After the Sign of the Cross, the priest proclaims, “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ… be with you all,” to which we respond, “And with your spirit.” These words announce the presence of Christ among us, as promised in Scripture: “For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them” (Matthew 18:20). Recognizing Christ in our midst invites us to reflect deeply on our relationship with Him, acknowledging the moments we have not lived in His light.

I read an article, years ago, about an American filmmaker who decided to step away from a wildly successful film franchise that had been requiring him and his family to live abroad. It stuck in my mind because of the tongue-in-cheek reasoning he gave for the surprising decision, “My kids were starting to speak in British accents.” Sometimes, we just want to go home, don’t we?

I recently moved into a new neighborhood. On my first evening I went grocery shopping and could not find my usual favorite Greek yogurt. Strangely, my heart started to race. All the losses of my previous life hit me. So many of my old friends, habits, comforts, and predictable experiences had fallen away. There I stood, a grown man, crying like a little boy whose world was falling apart in the dairy aisle.

Every Sunday, as Catholics, we gather for Mass to remember and live out what Jesus instituted at the Last Supper. Did you know that Jesus' command, “Do this in remembrance of me,” has been continuously honored for almost two thousand years? Each time we celebrate Mass, we fulfill His directive, allowing Jesus to be truly present among us.

As Mass begins, our gathering takes the shape of a united community (General Instruction of the Roman Missal). When the priest and ministers process in, the assembly is complete, and we become the people of God, with Christ present in our midst.

On November 7, St. John Paul the Great Parish held a productive town hall meeting to discuss the results of a recent parish survey and to set goals for the future. Parishioners who attended provided valuable input on the direction they hope our community will take over the next six years. Based on survey feedback, five key areas for improvement emerged:

1. Youth and Family Involvement
Many parishioners expressed a strong desire for greater engagement with young families, children and teens. Suggestions included activities like a youth-focused Mass, a children’s choir, and more youth and family gatherings. Parishioners believe that focusing on youth and family will help bring younger generations back to church and strengthen their connection to faith.

Once at an evening Mass as a poor college student, the collection basket was fast approaching, and I only had a ten-dollar bill. I was planning on using that to buy my favorite Chipotle burrito that night for dinner. Should I keep the money? Who would know if I did? If I gave it away, what would I eat? Would I be okay? I kissed my future burrito goodbye, dropped the money in the basket, and winced. But strangely, the rest of the Mass I felt more engaged than usual. I had skin in the game. I left the Mass excited to see how God would take care of me. And he did, in amazing ways.

Americans have long been fascinated with public debates. Farmers stood in muddy fields for hours to hear Lincoln and Douglas dispute each other in the 1860 presidential run-up. The televised debate between Kennedy and Nixon in 1960 fascinated the nation. These days, cable news outlets and social media parse every word spoken by candidates. We still love seeing public, rational disputes in the service of our nation.

Leprosy and blindness and deafness — oh, my. The disabilities cured by Jesus in his public ministry really are quite something, aren’t they? Vividly symbolic and rich food for reflection. It just wouldn’t be the same if Jesus had cured eczema or athlete’s foot or compulsive nail-biting.

Blind Bartimaeus, sitting by the side of the road, in particular captures my imagination. Because I have a confession to make, sometimes, I like to sit in the darkness, even though I know it isn’t very good for me.

I thought it often in my first year as a mother, when I was every day discovering what this new life of parenthood looked and felt like: doing anything with kids is a hundred times harder than doing it without kids. But it’s a thousand times better. From eating dinner to going to Mass to taking a walk around the block — every single outing, even the simplest ones, had an extra level of logistical complexity.

This week we hear of the man who inquires of Jesus how to obtain eternal life. He rejects Jesus’ invitation to sell his goods, give to the poor, and follow Jesus. Mark tells us this devastatingly sad line, “At this saying, his countenance fell and he went away sorrowful; for he had great possessions” (Mark 10:22).

As a young pastor years ago, I met with a middle-aged couple who had been divorced and civilly remarried. They were frustrated that an annulment had to precede a Church marriage. Sympathizing with their plight, I promised to walk with them along their journey. Once as we sat in my office, the man said to me, “Why is the Church so difficult on marriage?” I replied, “Actually, Jesus’ teaching is what’s difficult.” He furrowed his brow and asked what I meant.

If you show up to the gates of heaven completely whole, I kind of doubt you’ll be let inside.

I know that sounds pretty awful, because what kind of God doesn’t want all of you, exactly as you are? “Be yourself,” we tell our kids. “If someone expects you to change to be their friend, you don’t want to be that person’s friend.”

I am fascinated by minor Gospel characters. These people — the rich young man, the adulterous woman, the teachers at the temple — share the stage with Jesus only briefly. They bear passing but powerful witness to crucial moments of his earthly ministry. They breathe the air he breathes. They hear the sound of his voice. Some of them feel the touch of his skin. And then they go on with their lives and disappear into obscurity. They become just another one of us.

When I’m interviewing people for my job as a staff writer at an archdiocesan newspaper, I like to ask them this question: at the end of your life, when you meet God, what do you want to hear Him say?

I’ve gotten a lot of interesting answers.

One of the most touching YouTube videos I’ve ever seen is one in which a deaf woman receives new technology to heal her hearing. She hears her husband's voice for the first time — and her own, too — and bursts into tears of overwhelming joy. It must have been like an immovable wall between her and her loved ones came tumbling down.

On November 28, 1981, Alphonsine Mumureke was in the dining room at her high school in Kibeho, a small village in southwestern Rwanda. She heard a voice. It was a woman, veiled and beautiful. Alphonsine asked her who she was. “I am the Mother of the Word,” answered the woman.

It was the first appearance of Our Lady of Kibeho, who would return to visit Alphonsine and two of her schoolmates over the course of the next eight years. She left with them an urgent call for repentance, along with a prophecy of the Rwandan genocide that would come to fruition in the next decade.