August 30, 2026

Dear Parishioners,

“For whoever wishes to save his life will lose it.” Difficult words from our Lord in this weekend’s Gospel. I don’t know about you, but I have an interesting pattern with my crosses (which are nothing compared to the crosses I know some of you carry). I’ll be struggling with something and for the first few hours or days I’ll be fighting that thing, resisting it, trying to figure it out, and praying for it to go away. Then it will finally dawn on me, “Oh, I think this is the cross.” That changes everything. I’ll stop ‘kicking against the goad’ and accept my situation. It’s what St. Paul says in the second reading: “Do not conform yourselves to this age but be transformed by the renewal of your mind.” Conforming myself ‘to this age’ is trying to eliminate the suffering, because I am entitled to a life of my own choosing (which, of course, would involve no pain). That’s what the ‘age’ says. But that’s not true. Whoever saves his life will lose it. The best life is not one of my own choosing, but one given to me. Accepting that is how my mind is renewed, to use Paul’s terms.  

So, once I have that breakthrough in handling the cross, my spirit is uplifted. My energy, which was once directed towards figuring this thing out so it will go away and having pity on myself, will now be directed towards God. I’ll look to him for strength and consolation. I’ll surrender into his arms and let him assure me of the truths that are under attack because of the cross (lies like I’m weak, I’m foolish, my life is over, I’ll be alone, etc.). I’ll simply focus more on the Lord, who suffered himself, and think of the inspiring example he gave. Finally, I’ll offer my sufferings for the people and parishioners I know who are really suffering. I’ll say something like, “Please, Lord, receive me and my pain and use it to bless [NAME] who is suffering.” All of this–praying through the cross–leads me to greater peace and comfort, not to mention greater maturity and love.

While I still would prefer to not have the cross, having the cross and praying through it in this way is a much better experience than fighting it. And again, we fight “it” when we don’t realize that “it” is a cross. We think “it” is simply some injustice or some problem or some misfortune. This is why our faith is so important. Not that we want to overspiritualize everything, but when we have faith, some painful experience in our life becomes not just a misfortune, but a cross. Misfortunes lead to deeper pain and frustration. Crosses lead to peace and fulfillment. 

It’s for us then to “make crosses.” People will often give me crosses they made from some material: a cross from lanyard string, a cross from palms, a cross from colored construction paper. One time a parishioner gave me a cross they carved out of a wood log with a chainsaw. That was cool. Well, we don’t have to be artists to be able to take these painful things in our life and twist them around to form a cross. 

Let’s use a simple example. Say your knee is bothering you and you are struggling to walk. That bum knee would be the one string of lanyard, for example. If you look at the bum knee as a problem, and you approach it by being frustrated, accusing yourself of running too much earlier in your life, debating whether to get surgery or do something else to make it go away, or getting depressed that you’ll never be able to walk normally again, then that would be consigning yourself to the one string of lanyard and yanking at it. But if you bring spirituality into it–if you see the hurt knee as an invitation to be close to God–then you’ve begun to weave that string into a cross, something much more rewarding than just a random piece of string. 

I can’t say I do much lanyard weaving, but I believe a lanyard cross usually takes two or three pieces of different string, usually of different colors. It’s like one string is your cross, the second string is God’s cross, and the third string is Mary’s cross. God and his mother are with you in your suffering. Your suffering is their suffering, and they weave it into you for something beautiful.

I was reading recently about Oscar Wilde, the famous 19th Century writer who wrote The Importance of Being Earnest  and The Picture of Dorian Gray, along with several other books and plays. Towards the end of his life, Wilde was imprisoned and ended up dying destitute at age 46, feeling a complete failure and humiliation to his wife and family. While in prison he wrote the poem, “The Ballad of Reading Jail,” which included these lines: 

Ah! happy day they whose hearts can break

And peace of pardon win!

How else may man make straight his plan

And cleanse his soul from Sin?

How else but through a broken heart

May Lord Christ enter in? 

The cross breaks our heart, yes. But that is how Christ enters in. Like a crack in the castle’s defenses, our human brokenness allows God to draw into our heart and transform us. May we allow the portals of our hearts to be raised so that the King of Glory may enter.

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Congratulations students, teachers, and parents for having survived the first few weeks of school. It’s hard to say farewell to summer break, but we know God has beautiful things in store for us as we grow in wisdom and holiness. May God be with us throughout the academic year.

Yours in Christ,

Fr. James