I AM ALL FIRED UP!!!

Every one of us has disappointments and setbacks.

Things that harm us or hold us back. And things we just don’t understand.

You were doing everything right. But somebody ran a red light. And now your car’s totaled.

Your employer didn’t make it through the shutdown. And now you’re out of a job.

You worked hard to save the relationship. But things didn’t work out.

How it happens to us doesn’t really matter. Because all of it hurts us just the same.

When those things happen to us, we’ve got a choice.

We can hold onto it. Or we can drop it.

If we hold onto it, dwell on it, think about it. Wonder why it happened. Wonder what we did to deserve that. Replay it over and over.

It won’t be long before we start assigning blame. Whether we blame others, or ourselves, or God, or all of the above, doesn’t really matter.

Because when get to the point where we’re assigning blame, we’ve handed over control of our lives to whoever or whatever hurt us. We’re putting that in charge.

And setting ourselves up to let whatever or whoever hurt us do it again. And again.

This is what Jesus is pushing back against in today’s Gospel. With His unconventional responses to violence and abuse of power. To break the cycle of holding on to what hurts us. To set us up to drop it.

To be clear, dropping it isn’t about never thinking about something again. Which is good. Because I don’t know anyone who can actually do that.

Try telling yourself not to think of something and see if you can beat my record (I’m good for 30 seconds).

Dropping it is an act of faith. Dropping it is letting go of something or someone that hurt you. So that you can hold onto the One who has always loved you.

When you drop it, you’re saying, “God, I trust you. I don’t understand it. It’s not right. It still hurts. But I’m not going to let it get between you and me. I’m going to hold onto you, God.”

No matter how bad you’ve been hurt, dropping it is the first step on the road to healing, on the road to peace.

06/12/2026

Introducing...

If you’re trying to do something, there’s only one way to know if you made it. You’ve got to know what you’re end result looks like.

If you’re trying to be closer to God. If you’re trying to follow Jesus. Then this is the target.

If you’re trying to be closer to God. Then this is the target.

The target

(for someone who’s wondering about where it’s all going)

If you’re trying to do something, there’s only one way to know if you made it. You’ve got to know what your end result looks like.

That’s true whether you’re trying to get somewhere, or if you’re trying to accomplish something, or if you’re trying build something. You’ll never know if you’ve actually done it. Unless you know what it looks like.

And that’s true for every step on the way there as well. You’ll never know whether all of your efforts moving you in the right direction. If you don’t know what it looks like.

Which is why today’s Solemnity, the Sacred Heart of Jesus, is so important.

Because if you’re trying to be closer to God. If you’re trying to follow Jesus. Then this is the target. The Sacred Heart of Jesus.

If you’re trying to do something, there’s only one way to know if you made it. You’ve got to know what your end result looks like.

If you’re a Christian, then the end result looks like the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

A Heart that has loved you from before you were born. A Heart that loves unconditionally, without counting the cost.

A Heart that’s so overflowing with God’s love that Good Friday becomes possible.

That’s the target. And the standard by which we need to measure every step on the way as well.

The more that you take another step towards God. The more your heart will look like the Sacred Heart.

The more your heart looks like the Sacred Heart? That’s how you know you’re headed in the right direction.

(for someone who needs to hear this again)

When I was growing up, my grandparents grew their own vegetables, in something that was too big to be called a garden. Almost a truck patch. And it had a little bit of everything.

Whenever I asked my grandfather about some new thing I’d found in a seed catalog, and whether we could grow some of it this year, his answer was always the same. “If you plant it, it will grow.”

At the time, I thought it was kind of a boast. About how he could grow just about anything in his well-tended patch. I’ve come to understand that it’s actually a universal truth.

Whatever you plant, it will grow.

If you plant something in your life that you wall off from everything else. Something you demand to have. Something that you say “mine” about. Something you keep everyone else away from, especially God. It will grow.

And it won’t stay walled off. Not for long.

It will keep growing. Quietly pushing everything else in your life aside. Slowly separating you from everything and everyone dear to you, including God. Until it’s not just a thing in your life.

But the thing in your life.

All of us plant things. Usually without realizing we’ve done it.

Or thinking about what we’re going to get from it.

Our only hope? Reconciliation.

And the daily planting and replanting of the only thing that really matters in the end.

It's easy to compare ourselves to other people's visible successes! But underneath the surface, we realize it's not a comparison at all. We can all succeed in different ways. 🥕✨

The quick fix. The easy button. The silver bullet.

Whatever you call it, there’s something in us that loves a simple, fast answer. No matter what the problem is. Especially when it’s something difficult. Or deep-rooted. Or long-term.

It’s why we’re always looking for a shortcut. For the one thing that solves everything.

The thing is, nothing in life really works that way. Nothing that lasts anyway.

Oh sure, I can try the quick fix. I might even see some results. But check back with me in a year. And see if any of those results are still there.

Whether we’re talking about changing the world. Or just changing ourselves.

Real progress. Change that lasts. Isn’t the work of a moment.

No matter how grand the gesture may be.

Real progress. Change that lasts. Is the fulfillment of many, many moments.

The ultimate coming together of countless small things.

This is what Jesus is pointing us towards in today’s Gospel.

This is why He warns us not to overlook even the smallest part.

Because it’s those seemingly insignificant parts. Those things that may not seem like much at the time.

That are actually the moments that God has given into our care. The moments when we can make a difference.

Where God has entrusted to us the power to make change that lasts.

The secret to using that power? Consistency.

In each moment that has been entrusted to us, looking to God.

In each moment that has been entrusted to us, responding in His love.

This is the sure and certain road that Mother Teresa spoke of. The only source of change that lasts. The holy power of doing “small things with great love.”

The quick fix. The easy button. The silver bullet.

Whatever you call it, there’s something in us that loves a simple, fast answer. No matter what the problem is. Especially when it’s something difficult. Or deep-rooted. Or long-term.

It’s why we’re always looking for a shortcut. For the one thing that solves everything.

The thing is, nothing in life really works that way. Nothing that lasts anyway.

Oh sure, I can try the quick fix. I might even see some results. But check back with me in a year. And see if any of those results are still there.

Whether we’re talking about changing the world. Or just changing ourselves.

Real progress. Change that lasts. Isn’t the work of a moment.

No matter how grand the gesture may be.

Real progress. Change that lasts. Is the fulfillment of many, many moments.

The ultimate coming together of countless small things.

This is what Jesus is pointing us towards in today’s Gospel.

This is why He warns us not to overlook even the smallest part.

Because it’s those seemingly insignificant parts. Those things that may not seem like much at the time.

That are actually the moments that God has given into our care. The moments when we can make a difference.

Where God has entrusted to us the power to make change that lasts.

The secret to using that power? Consistency.

In each moment that has been entrusted to us, looking to God.

In each moment that has been entrusted to us, responding in His love.

This is the sure and certain road that Mother Teresa spoke of. The only source of change that lasts. The holy power of doing “small things with great love.”

“Salt of the earth”

“Light of the world”

Both come from today’s Gospel. Both get used by countless people in countless ways.

But the point that Jesus is making with both of them? It’s something that goes to the very heart of our most fundamental relationship, our relationship with God.

It’s that our relationship with God isn’t just about us. Though our intimate connection with God is at the heart of it, that intimacy isn’t all of it.

That is, when we have living faith, a faith that flows from a healthy relationship with the God who loves us unconditionally, it’s going to overflow.

The love that’s the very heart of that relationship, and the joy that flows from it, are going to spill out in every area of our lives. And it’s going to have an impact on everyone around us.

If you’ve ever been around someone who is truly holy, then you’ve felt that impact. You’ve found yourself happier, more at peace, just from having spent time with them. 

The point Jesus is making is that this is supposed to happen.

When God fills us with His love, His joy, His peace? That when it gets to the point that it overflows, we should let it. We shouldn’t even try to hold it back.

Note that God isn’t looking for us to make grand pronouncements or produce theological statements. Today’s Gospel makes it clear that God is looking for something much deeper.

God is looking for a change in our character. A change in who we are because of our relationship with God.

A change that impacts every part of us, both in the big moments and the everyday ones. A change that cannot be contained, that alters even our smallest interactions. With God and with everyone we meet.

Our faith should impact others, because it’s had an impact on us.

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.”

It’s the start of today’s Gospel (all of Jesus’ “Blessed are the…” sayings). And it’s something we don’t really hear anywhere else. So what does it mean to be “poor in spirit?”

The whole “blessed are the poor is spirit” thing is both a reality check. And a promise.

The reality check? Being poor in spirit is nothing that you and I have to do. Rather, being poor in spirit is where we are, today and every day.

Every day you and I start off from a place of need, a place of poverty. Lacking what we need spiritually, and (on one level or another) being acutely aware of that shortfall.

If you wonder where our anxiety comes from? This is a big part of it.

We may deal with it in different ways. Trying to meet that need through success or stuff, distractions or addictions. But however we do it, all of still comes from that same place of need, of poverty.

Because no matter how much we want to be self-sufficient (and we want to be), the simple truth is that we are not self-sufficient. And never can be.

God knows this about us.

God’s point of reminding us of this? That’s the promise.

To make sure that we know this about us. To make sure that we know that we don’t have to handle this on our own.

God loves us too much to leave us stuck. Lacking what we need.

Stuck trying to be something that we never can be – self-sufficient.

God loves us so much – that He’s willing to do whatever it takes to meet our need (in case you wondered what Good Friday was all about).

Giving us what we need. Helping us to be what we were always meant to be – God-sufficient.

I seem to know the words to a lot of hymns. Especially the ones that come from Protestant churches (I’m a convert, so that’s no surprise).

Actually, I just know a lot of first verses. After that, I need to grab a hymnal.

But the words that I do know? They seem to be the “old” versions. The “thee” and “thou” versions.

When the words have been updated, I find myself scrambling for a hymnal when I hit the first “you.”

I used to think that “thee” and “thou” was formal language. A way of showing respect for God, emphasizing the difference between Creature and creator. But also putting God at arm’s length.

Which makes sense. I learned all the “thee” and “thou” versions in the context of the Protestant tradition I grew up in. Where God was kind of distant.

For the kind and loving (and distant) people of the church that I grew up in, the radical intimacy of the great saints with God made no sense at all.

To them, a prayer like Catherine of Siena’s personal version of the Glory be – which she started with “Glory be to the Father, and to Thee, and to the Holy Ghost” – would have been familiar to the point of being rude.

But for Catherine, who was speaking directly with Jesus (something that my church claimed to prefer but rarely did in practice), referring to someone sitting next to her in the third person would have been rude.

Because to Catherine, Jesus wasn’t off in the distance. Jesus was sitting next to her. And her prayers were conversations with her closest and dearest friend.  

This becomes clear in Catherine’s writings (which are in Latin), where she uses the intimate forms of second-person pronouns when talking about Jesus. Like Latin, many languages have two versions of their second-person pronouns, a formal one and an informal one.

Until about a hundred and fifty years ago, English did as well. Back in the day, if you were writing a letter to someone important or speaking to someone you barely knew, it was “you.”

For close friends and family, for your beloved, it was “thee” and “thou.”

Which – contrary to what I thought – is the real meaning of “thee” and “thou.”

It’s why (in 1846), Elizabeth Barrett Browning writes “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” And not “How do I love you?”

It’s not a poetic flourish or a pointless formality. She is making a precision strike.

She is writing to her beloved. And she wants to make sure her beloved knows exactly how she feels. Even before she starts describing her love.

And it is exactly how God wants us to think about Him.

Because Catherine’s intimacy with God – talking with someone sitting next to her, with prayers that were really conversations between the closest and dearest of friends – is not something rare. It isn’t something that’s reserved just for the great saints.

It’s something that God is longing to have with you. 

And it’s why, in spite of changing tastes in language and style, in the Our Father, in the Hail Mary, in the prayers that so often lead us into our most intimate, most personal prayers, the Church has kept the language of “thee” and “thou.”

So the next time you catch yourself saying “thee” and “thou,” let those words remind you that your closest and dearest Friend is waiting for you with open arms.

I seem to know the words to a lot of hymns. Especially the ones that come from Protestant churches (I’m a convert, so that’s no surprise).

Actually, I just know a lot of first verses. After that, I need to grab a hymnal.

But the words that I do know? They seem to be the “old” versions. The “thee” and “thou” versions.

When the words have been updated, I find myself scrambling for a hymnal when I hit the first “you.”

I used to think that “thee” and “thou” was formal language. A way of showing respect for God, emphasizing the difference between Creature and creator. But also putting God at arm’s length.

Which makes sense. I learned all the “thee” and “thou” versions in the context of the Protestant tradition I grew up in. Where God was kind of distant.

For the kind and loving (and distant) people of the church that I grew up in, the radical intimacy of the great saints with God made no sense at all.

To them, a prayer like Catherine of Siena’s personal version of the Glory be – which she started with “Glory be to the Father, and to Thee, and to the Holy Ghost” – would have been familiar to the point of being rude.

But for Catherine, who was speaking directly with Jesus (something that my church claimed to prefer but rarely did in practice), referring to someone sitting next to her in the third person would have been rude.

Because to Catherine, Jesus wasn’t off in the distance. Jesus was sitting next to her. And her prayers were conversations with her closest and dearest friend.  

This becomes clear in Catherine’s writings (which are in Latin), where she uses the intimate forms of second-person pronouns when talking about Jesus. Like Latin, many languages have two versions of their second-person pronouns, a formal one and an informal one.

Until about a hundred and fifty years ago, English did as well. Back in the day, if you were writing a letter to someone important or speaking to someone you barely knew, it was “you.”

For close friends and family, for your beloved, it was “thee” and “thou.”

Which – contrary to what I thought – is the real meaning of “thee” and “thou.”

It’s why (in 1846), Elizabeth Barrett Browning writes “How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.” And not “How do I love you?”

It’s not a poetic flourish or a pointless formality. She is making a precision strike.

She is writing to her beloved. And she wants to make sure her beloved knows exactly how she feels. Even before she starts describing her love.

And it is exactly how God wants us to think about Him.

Because Catherine’s intimacy with God – talking with someone sitting next to her, with prayers that were really conversations between the closest and dearest of friends – is not something rare. It isn’t something that’s reserved just for the great saints.

It’s something that God is longing to have with you. 

And it’s why, in spite of changing tastes in language and style, in the Our Father, in the Hail Mary, in the prayers that so often lead us into our most intimate, most personal prayers, the Church has kept the language of “thee” and “thou.”

So the next time you catch yourself saying “thee” and “thou,” let those words remind you that your closest and dearest Friend is waiting for you with open arms.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives us the familiar words of the Great Commandment.

“You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength. And you shall love your neighbor as yourself.”

While it reads like two commandments, it really isn’t. It’s all one thing.

As St. Bede says, “neither of these two kinds of love is expressed with full maturity without the other, because God cannot be loved apart from our neighbor, nor our neighbor apart from God.”

Which means that if you’re trashing your neighbor, don’t imagine that things are right between you and God. The two loves are inseparable.

While the two are inseparable, the order is intentional. Because it’s an order of operation.

That is, if you “love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your mind, and with all your strength.” You will “love your neighbor as yourself.”

Why? Because you cannot love God without being loved by God.

And here’s the thing, the more you love God, the more you find yourself alive and overflowing with God’s love.

When you are alive with God’s love, it will spill over into every other part of your life. That’s why you end up loving your neighbor as yourself.

Because you literally cannot contain the love of God.

This is why St. Bede says that “neither of these two kinds of love is expressed with full maturity without the other, because God cannot be loved apart from our neighbor, nor our neighbor apart from God.”

And why St. John warns us that anyone who says “I love God” but hates his neighbor, is a liar.

A little advice from someone who’s stumbled on this one. Before you worry about anyone else living down to St. John’s warning, make sure you look in the mirror first.