Homilies & Thoughts

The throne of our King does not look like a throne. It is a cross planted outside the city, with a crude sign nailed above his head and a handful of people watching while the crowd mocks and walks away. The rulers scoff, the soldiers make jokes, even a dying criminal joins in. It looks like weakness and failure.

Yet this is the moment when the true King of the Universe is revealed. The eternal Son of the Father has emptied himself, born of a woman, obedient even to this shameful death. And precisely here, when every earthly measure says he has lost, he begins to reign. One man sees it. One man, condemned justly by his own admission, looks at the crucified Jesus and recognizes a King. He turns and says, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom.”

A cathedral on Rome’s Lateran Hill—St. John Lateran, the cathedral of the Bishop of Rome—bears the name “Mother and Head of all churches in Rome and in the world.” Today the Church celebrates the dedication of that cathedral. Strange, perhaps, to keep a feast for a building. Yet the Church asks us to do so because what we dedicate in stone reveals what God desires to do in us. Walls and doors cannot contain God. He fills heaven and earth. Still, he gives us a place set apart so our scattered hearts can be gathered, our senses focused, our lives reoriented toward him.

A single desire pulses beneath every distraction, every ambition, every fear: to be loved and to love in return. God did not fashion us because he lacked company; the Trinity is eternal communion. He wanted creatures who could share the joy he is. We were made for love—real, infinite, unexhausted.

Yet reaching for that desire is not easy. Sin crowds the heart. Pride distorts. Greed narrows. Selfishness turns us in on ourselves until we confuse appetite for love. Seeing this, the Father sent the Son to reopen the way home. Jesus shows that love is not a feeling we hoard but a life we receive and learn to give. He conquers the very sins that steal what we most long for and offers grace so we can begin again and again. Holiness, for most of us, is not a clean sprint; it is a long walk with stumbles, hand in hand with mercy.