Sunday, November 16, 2025 (Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe)
Luke 23:35-43
Not long ago, I was called to a hospital to anoint a woman in her early 80s. She was dying, and visibly in pain. But what struck me most wasn’t her suffering — it was the atmosphere in the room. She had eight children and 30 foster kids, and many of them were gathered around her. You’d expect sorrow, fear, maybe even despair. But the room was filled with something else entirely — a quiet strength, a kind of sweetness. It was as if she was suffering not just with them, but for them. And they, in love, were suffering for her. The pain was real. But so was the peace. I didn’t want to run. I felt as if I was in a little paradise, beeping machines and all.
I think of that moment when I hear today’s Gospel. Jesus, hanging on the cross, doesn’t look like a king. But one of the crucified, dying men beside him sees through the suffering and says, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” (Luke 23:42). That word — remember — literally means to make someone a member again. He’s asking to be joined to Christ, to become part of his Body. And Jesus says, “Today you will be with me in paradise.” He doesn’t say, “I’ll take your suffering away.” He says, “You will be with me.” That’s the strange power of Christ the King. He doesn’t rule by avoiding suffering. He reigns by entering into it and transforming it with love.
What are you suffering right now in your life? Likely you want it to stop. But if we are willing to suffer with him — paradise begins even today.
— Father John Muir ©LPi
Sunday, November 23, 2025 (Thirty-Third Sunday in Ordinary Time)
Luke 21:5-19 When I was a kid growing up in New England, I’d occasionally go on a whale watch. Once we went out with calm waters and clear skies. But on the way back in, the sea got rough. I was just a kid, and I remember thinking we should turn left or right toward the shoreline I could see. But the pilot of the boat kept going straight — right into the waves —focused on a small, discouragingly distant lighthouse. Even when it flickered in and out of sight, he stayed the course. He knew where he was going.
That image comes to mind when I hear Jesus’ words in today’s Gospel regarding false messiahs: “Do not follow them” (Luke 21:8). In times of chaos or uncertainty, there are always voices offering easier routes, promising false safety, claiming to speak for God. But Jesus isn’t found in the loudest voice or the nearest shoreline. He is steady, like a lighthouse in the storm.
The tribulation of which Jesus speaks — it’s real. It happened to the Temple, it happened to him, it happens in the Church, and it will come to each of us. But the command is not to panic. It’s to endure. To keep steering toward him. Faith isn’t about having all the answers or dodging every wave. It’s about knowing where the lighthouse is — and trusting it enough to keep going, especially when false safety beckons us to stop.
— Father John Muir ©LPi
Sunday November 2, 2025 (The Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed)
John 6:37-40
I lost my wallet this year. It was such an annoyance to replace everything in it. A friend, moved by sympathy, gave me a beautiful new one. One month later I lost that one, too, with all my newly replaced cards. No matter what I did, I couldn’t find what I had lost. I resigned myself to never seeing either of my wallets again.
Fortunately, the Lord Jesus is not like me in this regard. In today’s Gospel (John 6:37–40), he says, “This is the will of the one who sent me, that I should not lose anything of what he gave me.” Jesus, unlike me, is ever vigilant with what the Father has given him. He searches for every lost soul — as the shepherd leaves the ninety-nine to pursue the one lost sheep, or the woman rejoices upon recovering a lost coin and even descends to the depths of loss on the cross and into the realm of the dead to recover that which seems forever lost.
On All Souls’ Day, as we remember our faithful departed, these words kindle a hope beyond hope in our hearts. Even the dead are not lost to Jesus, though they may seem so to us. Nothing entrusted to him by the Father is ever truly lost. So, we may hope that every soul, no matter how wandering or forgotten in life, is secure in his loving care and destined to be raised on the last day. Of what the Father gives him, he loses nothing.
— Father John Muir ©LPi
Sunday October 26, 2025 (Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time)
Luke 18:9-14
Every now and then readers of these reflections write letters in which they object to something. Years ago, this Gospel of Luke 18 prompted such an email. A man wrote to me: “I find it deeply offensive that you suggest we are still sinners once we are God’s sons and daughters.” His objection stirred in me a profound awareness of the paradox at the heart of our faith. Are we sinners or beloved children of God?
In this Gospel (Luke 18:9-14), a tax collector appears as one who has missed the mark. His sins have isolated him. His breast-beating is not an act of self-flagellation for pride’s sake but a heartfelt admission of his failure and unworthiness. Remarkably, Jesus honors the candid humility of the parable’s penitent. Why? Because we are always in need of mercy, always. But even more, perhaps because on the cross, Jesus will fully embrace a similar place of humiliation and rejection. He will enter into the most shameful, offensive place of the sinner so that we might “go home justified.”
There is a sacred tension in admitting that we are sinners and yet have profound hope. We are beloved sons and daughters of God, growing precisely through our honest acceptance of failure. When we cry, “Have mercy on us,” during Mass or when we repeat the “Jesus Prayer” in quiet moments, or in the confessional, we embrace our imperfections as fertile ground for divine grace. In doing so, we follow Christ’s example – finding true exaltation in the humble acknowledgment of our human frailty.
Father John Muir ©LPi
September 14.2025
Deacon Ken’s Homily for 20th Sunday OTC