Fr. Brian Soliven Sermons

There is a peculiar thing about belief. We often imagine it must be lit with the fire of visions, thunderous voices, and the trembling of mountains. We tend to seek the spectacular, the sensational. Yet heaven, if I may be so bold, is rather quieter than we imagine.Now, there once was a mother, a girl, really, whose name the angels knew long before the world did: Mary. Her story is told with such tenderness and simplicity that we hardly notice the grandeur hidden within it. When the angel came to her, she was not in a temple nor upon a mountaintop, but in the quiet of her home. No crowd stood by to marvel; no thunder clapped. And yet, she believed.Not because she saw a host of miracles. Not because she walked on water or watched water turn to wine. She believed long before those things. Before her Son had spoken a single parable or stilled a single storm. She believed while He was still small and helpless in her arms.There is a story—one our Lord Himself told—of a rich man and a beggar named Lazarus. The rich man, finding himself in torment after death, pleads for Abraham to send someone—anyone!—from the dead to warn his brothers. “If only they see someone rise from the dead,” he says, “then surely they will believe.”But Abraham replies, “If they do not listen to Moses and the Prophets, they will not be convinced even if someone rises from the dead.” And is this not the very world we live in now? The tomb is empty, and yet men still scoff. The stone was rolled away, and yet hearts remain sealed. Christ has risen, and still many say, “Show us a sign!”But Mary did not ask for a sign. She did not demand proof. She treasured things in her heart long before they were proven. Her belief was not built on spectacle, but on surrender. She did not need her Son to rise from the dead to know who He was. She knew in the swaddling clothes what others could not see even after the Resurrection. This is the paradox of faith: those who insist upon signs may never see them, and those who see without insisting are often the ones who find them.So then, you who wait for God to tear open the sky—consider Mary. The quiet girl of Nazareth. She who said yes before the miracles. She who knelt beneath the cross cradling the lifeless tortured corpse of her beloved boy, without understanding it. She believed, not because she saw, but because she knew. And that kind of knowing—quiet, patient, and undemanding—is to be faithful like Mary.   --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

When one reads the ancient words of Isaiah, particularly the thirty-fifth chapter, one finds not merely poetry, but promise:  "Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped..." What are these but signposts, pointing beyond themselves to a reality yet to come? And when Christ walked among us — healing the blind, the lame, the deaf — He did not merely perform wonders; He fulfilled prophecy, wove the threads of Israel’s hope into the fabric of His own person. These miracles were not parlor tricks, but the very evidence that the Kingdom of God had drawn near, that joy was beginning to bloom in the wilderness. In Jesus, Isaiah’s vision stood upright and walked among us. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

“No servant can serve two masters.” It is not merely a command—it is a diagnosis. Christ is not giving us a rule to follow; He is telling us something about the way we are made. The human heart, like a compass, cannot point in two directions at once. Try to serve both God and “mammon” (worldly power, riches, fancy cars and houses, think of the things drug cartels worship), and you will soon discover that your soul is being torn down the middle because each master wants your entire self, and neither will settle for a half-love.Nowhere do we see this truth more luminously lived than in the life of the Blessed Virgin Mary. She served one Master, and one only. From her hidden girlhood in Nazareth to the foot of the Cross, her heart beat for the will of God and none other. The world offered her nothing, no riches, no comfort, no acclaim. Yet she had the peace that only comes to those who are undivided.Mammon – by which Christ means not only wealth, but the whole glittering world-system of self-interest, pride, possession, and ease – was never her god. She had nothing of it, and wanted nothing from it. When the angel appeared to her announcing the mystery of the Incarnation of Jesus in her womb, she did not ask, “What do I gain?” She asked only how it would be done. Her question was not the hesitation of doubt, but the readiness of one who had long ago ceased to serve herself.Had she served mammon, she might have clung to comfort and reputation, refused the shame  of bearing a child outside of wedlock, or demanded safety for her Son. But she served God. And so she said yes to danger, yes to misunderstanding, yes to a sword that would pierce her heart.The world has a thousand false gods, and Mammon is their king. But Mary bowed to only One—and she did so without fanfare, in silence, and in surrender. She was not merely poor in possessions; she was poor in spirit. And this is the great irony: by giving herself entirely to God, she received more than Mammon could ever offer. Not silver or gold, but grace. Not status, but the joy of bearing Christ into the world.You and I are always tempted to serve two masters. But Mary shows us another way; the wholeness of a heart given entirely to one Master is simply better. She reminds us that to choose God over Mammon is not merely noble – it is sane. For Mammon takes everything and gives nothing back. But God takes what we offer and fills it with meaning, with peace, and with the light of eternal things.In the end, the question is not whether you will serve. You will serve someone. The only question is whom—and whether, like the Virgin, your heart is free enough to say: “Behold I am the handmaid of the Lord.” My heart belongs to God alone.   --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

She came not with words, but with tears — the ancient language of the broken heart. In her silence, she spoke a thousand repentances; in her weeping, a thousand thanksgivings. It was not the perfume that anointed Christ, but the love that poured itself out with reckless abandon, unashamed and unmeasured. The world might call her foolish, but Heaven called her beloved. For in her act, we see that love is not cautious — it kneels, it weeps, it clings to mercy. And the One who knew the weight of every sin spoke peace to her soul, not because she was worthy, but because she believed He was. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

There are moments in Scripture which, like doors slightly ajar, invite us into rooms far deeper than we first imagined. One such moment occurs in the Gospel of John, where Christ says: “Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, so must the Son of Man be lifted up” (John 3:14). At first glance, the comparison may seem almost grotesque; our Saviour is likened to a serpent, an emblem of death and sin. And yet, here lies one of the profoundest truths in all of Christian thought: that God redeems not merely through might, but through our deepest pain.Recall the scene in the book of Numbers. The Israelites, having once again rebelled against God, are plagued by fiery serpents. They cry out for mercy, and Moses is instructed not to remove the serpents, but to lift up a bronze image of one on a pole. All who looked upon it were healed. They were not told to pretend the serpents weren't real, nor were they told to earn their healing. They had only to look. The very image of their suffering became the conduit for their salvation.And so it is with the Cross.Christ was lifted up, not as a mere martyr, nor as a teacher, but as the one who became sin for us (2 Corinthians 5:21). The Cross is no mere symbol; it is the divine paradox. There, the Innocent bore guilt. The Holy bore shame. The Immortal embraced death. And in that darkest moment, the door to light was thrown open.But let us not rush too quickly to the light. For many of us, the problem is not believing in Christ’s victory – it is believing that our pain, our guilt, our most unmentionable failures, could possibly be included in it. We imagine the Cross as something above us, clean and exalted. But in truth, the Cross descends. It is God stooping down into the filth of our humanity. If Christ is lifted up, He is lifted up with all the sins of the world pressing down upon Him – mine and yours.This is the invitation: not to hide your wounds, but to bring them into the light of the Cross. To look upon the Crucified One and see not only the cost of love, but its healing. Your deepest pain is not too deep for Him. In fact, it is precisely where He means to meet you.Lift your eyes, then, not in despair, but in hope. The Cross does not demand perfection; it only asks you to look. And in looking, you may find not only healing, but yourself. There are no more facades, or masks, or games pretending to be okay. Beholding the crucified one, we find the power and meaning behind our suffering. Jesus can use it for our salvation. Once we stop running from our pain, we can exclaim like the legendary 5th century bishop, St. Augustine – “In my deepest wound, I saw your glory and it dazzled me.” --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

St. Pope John Paul II’s call to build a civilization of love is a powerful reminder that true progress is not measured by wealth, technology, or power, but by the depth of our compassion and the strength of our commitment to one another. He envisioned a world where every human life is valued, where justice and mercy walk hand in hand, and where love becomes the guiding principle of all relationships. In a time often marked by division and brutal violence, his words inspire us to create a society rooted in dignity, solidarity, and peace—a civilization where love is not just a feeling, but a force for transformation. The first brick in building this civilization is Jesus Christ.  --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

It is a perilous thing, in this passing world, to place any love above Jesus Christ, who is Love Himself. Many fair things there are under the sun – family, our houses, the laughter of children, and the solace of deep companionship. These are good, and given as gifts by the Giver of all light. Yet they are but reflections, glimmering on the surface of the water, of the Great Light from Heaven.Our hearts, being frail and easily beguiled, are prone to cling to the reflection, forgetting the Sun. But the Lord, who is both Shepherd and King, calls us to a higher love, a consuming fire that purifies all others. “If anyone comes to Me and hates not father and mother, wife and children…”-- so He speaks, not to destroy love, but to order it aright. For in such words there is no call to cruelty or coldness, but rather to a fierce allegiance, a loyalty that puts first things first. He who is before all must be above all, or else all loves grow crooked and dim.To follow Him is to lay down even the fairest treasures of earth, not in bitterness, but in trust that they shall be returned transfigured. He does not take away to impoverish, but to sanctify. He wants to place every love, every joy, every sorrow, into its proper place beneath the crown of His lordship. Only then do the lesser loves shine with true glory, flowing as clear streams from the great Fountain. For when He is the first love, all else is redeemed; but when He is set aside, even good things become shadows and burdens.So let the heart be steadfast. Let Him be the axis upon which all turns, the melody to which all harmonies must bend. For He alone is the End and the Way, the Flame imperishable, the Love that neither fades nor fails.Yet the path of such love is not without its trials. For the heart must be weaned from many lesser loves, and this weaning is often bitter. The soul may cry out, fearing loss, misunderstanding the command as cruelty. But here lies the mystery: in surrender, we are not emptied, but filled. In placing Christ first – before family, before comfort, before even our own lives – we are not forsaking love, but entering into its truest form. For He is the source from which all loves spring, and without Him, they wither like leaves in a wind.Consider the saints of old, who counted all things loss for the surpassing worth of knowing Him. They were not joyless, nor did they despise the earth, but they saw clearly. Their gaze was fixed beyond the hills, upon a country greater and a King more worthy than all earthly crowns. We too must learn this wisdom: that every good thing flows rightly from a heart anchored in Christ. To love Him first is not to love others less, but more purely, more freely, and with eternity in view. For only in His light do we see light and only in His love are all other loves made whole. Once we order our love properly, then we can finally say with St. Paul as we heard in the Second Reading today, “I (am), an old man, and now also a prisoner for Christ Jesus.” And rejoice!  --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

Before the shaping of the seas and the rising of the mountains, there was but the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. Through Him were all things made, and without Him not a stone nor star came to be. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

Put out into the deep, and let down your nets for a catch, said the voice. It is no small thing to leave the shallows, where footing is sure and the wind is tame, and to trust the unseen deeps. Yet it is there, beyond the known and the safe, that the adventure of Christianity finally begins.  --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

Jesus draws near to us as a gentle healer, bearing wounds of His own. He enters not by force, but with the quiet grace of one who knows the burden of grief and the chill of despair. Into the very heart of our affliction He steps, not to scorn it, but to sanctify it.  By His touch, the bitter is made sweet, and what was broken begins to mend. For such is His purpose: not to shield us from pain, but to dwell within it with us, and from within, to transform us into creatures of light, made new as sons and daughters of our Heavenly Father.  --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

In his letter to the Thessalonians, St. Paul urges, “Therefore encourage one another and build one another up, just as you are doing” (1 Thessalonians 5:11). In these words, we’re reminded that the Christian journey is not one we walk alone. God has placed us in community so that we may strengthen one another in faith, hope, and love. To build each other up in Christ is to speak truth with grace, to lift the weary, and to celebrate the work of God in each life. When we encourage one another, we reflect the heart of Christ—who never leaves, never forsakes, and always restores. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

There is something oddly invigorating about discovering that one is not the center of the universe. It is rather like opening a window and discovering, to your astonishment, that the world goes on quite well without your personal supervision. This, I believe, is the beginning of wisdom – and the birthplace of humility.Now, humility is not what the modern man imagines it to be. He thinks it a sort of sad apology for existing, a miserable muttering of “I’m not good enough”. But true humility is not thinking less of oneself – it is thinking of oneself less, because one is too busy being stunned by the glory of God. It is precisely in the Catholic spiritual life, that narrow path which twists like a mountain road where humility is not merely a virtue but a necessity. We are attempting the unthinkable: union with God. And in this adventure towards Him, self-importance and our “machismo” ego  is not only ludicrous; it is lethal.Saint John of the Cross, that severe and splendid mystic, understood this with mathematical precision. In his Ascent of Mount Carmel, he teaches us that the soul must be stripped of every attachment. One must walk, he says, nada, nada, nada – nothing, nothing, nothing. A man cannot be filled with God if he is already full of himself.St. Teresa of Avila, for all her heavenly visions, was hilariously human. She once complained to God, when thrown from her donkey, “If this is how You treat Your friends, no wonder You have so few.” And yet, in her Interior Castle, she tells us that humility is the mortar that holds the whole soul together. It is not in the ecstasies or raptures that the soul grows, but in the quiet, daily acceptance of its littleness. In knowing, quite simply, that we are creatures and that God is not.It is the great paradox of Christianity that as a man shrinks, he grows. The ladder to heaven begins with a step down. The saints are not giants of will, they are beggars of grace. They have ceased to build Babels and have instead begun to whisper in prayer. The devil fell by pride; the angels rose by obedience. We do not ascend to God by building towers, but by descending into ourselves and finding there – not thrones – but dust.The modern world is filled with slogans urging us to believe in ourselves. But the saints urge us to believe in something far greater: in Him who believed in us first, while we were yet sinners. They urge us to laugh at our own egos and to bend our knees, not as slaves, but as lovers.  --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

In a world overwhelmed by noise, haste, and the shadows of anxiety, we are called to stay awake. Not merely with open eyes, but with hearts attuned to the presence of Christ. The world tempts us to distraction, to forgetfulness of the eternal, yet Jesus stands quietly at the door of our soul, waiting to be received. To stay awake means to live in vigilant faith, to guard the light within, and not allow the cares of the day to extinguish the flame of hope. Let us not be lulled to sleep by fear or consumed by the fleeting, but rather be anchored in the peace that only Christ can give. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

When we encounter the mercy of Jesus firsthand, when we truly grasp how deeply we are loved and forgiven despite our flaws, it changes us. His grace softens the edges of our judgment and replaces pride with compassion. We begin to see others not as problems to fix, but as people to love. The faults in others no longer provoke frustration, but invite empathy, because we remember our own need for mercy. And in that remembering, we learn to extend the same gentle kindness that was so freely given to us. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

***At the end, the last five minutes is a bonus hymn from our 10AM Holy Mass***We moderns have so arranged our religious instincts that we think the divine voice must always sound like a lullaby, when in fact it often sounds like a trumpet. We wish to hear of lilies and sparrows, forgetting that even lilies toil and sparrows fall. So when Christ, with the thunder of truth behind His quiet Galilean voice, declares: “Strive to enter by the narrow gate”, we are brought to a sudden and sobering attention. It is the call not of consolation, but of combat.It is the strange and startling reality of Christianity that it begins with a paradox and ends with a challenge. The paradox is that the gate to life is narrow, while destruction’s road is spacious and easy. The challenge is that we must strive—not drift, not dawdle, not meander—but strive, as one who sweats in the effort to reach something worth attaining. The narrow gate does not admit the flabby soul or couch potato. It is a door carved not in comfort, but in courage.The narrow gate is hard because it is honest. It makes no allowance for pretension. One cannot swagger through it, carrying the weight of vanity or the baggage of pride. It allows no masks, for it was carved by Him who sees the inner hidden heart. We must stoop to enter it. The tall towers of self-importance will not pass through. The narrow gate is entered singly, like birth and death.And yet, what joy is hidden in this austere invitation! For though it is narrow, it is not closed. Though it is small, it is open to all. The child can pass through as well as the philosopher. The thief on the cross passed through it in the final hour. It is not guarded by angels with flaming swords, but by truth and repentance. That is why the striving is not the striving of the proud, but of the penitent.There are those who say the world has grown too wide for such a narrow gate. But I say it is precisely because the world is so wide and wild that we need that slender doorway more than ever. The soul must have a compass. The heart must have a harbor. In an age that flings itself into every appetite, it is the narrow gate that preserves “God's image and likeness” in each of us. So then, let us strive—not with clenched fists, but with open hands. Let us strive to surrender, which is the most paradoxical of all efforts. For in striving to enter the narrow gate, we are not striving to become less, but more truly ourselves—less stuffed with shadows, and more filled with light. We are not constricted, but released.Christ’s words are not the locked door of a vault, but the narrow entrance to a kingdom beyond all imagining. And if it is hard to enter, it is only because Heaven is too large to fit through the doorway of the ego.  Let us bow low. And then, let us walk through. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

Humility is the heartbeat of every Christ-centered relationship, reflecting the very nature of Jesus, who though He was God chose to serve rather than be served. In light of His example, humility allows us to love without pride, listen without judgment, and forgive without hesitation. It softens our hearts, making space for grace to flourish between us. When we approach others with humility, we mirror the gentleness of Christ, building relationships not on ego or control, but on compassion, patience, and mutual respect. True strength in relationships is found not in being right, but in being Christlike. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

God longs to throw a wedding feast for humanity—a celebration of love, joy, and eternal union. In His heart burns a divine desire to gather us, not as strangers or servants, but as beloved guests at His table. Like a bridegroom preparing for his bride, He adorns heaven with beauty and grace, waiting for each soul to accept His invitation. This feast is not just a promise of the future—it’s a reflection of His relentless pursuit of our hearts, a reminder that we were created not for fear or distance, but for communion, celebration, and everlasting love. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

In the unspeakable darkness of the Nazi concentration camps of World War II, Viktor Frankl famously said, “What is to give light must endure burning.” It is a line that glows with quiet terror—and truth. For there is no true light in this world that has not come through some flame. Even stars must burn to shine. In order for something to be luminous or radiant warmth, it must die to itself. It is written in the very laws of thermodynamics. The price to enjoy life on earth, for example, our sun must spend itself: in 5 billion years it will phase into a Red Giant as it exhausts its hydrogen, then into a Planetary Nebula, and finally into a White Dwarf, slowly cooling off into oblivion. And so it is with souls.Christ Himself declares today in this Sunday’s Gospel passage, “I have come to bring fire on the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled!” Not the fire of destruction, but the fire of love—fierce, purifying, and sacrificial. It is the fire of a heart ablaze, the fire of the Cross, where God gave not just light, but Himself. There is a truth so beautifully strange and yet so profoundly simple that it might be mistaken for folly by the wisdom of the world. It is the great Christian paradox: that we find our true selves not by grasping tighter, but by dying entirely; that the road to life is paved by the death of our egotistical desires.In an age that celebrates the self as king, the notion of dying to one’s own needs and ambitions seems almost absurd. Yet this is precisely the wisdom that Christianity proclaims with a joyful boldness. We are invited to a paradoxical journey where losing our life in the service of others is the very means by which we gain it. “He who loses his life for my sake,” said Christ, “will find it.” Think of it: the ego, that restless tyrant demanding attention, acclaim, and self-preservation, must be dethroned. It is only when we say “No” to our selfish cravings that we open the door to a fuller, richer life. This is not a diminishment but a liberation—a liberation from the chains of the self that bind us to loneliness, fear, and despair.Like a candle that burns itself to give light, or a seed that falls into the earth to rise in newness, the Christian life calls us to die to self so that we may truly live. This death is not a bleak end but a joyful transformation. The gift of ourselves—freely given, without calculation—is the very thing that reveals the depth and dignity of our souls. And here lies the great wonder: in the giving of ourselves, we are given to ourselves in return. The self that seemed so fragile and fleeting is made eternal in the embrace of grace. It is a truth that will bring this fire upon the earth.     --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

The Catholic teaching of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary into Heaven reminds us of the sacred dignity and eternal destiny of the human body. Mary, taken body and soul into heavenly glory, reveals the fullness of God's promise to humanity—that our bodies, not just our souls, are destined for resurrection and glory. Her Assumption is a sign of hope for all believers, showing that through God's grace, our earthly lives and bodies are not meaningless or discarded, but will one day be transformed. It calls us to honor the body as a temple of the Holy Spirit and to live in joyful expectation of our own share in the resurrection. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give

St. Maximilian Kolbe demonstrated a powerful witness of love through his ultimate act of self-sacrifice at Auschwitz, where he volunteered to die in place of another prisoner—a stranger and a father. Motivated by his deep faith and devotion to Christ and the Virgin Mary, Kolbe’s love transcended fear and self-preservation, embodying the Gospel’s call to lay down one's life for others. His martyrdom stands as a radiant testament to the power of selfless love, even in the face of unimaginable evil. --- Help Spread the Good News --- Father Brian’s homilies are shared freely thanks to generous listeners like you. If his words have blessed you, consider supporting this volunteer effort. Every gift helps us continue recording and sharing the hope of Jesus—one homily at a time. Give Here: https://frbriansoliven.org/give