My Good Friends,

One of the things I love about today’s readings is that they remind us that God doesn’t wait for perfect people before He calls them.

In the first reading, God tells Israel, “I carried you on eagle’s wings and brought you to myself.” Before Israel accomplished anything, before they proved themselves, God loved them and chose them. The same is true for us. Our relationship with God doesn’t begin with our achievements. It begins with His love.

St. Paul takes that idea even further. He says that Christ died for us while we were still sinners. Not after we got our lives together. Not after we figured everything out. While we were still struggling. God’s love always comes first.

Then we come to the Gospel. Jesus looks at the crowds and sees people who are exhausted, confused, and searching for direction. In other words, He sees people a lot like us. And His response isn’t frustration. It’s compassion. He doesn’t shake His head and walk away. He draws near.

What’s surprising is what happens next. Jesus doesn’t solve everything Himself. Instead, He calls ordinary people—the Twelve—and sends them out. These weren’t experts. They were fishermen, tax collectors, and people with plenty of flaws and weaknesses. Yet Jesus entrusted them with His mission.

That should be encouraging for us. Sometimes we think God can use everyone except us. We imagine that holiness belongs to people who know more, pray better, or have fewer problems. But the Gospel tells a different story. God calls ordinary people and then gives them the grace they need.

St. Francis understood this well. He wasn’t trying to be famous or important. He simply wanted to follow Christ. When he encountered a leper—someone he would normally avoid—he allowed God’s compassion to change his heart. That encounter transformed his life. Francis learned that the Christian life begins when we start seeing others the way Jesus sees them.

The harvest Jesus talks about is still abundant today. All people need encouragement, forgiveness, friendship, and hope. We all are carrying burdens that no one else sees. Most of us won’t be asked to preach to crowds or travel the world. But all of us can offer a kind word, a listening ear, a prayer, or an act of mercy.

The good news is that Jesus isn’t looking for superheroes. He’s looking for disciples, ordinary people. People willing to receive His love and then share it with others.

So the invitation this week is simple: ask Jesus to help us see people with His eyes. If we do that, we may discover that the harvest field is much closer than we thought—in our families, our workplaces, our neighborhoods, and our parish. And we may discover that the ordinary people Jesus is sending into that harvest are us. Amen.

Peace and All Good,
Fr. Zack

Saints of God…

the Lord be with you!

In today’s Collect (opening prayer), the Church prays, “Gladden us with holy joys, almighty God…for the Ascension of Christ your Son is OUR Exaltation.” As I often say in O.C.I.A. classes, “Christianity is the most optimistic of all the world’s religions.” There is no greater optimism than believing that the Ascension of Christ is OUR exaltation because human nature, creation, the fully human One is now part of the Godhead. This is our identity and our destiny.

But today’s first reading from the Book of the Acts of the Apostles (1: 1-11) confronts us with a challenge. “He (Jesus) was lifted up, and a cloud took him from their sight. (When) two men dressed in white garments stood beside them (and said) ‘Men of Galilee, why are you standing there looking at the sky?’”. Where do we look for Christ?

Years ago, in the 1970’s, I remember reading a book of theology which said, “If Jesus ascended anywhere, He ascended into the heart of the Church.” That always struck me, and I’ve come to the conviction that we are not to look up to find Christ, but to look for Him still alive, albeit in a new and mysterious way, and active in the world around us particularly in we who are the Church.

Baptized into the baptism of solidarity of Christ, we have received an identity and a mission. Our identity is that we are other Christ’s, and our mission is to live as Christ in the world through acts of charity, forgiveness, and reconciliation. The Spirit given to us at Baptism and in Confirmation gives us power and enables us to live as we should.

By cooperating with the Holy Spirit, we can and do live as Christ more often than we sin. Every time we take care of our family, are kind to the homeless, help the people we work with or our classmates are once again giving Christ flesh in our little corner of the world in 2026.

You, the parishioners of Sacred Heart Parish, embody Christ in so many ways: your generosity in the Catholic Ministry Appeal does good throughout the Diocese. When you support the St. Vincent de Paul Society, Bikes from the Heart, the good deeds of our Knights of Columbus, share your time with Hands of Hope or donate to Giving from the Heart, or offering a smile and a greeting to our homeless men and women, you are being Christ for someone. Today we celebrate that our God in the flesh has mounted His throne. We shout and sing with joy and works of charity!

– Fr. Steve

My Dear Friends,

The readings for the Sixth Sunday of Easter this year take on a beautiful simplicity when seen through a Franciscan lens: God is not distant, and we are never alone—He is near, dwelling within us and all around us. In the Gospel of John, Jesus promises, “I will not leave you orphans,” and that assurance echoes the spirit of Saint Francis of Assisi, who saw God’s presence not only within his own heart, but reflected in all of creation—brother sun, sister moon, even in suffering itself. The Holy Spirit is not an abstract idea; it is the living presence of God, quietly guiding us toward love, humility, and peace.

Franciscan spirituality invites us to receive this presence with simplicity. We don’t have to strive for greatness or control every outcome. Instead, we are called to be attentive—to notice God already at work in the ordinary: in a morning walk, in a kind word, in the rhythm of breath and prayer. The Spirit forms in us a gentle way of living, where love becomes visible not in grand gestures, but in small, faithful acts. This is how we “keep His commandments”—not through rigidity, but through a life shaped by love.

There is also a quiet courage here. Like the early Christians in the Acts of the Apostles, we are sent into the world not with force, but with peace. A Franciscan heart does not argue loudly; it witnesses softly. It trusts that the same Spirit dwelling within us is already moving in others. This frees us to live with humility, reverence, and a deep respect for every person we encounter.

Ultimately, this Sunday reminds us that God’s presence is not something we chase—it is something we awaken to. And when we do, like Francis, we begin to see the world differently: not as something to grasp or fear, but as a place already filled with God’s love, waiting to be recognized and returned.

Peace and All Good,
Fr. Zack

Saints of God…

…the Lord be with you!

“They (the disciples) stopped, looking downcast.” We find these words in today’s Gospel according to Luke (24:13-35). As we are in the midst of the Easter Season, it might do us well to recall times and circumstances in our own lives that “pulled the rug out from under us”, made us stop, and caused our hearts and spirits to be downcast. What most of us can, or will at some point experience, is the death of a loved one. And this is what the two disciples are experiencing on their journey away from Jerusalem towards Emmaus.

Jerusalem, the place where Jesus the Nazarene was handed over to death by the chief priests and rulers of the people. Jesus the Nazarene, “a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people.” Jerusalem the place they now associate with pain, grief, suffering, cruelty, their own cowardness, and death. No wonder they wanted to get out! To be honest, I would have too.

Yet through an encounter with the Christ they do not recognize, through their offer of hospitality, and the sharing of a meal in which “he took bread, said the blessing, broke it and gave it to them.” Their eyes were opened; Christ is no sooner recognized that He vanishes. Their “hearts burn within them”, their fear is gone replaced with courage and conviction. Grief dies to joy and the two “set out at once and return to Jerusalem” where they hear “the Lord has truly been raised and has appeared to Simon!”

To be honest, we live in uncertain times (but isn’t every time filled with uncertainty). Sometimes I am worried and afraid. But I don’t try to run away (for there is nowhere to run). Instead, I am reminded of the words of St. Peter in our first reading, “God raised Him (Jesus) up, releasing Him from the throes of death, because it was impossible for Him to be held by it.”

We may not be able to control the events around us. But we do have control over how we respond. When in the grip of fear, guilt, pain, depression, or distress, let us turn to our God in faith and recall that because death could not hold Jesus, fear, guilt, pain, depression, or distress does not have the final and ultimate hold on us. Christ does! Christ is Risen! He is Risen indeed!

– Fr. Steve

My Good Friends,

We often remember Thomas the Apostle by a single phrase— “Doubting Thomas”— but the Gospel reveals something far deeper and far more human. Thomas is not weak in faith; he is honest in it. In John 11:16, when Jesus sets His face toward danger, it is Thomas who speaks with striking resolve: “Let us also go, that we may die with Him.” This is not hesitation but courage. He does not fully understand what lies ahead, yet he remains with Christ. And that is where faith so often begins—not in clarity, but in fidelity. Especially as life unfolds and brings its share of uncertainty—health concerns, changing seasons, unanswered questions—faith is less about having everything explained and more about choosing to stay.

In John 14:5–6, Thomas again reveals his honesty: “Lord, we do not know where you are going. How can we know the way?” He gives voice to the confusion the others carry but do not express. And because he asks, he receives one of the clearest and most profound revelations in all of Scripture: “I am the way, and the truth, and the life.” Thomas teaches us that God is not threatened by our questions. In fact, sincere questioning—rooted not in pride but in a desire for truth—can become the very path by which deeper faith is formed. There is a quiet humility in admitting, “Lord, I do not fully see—show me,” and that humility opens the heart.

Then we come to the passage most associated with him: John 20:24–29. Thomas is absent when the Risen Christ first appears, and when the others tell him, he resists accepting their testimony: “Unless I see… I will not believe.” Yet, this is not a rejection of Christ; it is a refusal to build his life on something he has not personally encountered. And notice the response of Jesus. He does not rebuke Thomas harshly or cast him aside. Instead, He returns—specifically for him—and meets him exactly where he is: “Put your finger here… do not be unbelieving but believe.” Christ enters directly into Thomas’s doubt, not to condemn it, but to transform it.

What follows is remarkable. Thomas does not offer a cautious or partial response. He proclaims, “My Lord and my God.” This is the highest confession of faith in the Gospel of John. The one who struggled the most now sees the most clearly. This reveals a profound truth: when doubt is carried honestly into the presence of Christ, it can become the doorway to the deepest faith. The journey matters. The wrestling matters. What matters most is that we do not turn away.

Jesus then speaks words that reach beyond Thomas to every generation: “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.” That is where we live. We do not place our hands into the wounds as Thomas did, but we encounter Christ in other real and sacramental ways—in Scripture, in the Eucharist, in prayer, and often in the quiet places of our own wounds, where His grace meets us.

Thomas shows us that doubt is not the opposite of faith—distance is. If we remain, if we bring our questions honestly before Christ and stay long enough to listen, He will meet us there. And in time, what begins as uncertainty can be transformed into a steady, mature faith—one capable not only of understanding, but of surrender. A faith that speaks not just with words, but with the whole of one’s life: “My Lord and my God.”

Peace and All Good,
Fr. Zack