Return

 Lent has arrived

And you smear our foreheads with ashes

To remind us that our body is finite

And that we will one day return to dust.

But our soul is eternal

And when we take our last breath

We will stand before You and in our judgment

So we shouldn't waste our days.

It is Lent,

You ask us to return to the Father

Let us observe our soul, 

Actions, thoughts, and words.

And if there is something 

that is driving away from  following your steps

If we have taken a path 

where your footprints are not seen

Then it's better

To go look for you and as you say

Cutting off the hand if it's a cause of sin.

Or gouge out our eye if he does the same.

And no, you're not asking us to be mutilated.

You ask us to repent and walk away

Of those occasions that lead to sin.

And yet You love us,

And You hope we return to Your arms,

And you go find us

To bring us back to the flock.

I once wrote in my bedroom:

"I've been found"...

And You returned me to Your flock,

To follow in Your footsteps,

To sleep in your lap. 

Repent and believe in the Gospel (March 12, 2014)

 "Repent and believe in the Gospel," were the words spoken by the Eucharistic minister, who then placed a cross of ashes on my forehead. I listened and lowered my head. I smiled. Why? I realized I was being given an opportunity to return to the Eternal Father, and if my steps had strayed, to get back on the path with Jesus. The good thing about not being perfect is that there's always room for improvement. As the visiting priest said this Sunday, we are like plants that need pruning so they can grow and bear fruit again. Until recently, or almost always, I viewed Lent with a bit of fear, because it invites me to look at myself in the mirror, to see that image in a clean mirror, to clean the mirror and rid myself of my ego, to acknowledge my failings, to practice humility. And although it can be painful if we see that we have strayed from the path of Jesus, Jesus himself comes to meet us and reminds us that he loves us, that if we accept the grace of his cross, those small or large flaws are erased before his loving heart. Of course, we must prune, rid ourselves of all that burden that distances us from the Father, let the Holy Spirit act, and consciously live Lent with Jesus. If, due to lack of time or health problems, we cannot offer a sacrifice of fasting to accompany Jesus, we can always make small sacrifices in our lives, such as practicing patience, smiling at someone who is sad, doing that chore or task we don't like and offering it all to God. Give love, joy, support, and if we are the ones who are sad, offer that sadness to the Lord. This Lenten season is also ideal for drawing closer to God through prayer, praying the rosary, for example. And to add our personal prayers, to establish communication with God, and above all, to build a relationship with our Heavenly Father, with Jesus, and with the Holy Spirit. I once read that we can even argue with Him, show Him our reasons, our feelings, but above all, listen, let Him speak to our hearts, and if we feel like crying, cry, for He will take care of drying our tears. And trust, always trust that despite our sins, His mercy and forgiveness are always waiting for our repentance. The passion of our Lord Jesus Christ is precisely that: a demonstration of the love He passionately suffered for us, so that our sins would not hold us captive in guilt and we might become truly free through faith in His loving sacrifice.

Ash Wednesday

 

 Yesterday I attended the Liturgy of the Word and the imposition of ashes on the forehead. The celebration continued until the readings and the Gospel. There was a homily, and afterward, the ashes were blessed. In his homily, the Deacon reminded us that the cross imposed with ashes on the forehead is also a reminder of the cross that was placed on our foreheads during our baptism. He asked us to remember our baptismal promises, which I believe is to remain in the Christian faith. He also told us that the words spoken during the imposition of ashes, "Repent and believe in the Gospel," should lead us to a conversion of heart. That is, it should not be merely an external expression. In ancient times, the Israelites smeared ashes on their heads to show their repentance and return to communion with God and his covenant. So let's not just focus on a symbol; let's analyze what is distancing us from God and make a firm resolution and promise to change so we can draw closer to Him. May this Lent help us arrive in a state of grace to celebrate Jesus' resurrection.

Mortality (February 29, 2020)

 Last week I attended Ash Wednesday Mass. I had always received the ashes as a test, with the intention of examining my life and leaving behind bad habits, weaknesses, and sins—a soul-cleaning. And that's fine, because, as the priest said, by receiving the ashes we show that we are there because we want to change. However, this time I remembered something I once heard and that I read in an article that day: "Dust you are, and to dust you shall return." For the first time, and perhaps thanks to the widespread fear of COVID-19, better known as coronavirus, I saw myself in those ashes. I say for the first time because I almost never think about the fact that one day I will have to die. I remember once, during Mass, a priest asked those who knew they would be alive the next day to raise their hands. Yes, I was the only one to raise my hand, and upon realizing my mistake, I slowly lowered it, ashamed. "No one has a guarantee on life," as the saying goes. Although we sometimes live as if that were the case. Hence the importance of remembering our own mortality, repenting, and believing in the Gospel, for one day, when we least expect it, we will stand before God, judged for our good and bad deeds. One day our bodies will cease to exist, and if we wish to be resurrected at the end of time, we must necessarily change for the better now. Now, Isaiah tells us, now is the time of salvation. Let us not procrastinate our conversion. Today, God is waiting for us with open arms. Jesus wants to take us by the hand and walk beside us. The Holy Spirit needs us to allow ourselves to be guided by Him. Let us remember that one day we will be dust, and then it will be too late. Let us use this Lenten season to draw closer to God, as the Church asks of us, through prayer, penance, and works of charity. The priest reminded us that prayer is precisely about drawing closer to God, not only to ask Him for something, but also to get to know Him by reading the Bible or other devotional readings, and by praying the Rosary. Let us approach confession sincerely, let us resolve not to waste the grace we have received, and let us leave our sins in the confessional, in the hands of God's mercy, so that Jesus himself may cleanse our souls and leave them as white as snow. Let us keep them that way. Let us help our neighbors, let us volunteer in our parish, let us visit the sick and the elderly. And if the coronavirus is to frighten us, let it be to straighten our path, to place our trust in the Lord, and thus, when God so wills, we will not die but will reach heaven to enjoy his presence, or purgatory to be purified so that we may enter his holy presence. And let us pray, let us ask for those affected by this disease, that God may heal them, not only in body, but also in spirit.

Quotes from St. Mother Teresa of Calcutta

 The biggest obstacle is fear.

The ugliest feeling is resentment

The biggest mistake is quitting

The most beautiful gift is forgiveness

The greatest strength is faith

The most beautiful thing in the world is love

Little Li - From Facebook

 She was a child.

She was small.

She was unarmed.

And the Church remembers her as Little Li, martyr.

Little Li lived in Communist China in the early 1950s — a time when God was forbidden, churches were watched, and faith could cost you your life. Belief was treated like a crime. Prayer like rebellion.

When Li made her First Communion, she whispered a simple request to Jesus:

“Give me this daily bread, so my soul can live.”

She meant it.

From that day on, she received Holy Communion every morning — knowing full well it could all be taken away at any moment.

And one day, it was.

The police stormed the village and forced everyone into the tiny church. They mocked the people’s faith. They laughed at the idea that God could be present in bread.

Then the inspector gave the order.

The soldiers fired at the tabernacle.

The ciborium was seized.

The Sacred Hosts were thrown onto the floor.

Jesus — scattered, trampled, desecrated.

Little Li froze. Her heart broke.

Before leaving, the Communists locked the priest, Father Luke, inside a coal bunker. Through a small opening, he could see the sanctuary — and the Hosts lying on the tiles. He could do nothing but pray.

“Stop this sacrilege, Lord Jesus.”

The next morning, someone came.

A small figure slipped silently into the church.

It was Li.

Father Luke trembled as he watched, helpless. She could be killed at any second.

She knelt.

She adored.

She stayed for one full hour — preparing her heart, just as she had been taught.

Then she lowered herself, bent down, and with her tongue, received one Host.

Just one.

She left quietly.

The next day, she returned.

And the next.

And the next.

Always one hour.

Always one Host.

She never took more — because she knew Jesus was not something to be taken… but received.

There were thirty-two Hosts.

On the final day, Li came again — before sunrise. She knelt close to the altar, praying.

Then the door opened.

A soldier entered.

A gun was raised.

One shot rang out — followed by laughter.

Li collapsed.

Father Luke thought it was over.

But it wasn’t.

Wounded and dying, the little girl crawled across the floor — toward Jesus. With her last strength, she received the final Host with her tongue.

And then she died.

A child.

A believer.

A martyr.

The soldier stood in shock… then fled.

Later, Father Luke was released. He buried Li with reverence and escaped the country — carrying her story with him.

That is why we know her name.

Little Li did not preach.

She did not fight.

She did not shout.

She simply loved Jesus more than her own life.

If you think holiness is only for the strong…

If you think courage requires power…

If you think children cannot teach the Church…

Remember Little Li.

She shows us that reverence can be braver than bullets — and that even the smallest heart can defend heaven itself.

Illuminate

 Perhaps I don't yet understand Your word,

Perhaps my mind is limited,

But my heart longs for You

Like the sentinel waiting the dawn.

On this night of my life I want 

You to be the light that reveals the colors

And may your faith be a lamp that shines for me

And your word a bread that nourishes.

Light my path, I ask You,

Let darkness not reign here

So I be able to see Your steps and follow them

Like ships follow the lighthouse.

Help me, Lord, I ask You.

Illuminate my understanding as well

And give me faith to move mountains.

That alone, without You, I can do nothing.