This is the week the Church celebrates All Saints Day and the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed. Most of us can’t help but think about those who have passed away. And for some among us, this carries a tremendous weight.

I feel called to share a bit about a beautiful ministry our parish offers, appropriately named “An Experience of Hope.” It offers healing from the pain, sorrow, and/or shame of an abortion. It is completely confidential, absolutely free of charge, and done one-on-one with a trained facilitator (called a healing companion).

This Sunday’s First Reading ends with the line, “For I am a father to Israel, Ephraim is my first born.”

Pop quiz! Who (or what) in the world is “Ephraim?” If you know. Well done.
If you don’t—do something about it.

Last week, I used this column to reflect on God’s desire for us to pray, not only for the intentions of the world and others, but ourselves as well.

This week’s readings reinforce this message.
The Psalm Response says, “Lord, let your mercy be on us, as we place our trust in you.”

Then, the Second Reading (taken from Hebrews 4) says, “So let us confidently approach the throne of grace to receive mercy and to find grace for timely help.”

During my eighteen years running youth ministry programs and six years running faith formation for the entire parish, I’ve encountered numerous people who refuse to pray for themselves.

I’ll ask, “What is something I can pray for—for you?” They respond with something about peace in the Middle East. I’ll say, “That’s a great and worthy intention and I’ll pray for it, but what is something I can pray for—for you?”
They respond with something about the health of a parent, spouse, sibling, or pet.

Virtually every night, my family huddles at our preschool daughter’s bedside and we say our prayers. When Georgiana prays, it gets interesting.

“Dear Lord, thank you for Jesus, Mommy, Daddy...” So far, so good.

“Thank you for my toys, ::insert random preschool classmate name here::, kitties, doggies...” Okay. Nothing wrong here.

“And unicorns and hippopostamusses and Paw Patrol...” Wait. Did she say “hippopostamusses?”

Those of you who’ve been reading my little column here for years might remember I refer to this Sunday’s Gospel as the “Pirate Gospel.” Why?

Because Jesus instructs that if your hand causes you to sin, cut it off. And if your eye causes you to sin, pluck it out.

No hand + no eye = pirate.

Humility is an amazing thing.

It’s great for humor. (For example: I like exclaiming, “I’m the most humble man on the planet!” See what I did there?)

It can elicit fear. (It is commonly known that you should only pray for humility if you REALLY mean it. ESPECIALLY if you are a public speaker!)

Many years ago, my dad taught me there are two sides to humility.

One side recognizes without God, very little is possible. Did you get great grades, graduate from a prestigious university, and end up with a high-level job? I bet you worked hard to accomplish all those things? But who gave you the intellectual capacity to fill - in the first place? God.

Think of everything you’ve accomplished through hard work like this: God gave you the containers of potential. You fulfilled those containers of potential through your efforts – or responded to what He had given you.

This morning, I woke up particularly grumpy. It isn’t something that happens often, but when it does... well... it is written all over my face. My typical “too-big-for-my-face” smile is absent and replaced by an angry German disposition.

As I drove my toddler to preschool, out of nowhere, my little empath asked, “Daddy? Why you sad?”

“I’m okay, little nugget.” So, she started to sing.

After the song, “You happy now, dad?” That is when I realized I needed to pull over then and there.

August 28th is what I like to call the “Feast Day of Hope.” It is actually the feast day of St. Augustine. (And with that, some of you already know where I’m going with this, but stick around anyway.)

Augustine of Hippo had a mom...as you do. Her name was Monica. She was incredibly holy, despite extensive suffering. Her husband was an adulterer with all violent temper. She wept for her son nightly. The young man took up non- Christian beliefs and Monica drove him from her home.

After a vision, she reconciled with her son. This doesn’t mean she approved of his beliefs and she continued her prayerful assault on Heaven on his behalf.

With the exception of our little (worthy) detour for the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary, we’ve spent the last several weeks of Sunday Gospels in the Bread of Life Discourse (as found in John 6).

It began with Jesus establishing His own divinity. He does this by echoing the great prophet Elisha’s miracle found in 2 Kings 42-44, but literally multiplying the number fed. (John 6:5-14.) Then, Jesus further establishes his divinity by walking on water. (John 6:16-21)

In John 6:29, Jesus asks his followers to “believe in the one God has sent.” Hilariously, these folks actually ask, “What sign then will you give that we may see it and believe you? What will you do?” JESUS JUST FED 5000 and WALKED ON WATER. It is never enough for us, is it? But they went on, “Our ancestors ate manna in the wilderness; as it is written: ‘He gave them bread from heaven to eat.’”

In this week’s Gospel, we take a break from John 6 to celebrate the Assumption of Mary.

Some people—most of all, our non-Catholic brothers and sisters—struggle with this teaching. And why wouldn’t they?

Many other denominations take the stance that the body is just a cage for a soul of infinite value. If that is the case, why would a bodily assumption of anyone but Jesus (whose very Flesh is divine) even matter? Why hoist a mere “cage” into heaven?

The majority of the time, this space focuses on an aspect of Sunday’s Gospel. But this week, a tiny line from Psalm 34 caught my eye: “I will bless the Lord at all times; his praise shall ever be in my mouth.”

I suspect it grabbed my attention because of the tremendous challenge it contains.

It’s tempting to think that blessing the Lord in good times is a breeze. Not so. Reflect on health. What percentage of our days do we lift prayers of gratitude in times of good health? And what percentage of our days of poor health do we pray for healing?

I recently attended a funeral for yet another former youth group teen. They are always difficult, but I find some comfort and solace when it is a young person who has given their lives to the Lord.

You’ve probably felt what I often feel when someone passes away: I cannot imagine the grief of people who have no hope of seeing their loved one again. What a bitter, final, and utterly hopeless farewell. How does the heart cope?