A man looking a bit downtrodden approached me as I filled my car’s gas tank. He asked, “May I share with you my testimony about how good God is?” “OK,” I skeptically answered. He went on to tell me that he had been an alcoholic and drug addict, and that God had healed him; now he was four years sober.

My childhood best friend was Xander Price. He was the fastest runner in school, an excellent baseball player, and Jewish. Though his family wasn’t intensely religious, I felt totally at home with them despite our religious differences. Everything about their Judaism seemed to undergird and strengthen my own experience of being a Catholic. I knew they didn’t believe in Jesus like my family did, but I intuited somehow that Jesus was “hiding” in their religion. Like a cat moving under a blanket, ready to emerge at any moment, the Lord was hidden there in a special way.

St. Thomas Aquinas said that friends share three things: time, possessions and secrets. For example, how do I know if you’re my friend? Well, let’s say we’ve been to Mexico together, you’ve tried my shaky attempts at pasta carbonara, and you know what ridiculous costume I wore in a music video I filmed in my early twenties. We, dear reader, are definitely friends. We’ve shared time, possessions and secrets.

One of the most fascinating moments in American history is when George Washington could have become the king of the newly liberated United States and didn’t.

At the height of his power and fame, on Dec. 23, 1783, he resigned his commission as Commander-in-Chief, and went home. The astonished King of England remarked that in doing so, Washington was “the greatest man in the world.” Greatness is often defined by what we could do but don’t. Greatness is measured by the temptations we overcome.

One of the things that older pastors and younger priests occasionally quarrel about is the proper balance between work and prayer. I know one pastor who complains that his younger associate ignores the people and the parish because he wants to spend more time in prayer. And the young priest complains that the pastor gives him too much work to do and no time to pray.

“Oh, well. I’m going to hell anyway, right?”

I have a few family members and friends who are not practicing Catholics who say this to me from time to time. It’s always spoken in a teasing manner, with a wink and a shoulder shrug, usually to explain away some sort of minor misbehavior they feel guilty about.

I craved four things as a teenager: success in sports, food, fun and the attention of popular people. However, I noticed that as I acquired them, I was more unsatisfied than before. So, I’d strive even more energetically, achieve more, and the sense of emptiness was greater still. These four things started to feel like burdens or even curses. Soon after, I encountered Christ in my high school youth group. Experiencing his love was totally different than anything those four things previously produced. It produced a lasting happiness.

My parents’ garage is full of old junk that no longer serves any purpose in my life. As a 46-year-old man, I admit that’s pretty lame. Either due to my sentimentality or laziness (or both, probably), I just couldn’t get myself to throw things away. But a few days ago, by a grace of God, I thought: “I’ll hire my nephew Ryan to throw a bunch of my stuff away — he couldn’t care less about my junk!” And you know what? It worked. In one day, Ryan chucked the majority of his uncle’s useless stuff. I feel so free, ready for a new junk-free chapter in my life.

When Simeon cradles the infant Messiah in his arms, he speaks of salvation and glory and revelation. He speaks of his own death. He speaks of the fulfillment of God’s promise to all people.

But most memorable, in my opinion, are his words about the hearts of men. This Child, he says, will be the way “the thoughts of many hearts may be revealed.”

Do you know why the Priest or Deacon says: “Go in peace to love and serve the Lord”? The dismissal reminds us that Mass equips us to serve the Lord through peace and love. Our response, “Thanks be to God,” reflects gratitude for the transformative power of the Eucharist—not a desire to leave quickly, but recognition of the strength we receive to live as disciples.

The breaking of the bread at Mass signifies our unity as one body in Christ, even though we are many. When the priest breaks the Body of Christ during the Lamb of God, it recalls how Jesus’ body was broken on the cross to “take away the sins of the world.” This act nourishes us spiritually, empowering us to rise above sin and grow in goodness.

Do You Know the Origin of the Kiss of Peace at Mass?

The Lord’s Prayer, which begins the Communion Rite, reminds us of our shared dependence on God as His children. It leads us into the Kiss of Peace, a tradition deeply rooted in early Christianity.

Do You Know What Happens during Consecration? After the Sanctus, the priest calls upon the Holy Spirit to transform the gifts of bread and wine into the Body and Blood of Christ. This sacred moment begins the narrative of the Last Supper, where Jesus took bread, blessed it, and said, “This is my body.”

The Eucharistic presence of Jesus is not static—it is active. Through the words of consecration, “This is the cup of my blood… it will be shed for you and for all so that sins may be forgiven,” Jesus offers Himself to the Father as a sacrifice to reconcile and heal the relationship between God and humanity.