I write this on Monday morning, September 18th, as Fr. Simon and I prepare to journey north to Flagstaff for the Priest Convocation. This is a special gathering of the priests of the Diocese of Phoenix with Bishop Dolan. It is a time of prayer, priestly fraternity and building stronger bonds in the common priesthood we share together.

Dear people of God,

As I returned from my time away on sabbatical and came here to be pastor of Saint Bernard of Clairvaux, I was filled with great peace and a true sense of being home. There is much to share, but we have time in the future. What I am most enthused about is being in a community that is committed to living the Gospel as disciples of Christ. We do that together day by day and week by week, through the ups and downs, challenges and joys of life. Always with our eyes focused on Christ and the mission he gives us to spread his merciful love. I am grateful to God that the next step in my journey is with all of you!

What are you supposed to do about the bad behavior of the people around you? You know who I’m talking about. That family member, friend, coworker, or acquaintance who is quite immoral. On this front there are two lively options in our culture: bash the person to others (probably online) or pretend everything’s fine. The former damages the person. The latter ignores reality. What to do?

Isn’t it easy to relate to Peter? One moment Jesus announces Peter’s deep communion with God the Father. The very next, when he rejects the logic of Jesus’ suffering and death, Jesus calls Peter Satan. We Christians shouldn’t be too shocked when we experience both spiritual highs and lows, when we perceive breathtaking contradictions in our hearts.

27. On the sacred day of Holy Thursday, Jesus’ last night with His disciples, He knew that soon He would return to His Father, but He also knew how much they will need His presence, one that “The Imitation of Christ” eloquently describes as consoling and strengthening: “When Jesus is near, all is well and nothing seems difficult. When He is absent all is hard. When Jesus does not speak within, all other comfort is empty, but if He says only a word, it brings great consolation” (Book II Chapter 8). In a certain sense, we can say that here Jesus faces a dilemma. On the one hand, He desires to return to His Father and on the other hand, He desires to remain with His disciples.

The suffering of a child symbolizes uniquely terrible evil as well as despair about the future. This week’s Gospel gives a “limit” case in which Jesus encounters this evil in the form of a mother with a suffering daughter. What he does is stunning and massively helpful for us if we bravely ponder the details.

The Canaanite woman comes to Jesus and begs his mercy. “My daughter is tormented by a demon,” she declares to him. Shockingly, he responds first with silence, then with a dismissive comment, and only then finally accedes to her third request. Is this simply a lesson in perseverance in our petitions to God, who is like a genie in a bottle? Does that justify the humiliation and pain this woman suffers? Is the Lord cruel?

A man at my parish was struggling to overcome a habitual sin. He said to me, “Father, I know the chance that I will commit sin again is really high. Why should I keep confessing my sins? Isn’t that dishonest?” Anyone who has felt the tyrannical power of sin — and who hasn’t? — has pondered this kind of question.

What is Christianity finally about? These days if you ask almost anyone who doesn’t know the Bible you’ll probably hear an answer like this: “Being a good person” or “following the golden rule.” No offense to the golden rule, but our faith is simply much stronger than that. This week’s feast of the Transfiguration of the Lord is a luminous example of this. Jesus becomes radiantly and overwhelmingly beautiful. The glory of God literally shines forth from his body and even his clothes. Here we see that Christianity is not mainly a moral system, but a relationship with God in Christ, one that finally makes human beings gloriously beautiful.

Our culture seems more polarized and divided than ever. Into this wounded situation, our Catholic faith has a healing remedy to offer: the gift of wisdom. When the Lord offers to give King Solomon anything the monarch desires, he requests “an understanding heart” (1 Kings 3:9). In his polarized situation, the King doesn’t ask for power to defeat his enemies. He asks for a wise and understanding heart to judge right from wrong. This wisdom is elevated and fulfilled in Jesus who teaches us to bring forth “both the new and the old” (Matthew 13:52).

Life, like the church, is often burdened with evil, smallness, and impurities. The Lord’s parables give us a hope-filled perspective on all three.

Evil: in Jesus’ parable about the good farmer whose enemy plants weeds at night, Jesus tells us that God is not the cause of evil but permits evil to exist with good out of his patient love. He will finally deal with it, but his love lets things stay messy for a time.

It’s not uncommon to hear people complain that we Catholics often fail in communicating our faith. Fair enough. We can and should improve there. But it’s interesting to notice that Jesus himself was implicitly accused by his disciples of a similar failure. This week in Matthew’s gospel they are perplexed that he speaks to the crowds in ambiguous parables. The Lord’s riddles leave many people more confused than before. He responds by pointing out that his parables have an intentional dual purpose: to hide (for some) and to reveal (for others) his Gospel: “Because knowledge of the mysteries of the kingdom of heaven has been granted to you, but to them it has not been granted” (Matthew 13:11). Is Jesus being unnecessarily difficult, obscurantist, or, worse, elitist?

Do you ever feel restless? I certainly do. Daily tasks and challenges, but also the more basic demand of simply existing — sooner or later, this can all feel crushing and tire us out.

Which is why Jesus’ words are such stunningly good news: “Come to me all you who labor and are burdened and I will give you rest” (Matthew 11:28). How vastly weird that this man speaks as though he is capable of giving us the deep repose we desire. Is his claim the height of absurd grandiosity? No, because next he immediately proclaims that he is “meek and humble of heart.”