Saints of God…

…the Lord be with you!

My first reaction to today’s Gospel (Matthew 5:17-37) was this is really long, and who in the name of all that is holy can keep all these commandments! The first reading (Sirach 15:15-20) however gives me hope “If you choose you can keep the commandments, they will save you; if you trust in God, you too shall live.” To be honest, sometimes I choose not to keep the commandments. However, there are times when I want to keep the commandments, but don’t. So, I guess I’m going to trust in God, at all times.

And maybe that is the point. No one can keep all the commandments all of the time. The Good News is that Jesus did not come to abolish the law or the prophets but to fulfill them! Jesus’ life of obedience saves my life when I am disobedient. I must trust HIM, and perhaps I can live His commandment to simply “Love God, and love my neighbor as I love Myself.” Love fulfills the law! (Since yesterday was Valentine’s Day, what a great Valentine’s gift if even a day late!)

Perhaps this is the whole point of these readings a few days before we start the season of Lent. Lent might be a time for us to fast from the idea that we can be perfect. Lent might be a time for us to feast on the truth that we are loved by God even when we fail. Lent might be a time to pay God’s love for us forward by showing our love for our neighbor through Fasting, Praying for others, particularly the poor, rather than ourselves. Lent might be a time to Donate a bit more to charity or the offertory collection here at the parish. Prayer, Fasting, and Almsgiving are wonderful ways to open ourselves to receive more of the love of God that God desires to give us.

Today’s Psalm Response is “Blessed are they who follow the law of the Lord.” Perhaps the readings are trying to remind us that the Law of the Lord is Christ; the Word, the Law made flesh. As we prepare for Lent, let’s not be overwhelmed with all that we are supposed to do, and let’s not be discouraged when we fail at what we desire to do. This Lent, let’s put our trust in God, in Christ, for God promises that we too shall live.

– Fr. Steve

My Dear Friends,

Father Steve often says the Rite of Baptism can also be referred to as the Rite of Naming, meaning that this is where the name that our parents have chosen for us is publicly proclaimed within the walls of the chuch where we are about to be baptized. We are not a nameless person just going through a ritual, but rather publicly named child of God and claimed by Christ as a true member of his Church. This is only the beginning of our existence within the Church and the threshold of our journey of faith.

In our Gospel today, Jesus takes that all a bit farther. Jesus does not give us advice in today’s Gospel. He gives us an identity. “You are the salt of the earth… You are the light of the world.” Before we do anything, before we accomplish or stumble, Jesus names who we are because of Him.

Salt and light are not self-originating. Salt only works when it is ground down and given away. One of the many uses of salt is for it to be used as a seasoning, enhancing the flavor of what has been set before us. Light is never its own source—it burns because something else is consumed. Both are costly. Both lose themselves to give life.

This is deeply Eucharistic, and profoundly Franciscan.

St. Francis understood that Christ is the true Salt and the true Light. As salt seasons food by disappearing into it, so our Christian life is meant to be hidden in Christ, not displayed alongside Him. When the Gospel loses its savor, it is not because the world is tasteless—it is because we, as disciples, have lived up to life he has placed before us. the cross that makes salt salty.

Jesus warns us plainly: “If salt loses its taste, with what can it be seasoned?”

In times past, salt that lost its potency was thrown onto roads to be trampled underfoot. In theological terms, this is the danger of a faith that keeps its name but loses its substance—Christianity without conversion, light without heat, devotion without obedience. Francis feared this more than poverty or persecution. He warned the brothers that nothing dulls the soul faster than comfort without repentance.

Then Jesus turns to light: “A city set on a mountain cannot be hidden.”

This is not a call to perform holiness, but a reminder that true holiness is a light that shines within us all. Light reveals what is real. It exposes and heals at the same time, light does not exist for itself. Notice where Jesus places the lamp—not in the hand of the disciple, but on the lampstand of the world. The Church does not exist for its own illumination. It exists so the world may see clearly enough to find God.

And the final line anchors everything theologically: “That they may see your good deeds and give glory to your heavenly Father.”

Our good works are not moral achievements; they are sacramental signs. They point beyond themselves. If people stop at us, the light has failed. If they arrive at the Father, the light has done its work.

Francis lived this by radical humility. He called himself a “lesser brother” not as poetry, but as theology. He knew that only what is small enough can be transparent enough to let divine light pass through without distortion.

To be salt and light, then, is not to be louder or brighter. It is to be cruciform—ground down, given away, set aflame by charity. The needs lives so conformed to Christ that God becomes credible again.

So our Gospel asks us this question today: Have I trample the salt or savored the salt of my gift faith? Have I let the light of Christ within me dim or have I allowed to shine brightly? Has my life made Christ more visible to anyone? If the answer is even quietly “yes,” then the salt still has its taste, and the light has not been hidden, and that is grace enough for today. Our parents name us, but Jesus claims us.

Peace and All Good,
– Fr. Zack

Saints of God…

…the Lord be with you!

Today begins the week of prayer for Christian Unity. In the opening prayer for today’s Mass we prayed, “…hear the pleading of your people and bestow peace in our times.” Given the division going on is our world, our country, and our church, I can’t think of any more urgent prayer: “Peace in our times.” But what would this peace look like.

First, peace is NOT defined as the absence of war or conflict. Peace (in the Biblical sense) is that we live in RIGHT RELATIONSHIP with God, one another, creation, and ourselves. It seems to me that this notion of right relationship is the reason why the Church has selected the Gospel according to John’s account of the Baptism of Jesus only one week after we celebrated the Solemnity of the Baptism of the Lord.

Baptism is a defining event in most, if not all Christian denominations. If a person seeks full communion with the Catholic Church, we more often than not do not rebaptize as long as the baptism was done with water and the words “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit” were said. But what exactly does Baptism do, and why did Jesus need to be baptized if He was/is sinless?

I like to say that Jesus entered the waters of the Jordan river clean and symbolically took upon Himself the sins of humanity. His was not a baptism of repentance (since He had no sin to repent of) but rather was a Baptism of solidarity with sinners which all of us are. We are baptized into Christ’s baptism of solidarity, and at the same time cleansed of original sin. As we say in the Creed, “…one baptism for the forgiveness of SINS.” Sin divides us; the grace of Christ heals and unites us.

All of us need the healing, forgiving grace of Christ. And with that healing and forgiving comes the mandate to live as a healed forgiven person in the world. Our primary identity is Christ…not following any particular political leader or party; not defining ourselves through the lens of gender or sexual identity. As St. Augustine wrote, “Rejoice O Christian, for by your baptism YOU are more than a Christian, YOU are CHRIST Himself.”

This week let’s look on all the people we encounter as other Christ’s. If we begin to look at one another differently then maybe we will begin to treat each other differently. This week, when we plead for the unity of all who call themselves Christian, let’s ACT like Christ Himself.

– Fr. Steve

My Good Friends,

Today we celebrate the Baptism of the Lord, and it’s worth starting with the obvious question people have been asking for centuries: Why does Jesus get baptized at all?

John’s baptism was about repentance. It was for people who needed to turn their lives around. So why does the sinless Son of God step into that same muddy Jordan River? And the answer is simple—but not shallow. Jesus doesn’t enter the water because He needs to be cleansed. He enters the water because we do. This moment is not about Jesus changing. It’s about the water changing.

By stepping into the Jordan, Christ sanctifies the waters of the world. From that point on, water is no longer just water. It becomes a place of encounter—where heaven touches earth, where God chooses to act.

And notice what happens. The heavens open. The Spirit descends. The Father speaks.

This is one of the clearest moments in the Gospels where the Trinity reveals itself—not in theory, not in a creed, but in an event. God shows us who He is by what He does. And what does the Father say? “This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased.” Not after Jesus has performed a miracle. Not after He’s preached a sermon. Not after the Cross. Before all of it.

Which tells us something important: Jesus is loved not for what He does, but for who He is.

And here’s where this feast turns toward us. Because in our baptism, something very similar happens—whether we remember it or not. The heavens are opened. The Spirit is given. And the Father claims us. You may not have heard a voice from the clouds. Most of us were infants, after all. But the Church dares to say that the same truth spoken over Jesus is spoken over you: You are my beloved child. I delight in you. Not because you’ve earned it. Not because you’ve gotten everything right. But because you belong to Christ.

The Baptism of the Lord marks the end of Christmas, but it also marks the beginning of mission. Jesus comes up out of the water and immediately moves toward the desert, toward ministry, toward the world as it actually is.

Which reminds us: baptism is not a private comfort—it’s a public calling. We are baptized not just from something—sin, death—but for something: to live as sons and daughters who know they are loved and therefore are free to love in return.

So today, as Christmas fades and ordinary time begins, the Church quietly asks us one question: Do you remember who you are? Not your job. Not your failures. Not your worries. But this: You are baptized. You are claimed. You are beloved. And that is where the Christian life always begins.

Peace and All Good,
– Fr. Zack

My Good Friends,

Throughout our liturgical cycles, we don’t seem to hear much from The Epistle of James and for me, on this Third Week of Advent, I find his message to us quite poignant, even uplifting on this Gaudete “Rejoice” Sunday. Advent has a funny way of holding two opposite feelings at the same time: quiet expectation and frantic busyness. We’re lighting candles and singing about waiting for Jesus, but we’re also rushing, putting up trees, decorating, shopping, visiting and stressing, and wondering how to get it all done so that we may be able to relax a bit.

And into that mix, James drops a surprisingly grounded message: be patient. He doesn’t mean “sit around and do nothing.” He uses the image of a farmer waiting for the precious harvest. Farmers don’t just stare out the window hoping something grows, they prepare the soil, plant, water, watch the weather, and trust a process they don’t fully control. That can be a way for us to look at Advent. It’s not passive waiting; it’s hopeful tending. It’s showing up in small, steady ways even when you can’t see any immediate results.

“Strengthen your hearts.” says James. It’s such a gentle instruction. Again, not telling us to pull ourselves together or pretend everything’s fine. He’s inviting us to make room for hope, to shore up the inner places where we’re tired, discouraged, or stretched thin. If we allow it to, Advent can give us little practices that help with that: a candle lit in the dark, a moment of quiet after a long day, a simple prayer whispered on the go. These tiny acts strengthen us more than we realize. And then comes the line that hits a little too close to home: “Do not grumble against one another.” It’s almost as if James knew what the holidays can do to people, how stress can make us short with each other, how waiting can make us edgy, how closeness with others can reveal our impatience. But James’ point isn’t to shame us; it’s to remind us that waiting is something we do together. The season of Advent is meant to be communal, in support of each other in the tension between the already and the not-yet. other in the tension between the already and the not-yet. Finally, James points us back to the prophets, the people who waited, hoped, struggled, trusted, and kept going. Their lives remind us that God works slowly sometimes, but never absentmindedly. Even when it feels like nothing is moving, God is not idle. The struggle is real!

The invitation of James during Advent is simple: Be patient, because God is close. Tend to your heart, because hope grows slowly. Be gentle with each other, because we’re all waiting for something, and remember that God is preparing something worth the wait. So Rejoice and be hopeful this Gaudete Sunday!

Peace and All Good,
– Fr. Zack

Saints of God…

…the Lord be with you!

As we come to the end of the liturgical year, the readings this Sunday have, for the most part, an ominous tone with just a hint of hope. In the first reading taken from the Book of the Prophet Malachi (3: 19-20) the prophet warns his listeners that, “The day is coming, blazing like an oven, when all the proud and all evildoers will be stubble, and the day that is coming will set then on fire.” (YIKES!)

In today’s Gospel from Luke (21:5-19), Jesus says to those who are remarking on the beauty of the Temple, “All that you see here-the days will come when there will not be left a stone upon another stone that will not be thrown down.” (Another YIKES!) You may be saying to yourself, “I thought the message is supposed to be Good News.” Well, it is. But sometimes you must be attentive and persistent enough to discover it. So where is the Good News in today’s readings?

Well first, the readings remind us that nothing in this life is permanent. Buildings may last a long time, but at some point, even the pyramids will crumble. At some point, we all will die; our bodies turned to dust or ashes. Our spirits/souls live on in because of God’s good grace, but at some point, no one alive in this world will remember us. Although cyclical, at some point, all liturgical seasons come to an end, only to give birth to another liturgical season and another new church year. Maybe the point is “at some point.”

Who are we called to be and what are we called to do until the “at some point” arrives? Ah, now we find the hope! Malachi writes that for those who fear (stand in awe of) the Lord there will arise the “sun of justice with its healing rays.” At the end of today’s Gospel Jesus says, “By your perseverance you will secure your lives.” Our collect (opening prayer) calls God the Father to grant us “constant gladness of being devoted to YOU (Father) and to serve with constancy the author of all that is good.” So, who should we be, and what should we be doing? Continue to be who you are in Christ. Continue to be Christ to one another, in your families, places of work and communities, and in the parish of Sacred Heart. Continue to minister to Christ by feeding the poor, being kind to the unhoused, being an usher at Mass, collecting or giving to the St. Vincent de Paul Society, helping Bikes from the Heart, serving with Hands of Hope, or Giving from the Heart, raising your voices in song by joining the choir…

There is so much we can do, and in the doing we will become more and more like Christ.

– Fr. Steve

“A Journey from Doing to Being”: I thought I’d share some thought from recent small walk in Spain…

There’s a saying among pilgrims: “You don’t walk the Camino; the Camino walks you.” For many, the Camino Inglés — the English Way — begins at the ports of Ferrol or A Coruña and ends, as all the great Caminos do, at the tomb of St. James in Santiago de Compostela. But beneath the miles and blisters, the Camino is not about reaching a place — it’s about being reshaped by the journey.

It’s the road that teaches you to slow down: When you first set out, your mind is full of plans — kilometers to cover, towns to reach, photos to take. But somewhere after the second or third day, the road teaches you something quieter: that haste is the enemy of grace. On the Camino, you learn that the soul moves at the pace of your feet. You cannot rush your healing, your forgiveness, or your awakening.

The Franciscan spirit invites us to this same stillness — to notice the small things: the morning mist, the taste of simple bread, the sound of our breath. In those moments, you realize that God is not only at the destination, but walking beside you in every step.

It’s the Weight of the Pack: Every pilgrim learns that what you carry matters. Your backpack — like your heart — gets heavy when filled with too much. By the second day, you start shedding things: an extra shirt, a bottle, maybe a book you thought you’d read.

This too is Gospel wisdom, “Take nothing for your journey,” Jesus said. (Luke 9:3)

The Camino becomes a living parable of detachment. You begin to see how much of life’s burden comes from carrying what is not needed — old grudges, fears, plans that never were. Every item left behind is a confession. Every lighter step, an act of faith.

It’s the People You Meet: On the Camino, you meet strangers from all nations and even from Tampa! Some walk fast, others slow; some talk much, others walk in silence. You share food, laughter, bandages, and sometimes tears.

Soon you realize that you’re not just walking your Camino — you’re walking ours. The real pilgrimage is not through Spain’s countryside but through the human heart — through the encounters that stretch it open. As Francis said: “It is in giving that we receive.” Every shared loaf, every word of encouragement becomes Eucharist on the road — bread broken and given.

It’s the Blisters of Grace: Every pilgrim knows pain — sore feet, aching shoulders, unexpected rain. But somehow, those hardships are part of the blessing. Without them, the joy at the Cathedral would not mean as much. Grace often wears the disguise of discomfort. What rubs us raw can also make us real.

“My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)

In the Franciscan sense, suffering is not to be avoided but embraced as a teacher. The Camino’s blisters remind us that the Christian life is not about comfort, but conversion — a continual turning toward love.

Arrival and Homecoming: When you reach Santiago, you are greeted by a sea of pilgrims. You may feel joy, or tears, or strangely… emptiness. Because what you’ve truly discovered is that the destination was never a place, but a Person — Christ Himself, who has been walking with you all along. And when you return home, the Camino continues — in your patience with others, in your gratitude for simple things, in your new awareness of God’s quiet presence.

As one pilgrim once wrote: “The Camino doesn’t end at Santiago. It begins there — in the way you now live your ordinary days.”

In closing, what I have shared are the simplest of my thoughts along the way. I believe I may have mentioned once before that one need not travel far to embark on a Camino but simply let your Camino be enchantment of the world around with new eyes and a willing heart. I’d like to express my gratitude for all with whom have made this “walk” a reality for me and my companions along the way. We are all the richer from the experience which will stay with us for some time.

Buen Camino!
– Fr. Zack