Once I was at a meeting with representatives of various religions. On a coffee break, a man from another religion mused to me: “You know, with all our differences, all religions are really about being good people.” I lowered my cappuccino and said as warmly as I could, “That’s not what mine’s about.” His quizzical look begged for clarification. “Mine is about plunging into the life of God,” I said.

When I was twenty-two years of age in August of 2000, I experienced World Youth Day in Rome. As for many of my generation, the event was life-changing for me. Surrounded by joyful, hope-filled young people from seemingly every nation and tongue, we were gathered around the Pope, sharing a common Faith and love. The Pope spoke to us of our shared family bond in the Church and invited us to give our lives in service to others.

A few months ago, I had the singular privilege of a private meeting with Pope Francis. We were a small group of pastors, composed largely of non-Catholics. The Holy Father wished to discuss our work for Christian unity. The phrase I remember him saying with greatest frequency was: Tutti dentro. It means, “Everyone in.”

Once a man came to the Vatican and asked to see Pope John Paul II, claiming that they had been friends in Poland. When told of the man, the Pope said, “He is mistaken about our friendship. I don’t recall ever having suffered with him.” As it turned out, the man had never known the Pope.

It’s a Wonderful Life is one of my favorite Christmas movies. It only occurred to me recently, though, that this film, for all its yuletide aesthetic, is actually more of an Easter story.

I love this movie because it’s a very Catholic film — not overtly, although we do see the main character, George Bailey, going to Mass. No, it’s the themes that are Catholic, not the set dressing.

Recently I was with my little dog Libby at a retreat center in the Arizona desert. I sat in a chair near a ravine filled with shrubs. Unbeknownst to me, Libby wandered down there and disappeared. Suddenly an animal’s wild shriek erupted from the area. Without thinking, I bolted down into the ravine fully expecting to see coyotes, javelinas, or rattlesnakes. I didn’t care.

When I was a kid, a friend at my home parish told me, “If you get to Mass by the Gospel reading, it counts!” As a lifelong late-arriver, it’s something I have told myself many times, especially in my earlier years as a Catholic. If the “it counts” is justifiable on a pathetically minimal scale of liturgical legalism, then the Gospel reading today shows how insanely wrong-headed it is, and how helpful it is to re-think the Mass in its light.

For all the condemnation Thomas the Doubter has received in 2000 years of homilies, I think there’s something to admire in him. Thomas is not unique. We all waver at some point, overcome by hesitation, distracted by the clamor of the world which seeks at every turn to shout above the whisper of the divine.

Dear beloved parishioners of St. John Paul the Great Parish,

As we celebrate the glorious season of Easter, we are invited to reflect on the profound message of hope and renewal that the Resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ brings to our lives. In the Gospel of John, we encounter the moving story of Mary Magdalene at the empty tomb, a powerful symbol of the victory of life over death, light over darkness.

Dear Brothers and Sisters in Christ,

At the Last Supper, which we commemorated on Holy Thursday, Jesus took bread and wine and instituted the Eucharist, instructing the Apostles to “Do This in Memory of Me.” (1 Cor. 11:24). When we come together for the celebration of Mass., we not only experience our unit as living members of the Body of Christ, but we also receive Him – body and blood, soul and divinity – in the Holy Eucharist. This is so precisely because He is not to be found among the dead but among the living, and that is our Easter joy.

A few months before they married, my twenty-three-year-old sister and her fiancé planned a cross-country road trip to visit his family.

My parents told them that they could only go if they slept in separate hotel rooms, offering to foot the bill. It might sound prudish, but my parents wanted the young couple to understand that their approaching unity was close, but not yet. Patience solidifies love.

A middle-aged woman sat on the couch in my parish office and recounted to me a shocking list of terrible calamities in her life: addictions, terminal illnesses, financial loss, broken relationships, and so on. She smiled as she did so. “Please forgive me,” I asked, “but you seem to be smiling as you share this.” She said, “Father John, I am totally overwhelmed. But I’m smiling because I just can’t wait to see what good things God does with this mess.” She expected God would manifest His glory when she most needed it.

Our national pastime isn’t baseball. It’s what the Bible calls “condemning the world.” We generally enjoy pronouncing curses upon those whom we see as trouble, wrong, or evil. Don’t believe me? Listen to almost any podcast, cable news network, or social media platform to hear it. It will be some version of: “We all agree that if they are eradicated, things will be great.” Condemning is almost always clothed in virtue. It basks in its good intentions. That’s why it is so attractive. Condemning seems like our best path to saving what is good.

One of the greatest golfers of all time — if not the greatest — was Jack Nicklaus. Which is why it is baffling that at the beginning of each season he would return to his childhood coach and re-learn how to grip the golf club. It’s like Shakespeare re-learning the alphabet and grammar. Why would he do that? Because Jack knew that the fundamentals are always relevant. Perfecting and obsessing over his grip allowed him to do everything else in the game well. In sports and life, the best ones love the basics.