By: Rick Hernandez

I was at Mass on Sunday, at our parish of Saint Peter the Apostle, when I felt compelled to look around. I saw many people—most I knew only by sight—but there were also many I knew well, for they have been here since the founding of our parish in 2008 and now serve as elders, leading many of our parish ministries. We have come to know them well, ever since they first welcomed me and my family when we moved to the area in 2017. I can only imagine what those first parishioners—those missionary disciples who helped plant and nurture this community—must feel as they look upon such a large and beautiful congregation gathered at our parish today. I cherish that we get to witness and experience this—for it is a true gift of grace: to see some of the fruit of our efforts while still on this earth.
 
There was one face missing in the crowd, and my heart skipped a bit. We recently lost a dear parishioner and sister in Christ. Our dear Kathy was the first person to welcome and invite my family to participate in all that was happening at Saint Peter’s. Because of her, we were able to meet many of our brothers and sisters in the parish. Kathy was truly a good steward of Christ’s fields, a faithful disciple who was never afraid to work for the good of others. She understood people well, and was caring, present in the moment, understanding, and encouraging, and she did these things because she understood that her love of Christ will live on through those she tended.
 
It is part of our mission to pass on our experience, wisdom, knowledge, and understanding, for we are not going to live forever on this earth. As the keepers of the Lord's earthly fields, there is a time to plant the seeds and a time to tend the saplings—just as there is a time to watch them grow, and a time to gather the harvest. But we will not always be here to work, or even to witness, every harvest.
 
Eventually, we will no longer be the laborers at harvest time. Yet we pray that the work of our hands will remain visible to those who understand, to those who follow. At the end of our days, the Lord of the fields will show us every harvest—the fruit of the labor of our hands. Will He find us to have been good and faithful servants, good stewards of His fields?
 
It may not be obvious to many of us, but we are all called to this missionary discipleship. It is our responsibility to work His fields and to train those who follow, so that they may continue the labor of love, bearing fruit for Him who entrusted us with the fields and who guides our hands, hearts, and minds.
 
Our missionary discipleship will never be fully complete—not until the end of the age, when the wheat will be separated from the chaff, and each of us will receive our final recompense: either the joy of Heaven or the despair of Hell. But that time of sorting is yet to come, while our time to labor is now. In this very instant, we can choose to heed the call to work the fields, to care for the needs of the many—including ourselves. We pray for what is needed today, for the grace we receive is given for today—for the "now"—not for the "later". Today is not tomorrow, and for some, tomorrow will not come.
 
Tomorrow will take care of itself if we do the right things today. If we tend the fields faithfully, the fields will yield as expected.
 
Our Lord is telling us that the time for planting is now. The time to tend the seedlings is this very moment. The time to lovingly care for others, and to humbly learn to love ourselves—as seen through the eyes of our Lord—is today. Let us take advantage of the time we have been given and use it to tend lovingly to Christ in our brothers and sisters.
 
We miss our dear Kathy already, but by following her example, may we—whom she so lovingly tended—learn to live out our mission today, just as she did. May we be Eucharist to those who see and interact with us today—because we what we have is today, and tomorrow is not assured.
 
Let us pray: Lord of the Harvest, help us to be your faithful laborers. May we tend to Your fields with loving care, present in the now, living in the Hope of Your Kingdom, with as much Love, Mercy, and Compassion as we are able to muster from Your Grace gifted to us. May all your faithfully departed, be able to see all the wondrous works You accomplished through their hands. Amen.

By: Rick Hernandez

Our Church is in mourning over the loss of our Pope, Francis. Both global news and social media are filled with reflections about his contributions, and the divided opinions surrounding his policies and pastoral approach. It is fair to say that we will continue to hear much more commentary on what kind of Pope the Church needs next, whether similar to Francis or not. But more than that discussion, I am interested in how we have been changed, individually and as a community, by Francis’ missionary call to unity, inclusion, and compassionate accompaniment for those lost in loneliness and in need of love and care.
 
Some of us may feel a strange relief, now that Pope Francis' challenge to leave our comfort zones and accompany others where they are, is no longer so immediate. His voice, urging us to see where we fall short, is now silent. Yet Christ has always called us to that very same mission. Why are we still hesitating? It is time for each of us to spend some time in honest and humble self-reflection.
 
Others may feel the loss more acutely, especially those who drew strength and encouragement from Pope Francis’ support of a Church that walks with the poor and the abandoned, those who feel they have no place, neither in society nor in the Church. That sense of discouragement is understandable. Still, the mission remains unchanged. We pray for courage, for renewed commitment, and for our charity to increase.
 
How is it that we claim to be the people of a God of Goodness, Love, and Mercy, and still abandon our brothers and sisters at the margins? Pope Francis urged us to confront that contradiction. He invited us to become again a living, missionary Church, by reminding us that we are all sinners in need of grace, called to help one another. For this pastoral approach, he was criticized and even disliked. Criticized and disliked for being like Christ. I believe we are all called, in this respect, to be a little more like Pope Francis, in that love of the poor and the marginalized that was also espoused by Saint Francis of Assisi before him.
 
A dear friend once said to me, “The Pope cares deeply about people on the edges of society, but does he care about us?” That is a fair and very honest question, and perhaps at the heart of the resistance to Pope Francis' pastoral ministry.

​How did the ninety-nine sheep feel when the shepherd left to find the one who was lost? In an ideal and selfless world, we would rejoice that the shepherd cares so deeply for each of us. I imagine that when our lost brother is found, we would celebrate together in unity and full of joy. But we do not live in an ideal or selfless world.
 
It’s understandable if some of the ninety-nine feel overlooked. Yet let us remember: the sheep were not abandoned; they remained in the shepherd’s field, together, in a place of safety, and knowing that the shepherd would return. It is up to us, the community of believers, to stand together while He searches for the lost. In fact, it is the responsibility of the ninety-nine to keep the place for the one who is missing.

When we are united in service, helping our brothers and sisters on the journey to Heaven, we leave little room for thoughts of exclusion or resentment. We help the Shepherd fulfill the mission of Love and Mercy by loving one another, by moving beyond our comfort zones, and by trusting more deeply in His love. We become as shepherds to one another, protecting, supporting, and growing in grace together.
 
But perhaps we are among the discontented sheep. If so, let us remember why Christ came into the world, and why He left us His Church. If the Church is, as Pope Francis famously said, a field hospital, then we are all patients in its care in some way. May we, by God’s grace, heal well-enough, that while being patients, we can also help as caregivers. Let us keep the faith, for we know who the Divine Physician is.
 
Are we contributing to Christ's mission of Love and Mercy, and are we the Church Christ intended us to be?  Let us have a renewed commitment to be the Church Christ intended us to be.
 
If our brothers cannot love, then let us be like Mother Mary and gently point them to Jesus. That is good and right, but let us also love them.
 
If our brothers cannot believe, then let us be like Saint Thomas, invite them to bring their doubts to Jesus and see His wounds, that they might believe. That too is good and right, but let us also walk with them on the road to faith.
 
Pope Francis called us to care, in both thought and action, just as Jesus did. Let us pray for Pope Francis' soul and his eternal rest. And let us also pray for our new Pope, whoever he may be, that Christ’s Church may continue to call us to conversion, to the stretching of our hearts, and to the reaching out of our hands to those in need. This is what Christ commanded. Let us fall on the side of love. Amen.

By: Rick Hernandez

We have finally reached the end of Lent, getting even closer to the celebration of Easter, where we remember, in thanksgiving and full of joy, our Lord Christ's Resurrection! But before we get to Easter, we have to remember that Christ experienced His Passion. How often do we, in our very lives, desire the joy of Easter, without embracing the suffering from the Passion?
 
As the Order of Christian Initiation for Adults (OCIA/RCIA) coordinators in our parish, my dear wife Ivonne and I walk hand-in-hand with many seeking to become Catholic Christians. It is often that these beautiful souls come to the Church, not by being celebrated by those close to them, but instead by going through their own Gethsemane, left alone and abandoned by those they deemed friends and family. I believe in my heart that, in those moments of loneliness and solitude, they are experiencing something of what Christ suffered that day in the garden. 

​What great courage those seeking Christ have! What great love they profess when they move forward in that conviction of Christ calling them ever-closer to Him, even amid discord, disinformation, and disharmony.
 
We are seeing this today, in a country where religious freedom is supposed to be one of our most important individual rights. Can you imagine them, the called, in those places where the persecution of our faith is open and encouraged? How many martyrs have we seen? We have witnessed too many, even in these modern times. May our Lord's love and compassion be ever with them. But what about us? Do we consider these things and live our faith publicly? Do we live our faith openly and faithfully? Or are we just too comfortable with what we do, that we even fail to accept a little discomfort as an offering to acknowledge Christ in our lives and witness to His love for us among our peers?

History reminds us that standing for faith has always carried a cost. I often think about Saint Oscar Arnulfo Romero, martyr and Archbishop of San Salvador. Throughout the late 1970s and early 1980s, the Church in El Salvador was suffering severe persecution, trapped in the middle of a de-facto civil war between the Salvadorean government and many insurgent groups. Archbishop Romero knew that no one in the country was safe, but knew even better that those who were poor and isolated were bearing the worst from the conflict. He became the voice of the voiceless, defending the people and their faith while serving the poor and the displaced. For that criticism of the conflict, and his insistence on keeping the churches open, he was ordered shot and killed halfway through saying the Holy Mass on March 24, 1980. 
 
I often wonder if I would have the courage of Archbishop Romero if I were ever called to forfeit my life for others... and I look up onto the Cross of Christ, and I know that, because of love, He paid that price... Could I love like that? I do not know, but I pray that if it were to happen, that I be given the strength and conviction needed, that my love be strengthened enough that I would accept it the same way Christ did. The same way Saint Peter and Saint Paul did. The same way Saint Oscar Romero and Blessed Miguel Pro did.

​There is no Easter without the Passion.
 
Most of us are not called to make that ultimate sacrifice of dying for our faith, but we are all asked to figuratively die to ourselves in small ways so that we may live in service to others.
 
Let us keep our eyes and ears open and remain willing to follow Christ, for we are called to embrace this death of self, and live a life of selflessness and service, just as Christ himself lived.  We are called to bear witness to this with our very lives. This is our small sacrifice. This is our offering. 

Let us pray:  "Lord, so great is our love for you that even though we walk in a world where speaking your name can mean certain death, your faithful still speak it and speak it all the louder. Help us work for a world where all may speak their creeds and pray their prayers without fear of violence. Hear the prayers of those who abide with you in dangerous times and in dark valleys, and who die with your name on their lips. Draw them quickly to your side, where they might know eternal peace." (Prayer for the Christian Martyrs)
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