaning they are followers of Christ. But many Christians just do not imitate Christ, the one we are supposed to follow. They do not imitate Him in the way He treated others, or in the way He loved, even His enemies. Imitating Christ doesn’t have to be difficult. Think about it: if, at any point in your life, you have done something that Jesus would have done, then you have already taken the first step. The rest is just a matter of practice. Like anything worth mastering, love takes time and repetition. Some of us need to practice being good. What you’ve done once, you can do again and again. It’s that simple. St. Augustine was once asked, “What does love look like?” As a Theologian, he could have offered a complex, intellectual answer. Instead, he gave a much more practical response: “Love has hands to help others. It has feet to hasten to the poor and needy. It has eyes to see misery and want. It has ears to hear the sighs and the sorrows of others.” My friends, that is what love looks like.

Every time I see the phrase “In God we trust” printed on money, I can't help but smirk at its irony. Many of us who chase, hold, or spend that money give little thought to trusting in God. Instead, we place our trust in the money itself, or in our own ability to earn it. The government that issues the money seems to rely more on its military power, economic strength, and technological advancements than it does on God. Yet, the phrase remains marked on the currency. But I’m glad it’s there. Perhaps it will occasionally remind the person holding it, even if just for a moment, that in the end – and even before the end – our ultimate trust belongs to God. Our Gospel today highlights this truth. Jesus uses the image of the shepherd to show that no one cares for us as deeply, eternally, or passionately as He does. We can always place our trust in Him. When we trust in money, we must also trust in security measures to protect it. When we trust in government, we can be disappointed by its self-serving nature. When we trust only in ourselves, we eventually face limits to our knowledge, our strength, or our health. Sheep, however, have no built-in protection. They don't have claws, sharp teeth, or loud cries. They don’t run fast, or climb trees. Sheep cannot fly. If they are to be safe, they must have a shepherd. But a shepherd cannot simply be a hired hand. What happens if the shepherd has no loyalty, no passion for the sheep? This is a harsh reality to confront. Who is more likely to take care of a business: an employee or an owner? Who is more likely to take care of a house: a renter or an owner? Jesus is telling us that He is the Good Shepherd. He cares for His sheep, knows them by name and takes a personal interest in each one. He doesn’t see His sheep as someone else’s problem. In the book “The Last Temptation of Christ,” a retelling of Christ’s passion, a serpent slithers up the wood of the cross. Out of sight of everyone, the snake whispers in Jesus’ ear as He is dying. “Look at them,” it says. “They are not worth this suffering. Give them what they deserve. Send them to Hell.” Jesus replies, “No. I would rather die than stop loving them.” In that moment, we see the overwhelming desire of God to be with us; to enter into our suffering. In our losses, our struggles, our broken relationships, and all the pain life brings, God is with us. There’s a story about a young boy in a parish school who was tasked with memorizing Psalm 23 for a school assembly. He was to recite it in front of the pastor and all the parents. When the big night arrived, he stood on the stage. He said, “The Lord is my Shepherd,” but then he froze, unable to recall the next line. After a pause, he started again: “The Lord is my Shepherd, and that is all I need to know.” At first, there was silence. Then, applause. Because the boy was right. The Lord is our Shepherd, and that is all we need to know. The next time you hold some money in your hand or in your pocket, ask yourself: Can this money love you, protect you, sacrifice for you, or die for you? It’s clear that it cannot.  The only one in whom we can truly place our trust is God.  

Today’s Gospel can be seen as the rehabilitation of St. Peter. The scene takes us back to both a prediction and a fact. The prediction came during the Last Supper, when Jesus warned His disciples that they would all fall away and be scattered. He specifically warned Peter that he would deny Him.

Week after week, most of us come to church, and the years pass by. The agenda of our gatherings often remains the same. It takes different shapes and forms, but there is one central focus: our faith in Christ.

If there is one word that describes the essence of the Christian faith, it is “Easter.” In celebrating Easter, we are celebrating victory – the victory of the Son of God over humanity’s greatest enemy: death.

Palm Sunday marks the start of Holy Week, the most solemn and sacred period in the Church calendar. It is a pivotal moment in the journey towards Christ’s passion.

We come across a unique scene in this week’s Gospel. Jesus is sitting down and quietly teaching when a hostile crowd appears. In their custody is a woman accused of adultery. In today’s world, adultery is quite common, sadly

Many of us remember the iconic singer Marvin Gaye, who rose to fame in the 1970s and '80s. A key figure in the Motown label, he earned multiple Grammys.

Most of us are familiar with the term “freeloader”— someone who takes and takes, but never gives back. If you’ve ever gone to lunch with a freeloader, they’re the one who happens to forget their money. In today’s Gospel, Jesus tells a story about this kind of life, but instead of a person, the freeloader is a fig tree. The tree takes from the soil, drawing nourishment but never producing fruit—no figs to return what it’s been given.

I’ve preached on this Gospel many times and I’ve read it countless times. Yet, each time I read about the Transfiguration of Christ, I discover new meaning, fresh questions, and deeper insights into Christian doctrine.

Today, we hear about Jesus being tempted in the desert. When we think of deserts, we often picture dry, barren landscapes that leave us tired and thirsty. But deserts can also be spiritual—parched places within our hearts and souls. These are the places that leave us feeling weak, vulnerable, and lost.

I once tried to think of an instance of seeing a speck in another’s eye and not seeing the beam in your own. I turned to another passage from Luke’s Gospel, where Jesus tells the parable of the Pharisee in the Temple.