We start telling lies around the age of three, the experts tell us. It’s understandable. Lying is a god-like power. Whatever I want, I need only say it, and the world rearranges itself accordingly. It’s amazing at first. But soon reality snaps back and I’m faced with a dilemma. If I remain committed to my lie I start to fracture into pieces. My words and reality drift apart, and I find myself lost in a lonely world of further falsehoods and fear of being found out.

As a priest, I’m amazed how happily married couples remember the tiniest details of their earliest encounters. They effortlessly report things like: “he wore a blue shirt,” “we ordered brussels sprouts,” “her hair was up in a bun,” and “he spilled shrimp cocktail sauce at my family’s open front door when it was ten degrees below zero,” (that one’s courtesy of my mom). We delight in remembering and speaking of when our new life of love began. The little details are glorious reminders that it’s all real.

A stranger in a foreign land, I was exhausted and homesick as my summer Spanish immersion ended in Guatemala. The rusty minivan arriving outside my small residence filled me with joyful hope. I was flying home to the U.S. and would be, at long last, completely happy. Or so I thought. After about half an hour of being home, I thought to myself, “This place is boring. I want to go somewhere.” So, I hopped in my car and left to see my friends. As I drove, I wistfully wondered, “Where am I truly at home?”

I remember the first time my older sister asked me if I wanted to hold her newborn son. Terrified, I told her I didn’t think it was a good idea. My résumé had nothing to suggest I would be a qualified baby holder. But she warmly told me, “I’ll help you hold him.” It struck me that she is baby’s mother. She is the one who decides who is qualified to hold him. I took him in my arms and soon I began to feel comfortable with that tiny little warm cooing creature in my arms, and soon I no longer feared holding him. Now, twenty-seven nieces and nephews later, holding a newborn child is one of the great joys of my life.

Hello St. Mary Magdalene, Merry Christmas!

I love this time of year; it is most definitely my favorite, there is a palpable joy which permeates everything and everyone. Everything looks so pristine and neat, lights are brilliant, trees and houses decked out, presents wrapped. Externally, things look fantastic. But, how do we look internally, spiritually? Have we made room for the Lord in our time of preparations so that our joy may now be complete over the fact that Christ is with us? He is, after all, the impetus for everything going on this time of year and the main source of our joy. Today, Christ is born for YOU! What a truly joyful, comforting fact that brings with it profound and beautiful implications for each of us.

Why do we believe in Jesus and the Catholic Church? Why should we continue to do so? We’ve never seen him face-to-face (at least not most of us, I assume). Most of us have never had mystical visions of angels or saints. We live in the same world as our atheist and secularists friends. Why do we believe in Christ if we’ve never seen him?

We like to think we are totally free, but the bitter truth is we simply are not. Or better put, our freedom is limited on every side — by governments, corporate giants, physical and mental frailties, genetic shortcomings, and even the boundaries of time and space, and above all, the burden of our sins and pending deaths. In our day, we are perhaps particularly aware that we are not free to disconnect from the technocratic rulers of the air. If you doubt me, try not paying your internet bill and see what happens. We are not totally free.

Lately I’ve been listening to a science-based podcast on healthy daily living. The host frequently discusses the wide range of health benefits of sleep. So, each night I’m trying to get more, and better, slumber, and it’s helping me feel energized. So, why in the world should we follow Christ’s advice this week? “Watch therefore, for you do not know when the master of the house will come … lest he find you asleep.” Isn’t sleep, especially at midnight and cockcrow, a good thing? Of course, it is.

In May 2023, for the first time in almost three quarters of a century, a monarch was crowned in England. A few days later a friend of mine scoffed, “What a waste of time and energy! What is the point of a king?” I’m a proud American who wants neither theocracy nor monarchical restoration. I like our democratic republic.

When I was a kid, I hated playing Monopoly because my siblings and friends always seemed to win. But worse was how it happened. Scared to risk my fake money on buying properties, I’d hold on to it. My opponents hungrily bought up the various real estate squares on the board. Then, inevitably, my poor, low-equity self would land on their spots, pay them rent, and my money would drain to zero. It seemed so unfair. The rich get richer, and the poor get poorer. I had to learn that monopoly money is meant to be spent. I was scared to lose some of it. So, I lost all of it.

Lately I’ve been enjoying the deep meaning of Eastern icons. I love how they express a tapestry of meaning in a way that can surpass the written or spoken word. Today’s parable of the ten virgins from Jesus is a good example. Try googling “wise and foolish virgins icon” and you’ll see an image of how our Christ meets our heart’s deepest needs if we attend to him with the proper attitude.

Last Easter season a new convert to Catholicism at my parish asked me with a grave tone in her voice: “Why do we call priests ‘father’ if Jesus says, ‘Call no man on earth your father, for you have one Father, who is in heaven’?” Thinking myself clever, I asked, “Do you think it’s okay to call someone your ‘teacher’ or ‘mister’ or ‘dad’?” She said, “Yes, I do.” I responded, “Well, Jesus seems to forbid that, too. So, it’s obviously hyperbole that he’s using.” She thought for a moment and declared, “Then I will stop using those words, too!” And she walked away. Not the outcome I was seeking.