The Most Holy Trinity (A)

 Ex 34:4-6, 8-9; 2 Cor 13:11-13; Jn 3:16-18

Trinity Sunday is one of the most beautiful feasts of the Church. The mystery of the Trinity is not a puzzle to be solved but a relationship to be lived.

There is an old African story about three villages that stood on three hills. A severe drought struck the region. Each village had a small spring, but none had enough water to survive. The people argued and blamed one another. “Our spring is the best.” “We must protect what belongs to us.” “We cannot share.” As the drought worsened, an elderly woman suggested that the three villages dig channels connecting their springs. The people laughed at her. Why should they give away their precious water? But finally, with no other choice, they worked together. When the channels were completed, the waters flowed into one another and formed a strong stream that nourished all three villages. Years later, when children asked who owned the stream, nobody could answer. The stream belonged to all because it was sustained by all.

That story gives us a glimpse of what Trinity Sunday is really about. God is not loneliness. God is communion. God is relationship. The Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit are distinct, yet united in perfect love. God’s very nature is not isolation but communion. The feast of the Trinity tells us that love is not something God does; love is what God is.

Pentecost (A)

 Acts 2:1-11; 1 Cor. 12:3b-7, 12-13; Jn. 20:19-23

There is a touching story told about the great Russian writer Leo Tolstoy. One winter evening, a poor cobbler named Martin sat alone in his tiny shop. His life had become empty after losing his wife and child. In his loneliness he cried out to God, “Lord, where are You? Why have You abandoned me?” That night, while reading the Gospel, he heard in his heart: “Martin, tomorrow I will visit you.” The next day he waited eagerly for God. Instead of a heavenly vision, he saw only ordinary people: an old street sweeper shivering in the cold, a hungry mother carrying a child, and a boy caught stealing apples. Martin welcomed each one, shared food, warmth, and kindness. At the end of the day he wondered, “Lord, You never came.” Then he heard the words of Christ within him: “Martin, I came to you in each of them.” In that moment Martin understood that the Spirit of God does not always arrive with thunder and lightning. The Holy Spirit comes quietly, entering hearts, turning fear into compassion, loneliness into love, and ordinary people into instruments of God.

The Ascension of the Lord (A)

 Acts 1:1-11; Eph. 1:17-23; Mt. 28:16-20

On the day of the Ascension, the disciples stood on a hilltop with their eyes fixed on the sky. They had walked with Jesus, eaten with Him, listened to His stories, watched Him heal the sick, raise the dead, calm storms, forgive sinners, and finally rise from the grave. Now, as the Book of Acts says, “He was lifted up, and a cloud took Him out of their sight.” Their hearts must have been filled with wonder, fear, confusion, and even sadness. They kept gazing upward, perhaps hoping He would return immediately. Then suddenly two men in white robes appeared and asked, “Men of Galilee, why do you stand looking up toward heaven?” (Acts 1:11) That question still echoes through history. Why are you standing there looking up? Why are you frozen in fear, nostalgia, or helplessness? Jesus has ascended, but His mission on earth has not ended. It has now been placed into the hands of His followers.

There is an old story about a king who had to leave his kingdom for a distant land. Before leaving, he entrusted his garden to three servants. To the first he gave seeds, to the second water, and to the third the keys to the gate. “Care for the garden until I 

6th Sunday of Easter (A)

 Acts 8:5-8, 14-17; 1 Pet. 3:15-18; Jn. 14:15-21

There is an old story from Russia about a poor peasant who lost his way during a snowstorm. Darkness covered the road, and the freezing wind became stronger. He wandered helplessly, thinking he would die in the snow. Suddenly, far away, he saw a small lantern moving toward him. It was an old villager carrying a lamp and calling out, “Follow me.” The old man walked ahead through the storm until they reached a warm cottage. Years later the peasant would say, “The storm did not stop that night, but the light of another person saved my life.”

Human life often feels like that snowstorm. There are moments of fear, loneliness, suffering, confusion, and disappointment. Sometimes people feel abandoned even in the middle of a crowd. It is into such human fear that Jesus speaks in today’s Gospel: “I will not leave you orphaned.” The Gospel of John These are among the most comforting words in the Bible. Jesus knew the disciples were

5th Sunday of Easter (A)

 Acts 6:1-7; 1 Pet. 2:4-9; Jn. 14:1-12

A young boy once watched his parish priest every morning. The priest would arrive early, long before anyone else, unlock the church, light a small candle, and kneel in silence. One day the boy asked him, “Father, what do you do here all alone?” The priest smiled and said, “I stand before God for my people, and I stand before my people for God.” Years later, that boy understood: priesthood is not just a role, but a way of living—standing in the gap, carrying others in love. That simple, quiet witness reflects the powerful truth we hear today: you are a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation. This is not said only to ordained ministers, but to every believer. It is a calling, a dignity, and a responsibility.

In the Old Testament, priesthood was a sacred duty entrusted to a particular group—the sons of Aaron. Their role was clear: to offer sacrifices, to intercede for the people, and to maintain the holiness of worship. They stood between God and the people, carrying the burdens, sins, and prayers of the community into the presence of