Sunday, October 25, 2026

HOMILY – 30th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Before Sunset (English & Spanish)

                                        ___________________________

Before the Sun Goes Down!

That is the deadline given to us in today’s first reading.

It is easy to miss because we are expecting to hear great spiritual truths. But right among God’s commandments about justice and compassion comes a very practical instruction: If you take your neighbor’s cloak as security for a loan, return it before the sun goes down.

Before the sun goes down.

Why? Because that cloak may be the only thing your neighbor has to cover themselves with while sleeping.

Let us imagine that garment for a moment. The worn fabric. The frayed edges. Something a person wears during the day and wraps around their shoulders when they shiver in the cold at night.

God looks at that cloak and sees the person who needs it.

And God asks a question we should take with us as we leave church today: What will this person cover themselves with so they can sleep without being cold?

The person who lent the money may have an explanation. The debt is real. The agreement was legal. The person who borrowed should have planned better.

But God insists that our neighbor must have something to cover themselves with tonight.

Before the sun goes down.

In today’s Gospel, a teacher of the Law asks Jesus which commandment is the most important. Jesus answers that we must love God with all our heart, with all our soul, and with all our mind. And he joins that commandment to love of neighbor.

The teacher asks for one commandment. Jesus gives him two that belong together.

Our love for God, whom we do not see, becomes visible in the way we treat our neighbor, whom we do see.

This invites us to make a thorough examination of conscience. We can speak beautifully about God and, at the same time, lose patience with the people who need us. We can defend the principles of our faith and walk past someone shivering in the cold outside. We can become so accustomed to suffering that we stop asking who is suffering.

The book of Exodus does not let us look away.

God mentions the foreigner, the widow, the orphan, and the person who needs a loan. These are people whose circumstances leave them at the mercy of others. They have less protection, fewer resources, and fewer people willing to support them.

And God tells the people of Israel to remember: You, too, were foreigners in Egypt.

Remember what it feels like to be helpless. Remember when you needed someone to open a door for you. Let the mercy you received become the mercy you give.

The same thing appears in Saint Paul’s letter to the Thessalonians. They received the Gospel amid suffering, with the joy of the Holy Spirit. Then their way of life became an example to others. Through them, the word of the Lord spread.

What would it mean for the Gospel to spread through our parish today?

Of course, it means proclaiming the Scriptures and teaching the faith. But it also means that someone who has been overlooked finally finds a community that listens. That sees them. That a hungry person receives food. That someone going through a difficult time discovers that we will continue to walk alongside them.

MercyWatch, which is part of our parish community, offers us a concrete way to live that love: bringing medical care to the streets and reaching out to people without homes and those living on the margins of society.

Its work brings care and basic necessities to our neighbors who have no home, who do not always have enough to eat, or who arrive as foreigners in a new land. Supporting this work through our service or donations can put into practice the commandment we hear today.

Let us think again about God’s question concerning the cloak, that blanket.

What will this person cover themselves with tonight?

On our streets, that question has not lost its urgency. Neither have these questions: Who will care for their wound?

Who will take the time to learn their name? Who will patiently listen to their story?

MercyWatch calls this the ministry of presence: being there and walking alongside someone. And we have been sharing this great gift with our community here in Snohomish County for ten years now.

Next year, MercyWatch will open its first free medical clinic at Our Lady of Hope’s facilities on Cedar Street.

For almost ten years, we have worked out of our cars and, for the past five years, also out of our medical van. Now we will have our own clinic space in Hensen Hall.

Our Hispanic community has volunteered to help with the renovation. They heard God’s call to care for our most forgotten neighbors. And we thank them for their love, their generosity, and their response.

We cannot meet every need on our own. But together, as a community, we can respond to a specific need. We can contact an outreach ministry and ask what is needed. We can give regularly. We can offer our skills. We can support efforts to help more people gain access to housing and care.

We can also examine how we speak about people living in poverty. Our words help create an environment where our neighbors encounter welcome or contempt.

And those among us who are struggling need to hear this clearly: You have a place here. You have gifts this community needs. You do not have to be financially stable, healthy, or have all your problems resolved to deserve love.

God hears your cry.

For all of us, this week’s invitation is specific: Let us choose an act of mercy and put it on the calendar. Let us give it a time and a place, and set aside some of what we have to carry it out.

Others can count on our compassion when we make room for it in our daily lives.

In a few moments, Christ will give himself to us in the Eucharist. We come with empty hands to receive a gift we could never earn through our own merits. The Lord feeds us with his own life and invites us to take part in his mission of loving and giving himself for others.

Then he sends us to care for our neighbors. To care for one another, looking beyond ourselves.

May the hands that receive him also be the hands that share him, care for him, welcome him, and protect him in others.

And when a neighbor needs the blanket we are holding in our hands, let us remember the deadline God gives us:

Before the sun goes down.


HOMILÍA–XXX Domingo Ordinario–Antes de que se ponga el sol

¡Antes de que se ponga el sol!

Ese es el plazo que nos da la primera lectura de hoy.

Es fácil que se nos pase, porque estamos esperando escuchar grandes verdades espirituales. Pero justo entre los mandamientos de Dios sobre la justicia y la compasión aparece una instrucción muy práctica: Si tomas el manto de tu prójimo como garantía de un préstamo, devuélveselo antes de que se ponga el sol.

Antes de que se ponga el sol.

¿Por qué? Porque ese manto puede ser lo único que tu prójimo tiene para taparse al dormir.

Imaginemos esa prenda por un momento. La tela gastada. Las orillas deshilachadas. Algo que una persona lleva puesto durante el día y con lo que se cubre los hombros cuando tiembla de frío por la noche.

Dios mira ese manto y ve a la persona que lo necesita.

Y Dios hace una pregunta que debemos llevarnos hoy al salir de la iglesia: ¿Con qué se va a tapar esta persona para dormir sin pasar frío?

Quien prestó el dinero quizá tenga una explicación. La deuda es real. El acuerdo era legal. La persona que pidió prestado debió haberse organizado mejor.

Pero Dios insiste en que nuestro prójimo debe tener con qué taparse esta noche.

Antes de que se ponga el sol.

En el Evangelio de hoy, un maestro de la Ley le pregunta a Jesús cuál es el mandamiento más importante. Jesús responde que debemos amar a Dios con todo el corazón, con toda el alma y con toda la mente. Y une ese mandamiento al amor al prójimo.

El maestro le pide un mandamiento. Jesús le da dos que van juntos.

Nuestro amor a Dios, a quien no vemos, se hace visible en la manera en que tratamos al prójimo, a quien sí vemos.

Esto nos invita a hacer un examen de conciencia a fondo. Podemos hablar muy bonito de Dios y, al mismo tiempo, perder la paciencia con las personas que nos necesitan. Podemos defender los principios de nuestra fe y pasar de largo ante alguien que tiembla de frío afuera. Podemos acostumbrarnos tanto al sufrimiento que dejamos de preguntarnos quién está sufriendo.

El libro del Éxodo no nos deja voltear la mirada hacia otro lado.

Dios menciona al extranjero, a la viuda, al huérfano y a la persona que necesita un préstamo. Son personas que, por sus circunstancias, quedan a merced de otros. Tienen menos protección, menos recursos y menos personas dispuestas a apoyarlas.

Y Dios le dice al pueblo de Israel que recuerde: Ustedes también fueron extranjeros en Egipto.

Recuerden lo que se siente estar indefensos. Recuerden cuando necesitaron que alguien les abriera una puerta. Que la misericordia que recibieron se convierta en la misericordia que dan.

Eso mismo aparece en la carta de san Pablo a los tesalonicenses. Recibieron el Evangelio en medio del sufrimiento, con la alegría del Espíritu Santo. Después, su manera de vivir se convirtió en un ejemplo para los demás. Por medio de ellos se difundió la palabra del Señor.

¿Qué significaría que el Evangelio se difundiera hoy por medio de nuestra parroquia?

Claro que significa proclamar las Escrituras y enseñar la fe. Pero también significa que alguien a quien nadie ha tomado en cuenta encuentre por fin una comunidad que lo escuche. Que lo vea. Que una persona con hambre reciba comida. Que alguien que está pasando por un momento difícil descubra que seguiremos acompañándolo.

MercyWatch, que forma parte de nuestra comunidad parroquial, nos ofrece una manera concreta de vivir ese amor: llevar atención médica a las calles y acercarnos a las personas sin hogar y a quienes viven al margen de la sociedad.

Su labor lleva atención y artículos de primera necesidad a nuestros vecinos que no tienen hogar, que no siempre tienen suficiente para comer o que llegan como extranjeros a una tierra nueva. Apoyar esta labor, con nuestro servicio o con donativos, puede hacer realidad el mandamiento que escuchamos hoy.

Pensemos otra vez en la pregunta de Dios sobre el manto, sobre esa cobija.

¿Con qué se va a tapar esta persona esta noche?

En nuestras calles, esa pregunta no ha perdido su urgencia. Tampoco estas preguntas: ¿Quién le va a curar la herida?

¿Quién se va a tomar el tiempo de conocer su nombre? ¿Quién va a escuchar con calma su historia?

MercyWatch llama a esto el ministerio de la presencia: estar ahí y acompañar. Y llevamos ya diez años compartiendo este gran regalo con nuestra comunidad aquí, en el condado de Snohomish.

El próximo año, MercyWatch abrirá su primer clinica médica gratuita en las instalaciones de Nuestra Señora de la Esperanza, en el salón Hensen, en la calle Cedar.

Durante casi diez años hemos trabajado desde nuestros carros y, en los últimos cinco años, también desde nuestra camioneta médica. Ahora tendremos nuestro propio espacio para el clinica, en el salón Hensen.

No podemos atender todas las necesidades por nuestra cuenta. Pero juntos, como comunidad, sí podemos responder a una necesidad concreta. Podemos comunicarnos con un ministerio de ayuda y preguntar qué hace falta. Podemos dar con regularidad. Podemos ofrecer lo que sabemos hacer. Podemos apoyar los esfuerzos para que más personas tengan acceso a vivienda y atención.

También podemos revisar cómo hablamos de las personas que viven en la pobreza. Nuestras palabras ayudan a crear un ambiente donde nuestros vecinos encuentran acogida o desprecio.

Y quienes están pasando por dificultades entre nosotros necesitan escuchar esto con claridad: Aquí tienen un lugar. Ustedes tienen dones que esta comunidad necesita. No tienen que tener una situación económica estable, estar sanos ni haber resuelto todos sus problemas para merecer amor.

Dios escucha su clamor.

Para todos nosotros, la invitación de esta semana es concreta: Escojamos una obra de misericordia y anotémosla en el calendario. Pongámosle una hora y un lugar, y apartemos algo de lo que tenemos para llevarla a cabo.

Los demás pueden contar con nuestra compasión cuando le hacemos un lugar en nuestra vida diaria.

En unos momentos, Cristo se nos entregará en la Eucaristía. Venimos con las manos vacías para recibir un regalo que jamás podríamos ganarnos por nuestros propios méritos. El Señor nos alimenta con su propia vida y nos invita a participar en su misión de amar y entregarse por los demás.

Después nos envía a cuidar a nuestros prójimos. A preocuparnos unos por otros, más allá de nosotros mismos.

Que las manos que lo reciben sean también las manos que lo compartan, que lo cuiden, que lo reciban y que lo protejan en los demás.

Y cuando un vecino necesite la cobija que tenemos en las manos, recordemos el plazo que Dios nos da:

Antes de que se ponga el sol.

 

Sunday, August 16, 2026

HOMILY – 20th Sunday in Ordinary Time – Walking The Way

                                                      _______________________

I am about to depart for "The Road That Changes the Heart."

There is an old saying among pilgrims on the Camino de Santiago: "The Camino doesn't give you what you want; it gives you what you need."

Millions begin the journey believing they are walking toward Santiago de Compostela in Spain. Yet by the end, many discover that the real destination was never merely the tomb of Saint James. The true pilgrimage was the transformation of the heart. 

Nearly a thousand years ago, the Codex Calixtinus, often called the first great pilgrim's guidebook, did much more than describe roads, bridges, churches, and dangers. It taught pilgrims that every step toward Santiago was meant to become a step toward God. The book warned travelers about greed, impatience, and pride. It encouraged hospitality, prayer, and perseverance. Along the road, strangers became companions, and the journey itself became a school of conversion.

That ancient wisdom opens today's Scriptures beautifully.

The prophet Isaiah proclaims God's astonishing promise: "My house shall be called a house of prayer for all peoples." Israel had long understood itself as God's chosen people. But through Isaiah, God reveals that His covenant is not meant to build walls but to open doors. Foreigners who love the Lord are welcomed. The Temple is not the private possession of one nation but the gathering place of every people who seek God. 

This is precisely what pilgrims experienced on the 500-mile Camino de Santiago across Northern Spain. A French merchant walked beside a German monk. A Portuguese farmer shared bread with an Italian noble. People who could scarcely speak one another's language discovered that prayer, mercy, and shared hardship formed a deeper communion than words. The road became a living image of Isaiah's prophecy: one family gathered from many nations.

Saint Paul, in today's Letter to the Romans, reflects on that very mystery. He knows God's election of Israel remains irrevocable, for "the gifts and the call of God are irrevocable." Yet God's mercy has become even wider, embracing the Gentiles so that ultimately He may show mercy to all.

Paul refuses to see salvation as a competition between insiders and outsiders. Instead, he sees history as the unfolding of divine mercy.

The Camino teaches the same lesson.

           Every pilgrim begins carrying a backpack. At first, it seems manageable. But after several days, every unnecessary item becomes painfully heavy. Shoes blister the feet. Shoulders ache. Eventually, pilgrims learn to leave behind what they thought they could not live without.

My sisters and brothers, our spiritual lives are much the same.

Many of us carry invisible burdens: old resentments, prejudices, fears, the need always to be right, the temptation to decide who deserves God's love and who does not. The farther we walk with Christ, the more He gently asks us to put these burdens down.

That is exactly what happens in today's Gospel.

Jesus enters the region of Tyre and Sidon — Gentile territory. A Canaanite woman approaches Him, pleading for her daughter's healing. At first, Jesus seems to refuse her. His silence and His words shock us.

But the conversation is not ending with rejection; it is leading toward revelation.

The woman refuses to walk away.

She kneels.

She trusts.

She answers with remarkable humility: "Even the dogs eat the scraps that fall from their masters' table."

Jesus then declares one of the greatest compliments found anywhere in the Gospels: "Woman, great is your faith!"

The outsider becomes the example.

The foreigner becomes the teacher.

The one presumed far from God is revealed to be astonishingly close to Him.

Like a pilgrim who refuses to abandon the journey despite rain, exhaustion, or steep mountains, this woman keeps walking toward Jesus. Every obstacle becomes another step of faith.

The Codex Calixtinus repeatedly reminds pilgrims that the road itself tests the soul. Hospitality offered or withheld, patience practiced or abandoned, generosity shown or refused — these reveal who we truly are. The Camino is never simply about reaching Santiago, Spain. It is about allowing the journey to remake the pilgrim.

So too with the Christian life.

The Church herself is a people on pilgrimage. We have not yet reached our heavenly Jerusalem. Along the way, Christ continually asks us difficult questions:

Will we welcome the stranger?

Will we recognize faith when it appears in unexpected places?

Will we allow God's mercy to become larger than our own expectations?

Will we trust Him when the road becomes difficult?

Saint James, whose shrine has drawn pilgrims for centuries, preached a Gospel that demanded action. Faith was never merely something to possess; it was something to live. Every step on the Camino became a prayer because every step required trust.

Every Mass is something like the Camino.

We arrive carrying burdens.

We walk together though we come from different places.

We receive food for the journey.

Then we are sent out again—not simply to admire Christ, but to follow Him.

At the end of the Camino, pilgrims receive the Compostela, a certificate marking the completion of the journey. Yet seasoned pilgrims often say that finishing the Camino is actually only the beginning. The road continues at home, where the lessons of the pilgrimage must become everyday life.

The same is true of the Eucharist.

The dismissal is not the end of worship but the beginning of mission.

Today Christ invites us to become pilgrims of mercy. Like Isaiah, may we believe God's house is open to every nation. Like Paul, may we trust that God's mercy is greater than human divisions. Like the Canaanite woman, may we persevere with humble and courageous faith. And like the countless pilgrims described in the Codex Calixtinus, may every step we take bring us closer not only to a holy place, but to the Sacred Heart of Christ, who walks beside us until our pilgrimage ends in the eternal homeland.

You may remember that I walked half of the Camino de Santiago in 2024. Next month, I return to finish the second half of my pilgrimage. I would be happy to carry your prayers with me on the journey. And I ask for your prayers as well.

 

Sunday, July 26, 2026

Homilia - XVII Domingo Ordinario (Spanish & English) - El regalo

                                                _________________________

¿Por qué vale la pena dejarlo todo? 

Hay una pregunta que toda persona responde, no con palabras, sino con la manera en que vive:

¿Por qué vale la pena dejarlo todo?

Muchos de nosotros conocemos a personas que dejaron todo atrás. Cruzaron fronteras, aprendieron otro idioma, aceptaron trabajos difíciles, se perdieron cumpleaños, guardaron su soledad y soportaron años de sacrificio.

¿Por qué?  ¿Por qué?

Porque creyeron que había algo más valioso esperando a sus hijos que aquello que estaban dejando atrás.

Nadie hace un sacrificio así, a menos que haya encontrado un tesoro.

Y eso es precisamente de lo que Jesús nos habla hoy.

“El Reino de los cielos se parece a un tesoro escondido en un campo… y también a un comerciante que busca perlas finas”.

Notemos algo importante.

El hombre no está triste cuando vende todo lo que tiene.

Está lleno de alegría.

Porque cuando uno descubre algo que no tiene precio, aquello que entrega ya no parece una pérdida.

El problema no es que seguir a Cristo cueste demasiado.

El problema es que, a veces, no comprendemos cuánto vale realmente Cristo.

El rey Salomón sí lo comprendió.

Cuando Dios le ofreció concederle lo que pidiera, Salomón no pidió dinero.

No pidió poder.

No pidió una larga vida.

Pidió sabiduría.

¿Por qué?

Porque sabía que, si tenía sabiduría, todo lo demás encontraría su lugar correcto.

Muchas personas pasan la vida pidiéndole a Dios un mejor trabajo, una casa más grande, documentos legales, mejor salud o éxito para sus hijos.

Ninguna de estas cosas es mala.

Pero Salomón nos enseña a pedir primero un corazón que sepa reconocer a Dios.

Porque cuando nuestro corazón le pertenece a Dios, podemos recibir sus bendiciones sin permitir que esas bendiciones ocupen el lugar de Dios.

San Pablo nos ofrece también una promesa muy hermosa:

“Sabemos que todas las cosas contribuyen para el bien de los que aman a Dios”.

San Pablo no dice que todo lo que sucede sea bueno.

La enfermedad no es buena.

La división familiar no es buena.

Perder el trabajo no es bueno.

Estar separados de nuestros seres queridos no es bueno.

Pero Dios es tan poderoso que puede tomar incluso nuestras lágrimas y entretejerlas dentro de su plan de salvación.

Muchas de nuestras familias han vivido algo parecido.

Tal vez nunca imaginamos vivir en este país.

Tal vez llegamos con miedo.

Tal vez la vida ha sido más difícil de lo que esperábamos.

Sin embargo, muchos podemos mirar hacia atrás y decir:

“Dios ha estado con nosotros en cada paso del camino”.

No porque la vida haya sido fácil.

Sino porque Cristo nunca nos ha abandonado.

Después, Jesús añade otra imagen.

Una red recoge peces de toda clase.

Solamente al final son separados.

Esto nos recuerda algo que muchas veces olvidamos.

La Iglesia no es un museo para personas perfectas.

Es una red que recoge pecadores que están aprendiendo a convertirse en santos.

En cada parroquia hay personas generosas y personas egoístas.

Hay creyentes fuertes y creyentes que están luchando con su fe.

Hay personas que acaban de llegar y otras que llevan aquí varias generaciones.

Todos seguimos siendo formados por la misericordia de Dios.

Nuestra tarea no es juzgar quién merece estar dentro de la red.

Nuestra tarea es permanecer en ella.

Por eso, hoy Jesús nos pregunta a cada uno:

¿Cuál es tu tesoro?

Si alguien observara tu calendario, la manera en que gastas tu dinero, tus conversaciones, tus preocupaciones y tus sueños…

¿qué pensaría que es lo más importante para ti?

Para algunos, puede ser el dinero.

Para otros, el éxito.

Para otros, la comodidad.

Incluso las cosas buenas —nuestra familia, nuestro trabajo y nuestras tradiciones— pueden ocupar poco a poco el lugar que solamente le pertenece a Dios.

El Reino de Dios no es un tesoro más entre muchos otros.

Es el tesoro que da sentido a todos los demás.

Cuando Cristo ocupa el primer lugar, amamos mejor a nuestra familia.

Somos más honestos en el trabajo.

Tenemos más paciencia con nuestros hijos.

Perdonamos más dentro del matrimonio.

Somos más generosos con los pobres.

Y vivimos con mayor paz en los momentos de incertidumbre.

Eso es lo que sucede cuando Cristo se convierte en nuestro mayor tesoro.

Hoy, cuando nos acerquemos a recibir la Eucaristía, estaremos haciendo algo extraordinario.

El hombre del Evangelio encontró un tesoro escondido en un campo.

Nosotros no tenemos que buscar en un campo.

El Tesoro viene hacia nosotros.

Escondido bajo la apariencia de un sencillo pedazo de pan está Jesucristo mismo, el tesoro más grande que el mundo ha recibido.

Que nunca nos acostumbremos tanto a la Eucaristía que olvidemos Quién nos espera allí.

Y que salgamos de esta Misa con la misma alegría del hombre que encontró el tesoro, dispuestos a entregar completamente nuestro corazón a Cristo.

Porque, una vez que lo descubrimos, comprendemos que todo lo que entregamos es poco comparado con todo lo que recibimos.

Amén.

 

 

What Is Worth Losing Everything For?

There is a question that every person answers—not with words, but with the way they live.

What is worth losing everything for?

Many of us know people who left everything behind. They crossed borders, learned another language, accepted difficult jobs, missed birthdays, buried their loneliness, and endured years of sacrifice. Why?

Because they believed there was something more valuable waiting for their children than what they were leaving behind.

Nobody makes that kind of sacrifice unless they have found a treasure.

That is exactly what Jesus is talking about today.

"The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field... like a merchant searching for fine pearls."

Notice something important.

The man is not sad when he sells everything.

He is joyful.

Because when you discover something priceless, what you give up no longer feels like a loss.

The problem is not that following Christ costs too much.

The problem is that we sometimes do not realize how valuable Christ truly is.

King Solomon understood this.

When God offered him anything he desired, Solomon did not ask for money.

He did not ask for power.

He did not ask for a long life.

He asked for wisdom.

Why?

Because he knew that if he had wisdom, everything else would find its proper place.

Many people spend their lives asking God for a better job, a larger house, legal documents, better health, success for their children.

None of these are bad things.

But Solomon teaches us to ask first for a heart that knows God.

Because when our heart belongs to God, we can receive blessings without allowing blessings to replace God.

Saint Paul gives us another beautiful promise:

"We know that all things work for good for those who love God."

He does not say that everything is good.

Illness is not good.

Family division is not good.

Losing work is not good.

Being separated from loved ones is not good.

But God is so powerful that He can take even our tears and weave them into His plan of salvation.

Many of our families have experienced this.

Perhaps we never imagined living in this country.

Perhaps we arrived with fear.

Perhaps life has been harder than we expected.

Yet many of us can look back and say, "God has been with us every step."

Not because life was easy.

But because Christ never abandoned us.

Then Jesus adds another image.

A fishing net gathers fish of every kind.

Only at the end are they separated.

This reminds us of something we often forget.

The Church is not a museum for perfect people.

It is a net gathering sinners who are learning to become saints.

Every parish contains generous people and selfish people.

Strong believers and struggling believers.

People who have just arrived and people who have been here for generations.

We are all still being formed by God's mercy.

Our job is not to judge who belongs in the net.

Our job is to remain in it.

So today Jesus asks each of us:

What is your treasure?

If someone looked at your calendar, your spending, your conversations, your worries, and your dreams...

What would they conclude is your greatest treasure?

For some, it may be money.

For others, success.

For others, comfort.

Even good things—our family, our work, our traditions—can quietly take the place that belongs only to God.

The Kingdom of God is not one treasure among many.

It is the treasure that gives meaning to every other treasure.

When Christ comes first, we love our families better.

We become more honest at work.

We become more patient with our children.

More forgiving in marriage.

More generous with the poor.

More peaceful in times of uncertainty.

That is what happens when Christ becomes our greatest treasure.

Today, when we come forward to receive the Eucharist, we are doing something extraordinary.

The man in the Gospel found a treasure hidden in a field.

We do not have to search through a field.

The Treasure comes to us.

Hidden under the appearance of simple bread is Jesus Christ Himself—the greatest treasure the world has ever received.

May we never become so accustomed to the Eucharist that we forget Who is waiting for us there.

And may we leave this Mass with the joy of the man who found the treasure, ready to give our hearts completely to Christ.

Because once we discover Him, we realize that whatever we surrender is small compared with what we receive.

Amen.