Homilies & Thoughts

Anyone who has tried to choose a restaurant with friends knows the tension it can create. Options multiply, nobody wants to impose, and minutes vanish. So much energy for a decision forgotten before the bill is paid.

Meanwhile, the choices that shape a life can receive only hurried attention. A decision to forgive or to stay bitter. To speak honestly or to hide. Around those moments, voices multiply. Advice comes from friends, family, headlines, and the constant hum of opinion. Even the good voices carry some fog, because sin has dimmed God’s light in the world and made our own beauty harder to recognize.

Today is about remembering death. We should not mince words. That is what it is about. We rub ashes on our heads and hear, “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” It is inescapable. We will die. Technology will not save us. Science will never stop it. We will die. And when we die, we will be judged. We will stand before an infinite, perfect being and he will weigh our life against his—against his life as revealed in his Son. There will be no excuses. There will be no grey areas. There will be no secrets. He knows the inmost depths of our minds and hearts. There will simply be the sum total of our choices. What will he say to us? “Well done, my good and faithful servant.” Or will he say, “Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire?” What he says in that moment is all that matters. It is all that matters. Live accordingly.

Most evenings are not dramatic. They are ordinary: the same rooms, the same chores, the same tiredness, and the small frictions that appear when two lives share one home. Many of the Lord’s hard teachings can be attempted at a distance—one generous act, one patient response, and then we slip away to quieter company. Marriage is different. It places love in the same room, day after day, and trains the heart in the quiet courage of staying.