Fr. Brian Soliven Sermons

There comes a moment in every believer’s life when inherited faith will no longer suffice. The gentle warmth of family tradition, the comfort of familiar hymns, the rhythm of ritual—all these are good and precious things. Yet when the cold wind of opposition blows, when faith is mocked or maligned, or when sorrow cuts deep into the soul, such belief will crumble like a house built on sand. It is not enough to say, “I am Catholic because my parents were.” We must know why we are Catholic, and we must know it in the deep marrow of our being. To know why is to have met the Person behind the practice. Christianity is not a philosophy that one may simply agree with; it is an encounter with the living God. The Catholic faith, at its heart, is not a set of customs, nor even a system of thought, but the life of Christ extended through His Church across time and space. If you have not yet found Christ at the center of your Catholicism, then your faith has not yet reached its depth. You have the shell, but not yet the pearl.When persecution comes—and it always does, in one form or another—it strips away pretense. The comfortable explanations falter. To be Catholic because one enjoys the incense, the music, or the solemnity of liturgy is as fragile as being married because one enjoys the wedding reception. There will come a day when the joy of ceremony gives way to the labor of love, and only love will endure. So too, only love for Christ will hold us fast when, not if, the world turns against us.To say, “I am Catholic because I believe it is true,” is the beginning of strength. But even that belief must not rest on the shifting sands of emotion or cultural approval. It must be rooted in the conviction that truth Himself has revealed it. That Christ, who said “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life,” continues to speak through His Church. That the sacraments are not symbols only, but encounters with the divine. That the Eucharist is not bread and wine, but God-with-us, under humble forms.If you know this, if you know Him, then no flame of persecution can consume your faith. For you will not merely cling to a doctrine; you will cling to a Person. You will not merely defend a tradition; you will defend your Beloved.So ask yourself, and ask sincerely: Why am I Catholic? Do not be content until your answer is alive with love, conviction, and wonder. For the day will come when you must answer not to the world, but to your own heart. And may your heart, knowing Whom it has believed, answer boldly: I am Catholic because it is true, because it is beautiful, and because through it I have found Christ Himself.  --- 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

Every baptized Christian, however small or obscure, bears a dignity that no earthly monument can rival. The Dedication of the Basilica of St. John Lateran that we celebrate today reminds us that the Church is not first of marble or of gold, but of souls. The colossal statues of the twelve apostles that line its nave are not merely ornaments of stone, but symbols of the living reality upon which Christ builds His dwelling. Those massive figures, carved by human hands, point to a greater mystery: that the same Christ who made Peter a foundation and John a witness has made of every believer a living stone in His eternal temple.It is a humbling and exalting thought that we, so frail and often faithless, are chosen to bear the weight of glory. The Church’s beauty does not depend upon the grandeur of her buildings but upon the grace alive in her members. Even the smallest Christian, hidden in prayer or quiet service, adds a line to the architecture of heaven. The apostles stand in their marble stillness as reminders that our own lives are being hewn and fitted into a structure far greater than any basilica.Thus, as we look upon the Lateran’s soaring arches and its steadfast saints of stone, let us remember that the true cathedral is being built not in Rome alone but in every human heart that has been washed in the waters of baptism. Each of us, by grace, is part of that living edifice, one in which the Builder Himself has chosen to dwell.And perhaps this is the deepest wonder of all: that the Master Builder works not with flawless material, but with what is cracked and common. The apostles themselves were not marble when He called them, they were fishermen, tax collectors, doubters, and sinners. Yet through the fire of His love, they were made steadfast, and their weakness became strength. So too with us: our imperfections, offered to Christ, become the very texture through which His light shines. In every heart that yields to grace, the living stone is shaped a little nearer to its final beauty. The Church grows not by triumph or grandeur alone, but by the quiet chiseling of repentance, forgiveness, and charity until, at last, the whole structure resounds with one voice, a temple radiant with the presence of the living God.  --- 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

They came to Him because, at last, they had found someone who saw them as more than the sum of their failures. The world had written its verdict on their lives—unclean, unworthy, beyond redemption—but Jesus looked past the grime and saw the image of God still glimmering beneath. His holiness did not repel them, as cold virtue might; it drew them, as fire draws the freezing. In His presence, they felt the staggering truth that they were loved not because they were good, but so that they might become good. And that, I think, is why they gathered close: because in Him, mercy was not a theory, but a face. --- 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

This Advent, we are presented with a most extraordinary grace. Our own parish will host a first-class relic — that is, an actual fragment of the body — of the Church’s newest saint, Carlo Acutis, this coming Saturday, November 22nd, from 3:00 to 4:30 p.m. Only weeks ago, in the grandeur of St. Peter’s Basilica, before tens of thousands gathered in solemn joy, Pope Leo XIV declared this young fifteen-year-old, a bright spirit of the digital age, to be among the company of the saints. And now, through the kindness of his own mother, this sacred relic has been entrusted to us here in Vacaville. A touch of sanctity will be arriving here, in our very own town.To modern ears, the veneration of relics may sound curious, even unsettling. It’s one of those ancient customs that is at the same time bizarre, unique, and wildly weird about the Catholic faith. Yet the practice reaches back to the dawn of Christianity, when believers gathered at the tombs of martyrs not to worship bones, but to draw near to the holiness that God had kindled in them. They understood that grace leaves its mark; the human body, once filled with the Spirit, is not discarded like a shell but honored as a vessel that once bore divine fire. To venerate the saints, then, is not to cling to superstition, but to glimpse, through them, what God intends for us all: that our very flesh might become radiant with His glory.The first Christians knew well that the saints were men and women of dust, as frail and fallible as themselves. Yet in them they saw what grace could do. The martyrs in the amphitheatre, singing even as the beasts approached, were not displaying their own courage — they were displaying Christ’s triumph in human weakness. The ascetics in the desert, fasting and praying in solitude, were not exalting human will, but the will surrendered utterly to God. To venerate such lives was not to worship them, but to honor the Artist whose skill could carve holiness out of ordinary stone.If we are wise, we will learn from this ancient instinct. For the Christian life is not meant to be a solitary ascent, a lone pilgrim trudging toward a distant summit. It is rather a great procession of souls, each carrying the light a little farther, each learning from the glow of the one before. When we remember the saints, we are reminded that sanctity is not beyond us. We are meant, in some measure, to become like them.In truth, the saints are not competitors with Christ but His masterpieces. To honor them is to praise the grace that made them what they are. We can rejoice that the same grace that made holy is offered to us, here and now. This November 22nd, we can honor one of our brothers who made it home to Heaven, right here in Vacaville. I invite all of you to come for this special opportunity!  --- 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

Imagine all the saints and angels stand about us as a great cloud of witnesses, not as distant spectators, but as dear friends leaning over the railings of Heaven, their faces alight with joy. They cheer us on. Every step we take toward the light sends ripples of gladness through that radiant company. To them, our smallest victories over despair and sin are no trifles; they are echoes of the same triumph that shook the world when Christ rose from the tomb. And so they beckon us onward, ever upward, until faith becomes sight and we, too, join the chorus of eternal praise. --- 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

Faith, like the body, is strengthened by strain. Ease has never made a saint, nor comfort a conqueror. When St. Paul pressed on through shipwreck, hunger, and chains, he was not merely enduring hardship, he was training his soul to trust a strength not his own. There is something deeply spiritual in doing what is physically hard: each drop of sweat whispers that the flesh is weak, and yet the spirit may still triumph. --- 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

Last Saturday, our parish retreat was an astounding success! It was a day that will long be remembered, not merely for the crowd it drew, but for the spirit that filled the air. Nearly two hundred and fifty souls came together, united by joy and fellowship, as we launched our new parish Mission Statement: “To be faithful like Mary.”It was not an ordinary hunger that stirred among us. It was a deeper kind; it was the hunger of hearts longing to know the truth that nourishes the soul. We desired to understand why the Blessed Virgin, whose name adorns our parish walls and whose fiat still echoes through the centuries, holds such a luminous place in the life of the Church.Together we journeyed back into the early dawn of Christianity, walking beside the voices of our ancestors in the faith, the saints and scholars who bore the torch of truth when the world was just starting to hear the Good News of the Gospel. We listened to St. Ignatius of Antioch, who once knew St. Peter himself—a single heartbeat away from the words of Christ. And in that closeness, that living chain of witness, we discovered what the earliest Christians knew beyond doubt: that the Church was, from the very beginning, deeply and thoroughly Catholic.During the time of questions, one of our newest parishioners, a convert from Protestantism, raised a tender yet courageous question. “Why,” she asked, “do so many non-Catholic Christians accuse us of worshiping Mary? When we pray the rosary or sing to her, they say we take away from Jesus.”Our speaker, Joshua Charles, himself a convert and a man whose intellect burns with zeal for truth, answered with great clarity. He explained that since the 16th century, much of Protestantism has turned away from the Holy Mass as a true sacrifice. To them, it became a mere symbol, a sacred reenactment but not the very reality of Calvary made present again.Here lies the key to so much misunderstanding. For Catholics, the highest form of worship is sacrifice—the self-offering of Jesus Christ to the Father upon the altar. It is in this divine act that all our praises, prayers, and devotions find their meaning and their end. But if one no longer sees worship as sacrifice, then song and prayer become the summit. Anything else, like love for Mary, can seem a rival to Christ rather than a reflection of Him.Yet Mary’s glory is no rival to His. She magnifies the Lord. Her faithfulness is the clear mirror that catches the sunlight of her Son. To be faithful like Mary is to let that same light pass through us, so that others, too, might see Christ shining more clearly in the world.And so, our retreat was more than an event; it was a quiet awakening—a rediscovery of what it means to be Catholic, to be faithful, to be, like Mary, utterly surrendered to the will of God. --- 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 teachings of Jesus, though rooted in love and truth, can sometimes divide families because they call each person to choose between the comfort of the familiar and the courage of faith. When one member decides to follow Christ wholeheartedly, it can challenge the values, traditions, or beliefs of others, creating tension where harmony once seemed certain. Yet even in this division, there is purpose; Jesus reminds us that true peace is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of conviction. Through faithfulness to His word, hearts can be transformed, and what begins in division can ultimately lead to a deeper, eternal unity grounded in truth and grace. --- 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 strange and splendid truth that the mightiest men are those who kneel most often. Pope John Paul II, like a knight of old, stood firm in the arena of a crumbling world not by the strength of sword or scepter, but by the silent, ceaseless watch of prayer. In an age addicted to speed and spectacle, he dared to believe that stillness before God was a greater act than any speech before men. His vigilance was not the fretful anxiety of the world, but the blazing calm of one who knew that the universe turns upon the hinge of a whisper to heaven. To pray without ceasing is to love without limit—and in this, the holy Pope taught us the true posture of revolution. --- 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

Our Lord bids us to be vigilant, not out of fear, but because the world is not our true home. To ‘gird your loins’ is no idle metaphor; it is the act of a soldier who knows the battle is real though unseen, the traveller who knows the road is long but worth every step. Christ does not ask us to be anxious, but awake. The drowsiness of comfort, the slow poison of distraction these are the true dangers. We are called to live with lamps lit and hearts ready, not because the night is long, but because the dawn is certain. --- 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 our Lord posed the haunting question, “When the Son of Man comes, will He find faith on the earth?”, He did not pose it as a riddle, nor merely as prophecy, but as a mirror held before our hearts. It is not faith in the abstract He seeks, as if counting theological knowledge  or measuring church attendance, but the kind of faith that breathes, wrestles, and walks with God when the world goes dim.It is easy enough, is it not, to believe in the light when all is bright? A child believes the sun will rise, not because he’s studied astronomy, but because it always has. But the Christian faith is tested not by the sunrise but by the silence of midnight. Will we still believe when the world mocks, when prayers go unanswered, when suffering strikes without explanation?Faith is not merely assent to a creed. Fallen angels do that, and tremble. No, the faith Christ longs to find is that defiant trust—a love-soaked loyalty—that looks full in the face of suffering and still whispers, “Jesus, I trust in you.” It is the faith of Abraham climbing Mount Moriah, of Daniel kneeling before open windows, of the Virgin Mary keeping all these things in her heart.We must not mistake familiarity for faith. There are many who have grown up going to Mass each Sunday whose hearts remain untouched by the burning presence of God.So, the question returns, echoing across centuries: Will He find faith?Let us not imagine that He is asking whether we have tidy answers or triumphant ministries. He is asking whether He will find hearts—wounded perhaps, weary certainly—but still turned toward Him. Will He find men and women who have not bowed to the golden idols of ease and spectacle, who have not traded the scandal of the cross for the applause of the world?If He finds even a mustard seed of such faith, it will be enough. For faith, in the end, is not the achievement of the strong but the desperate clinging of the weak to the One who is strong. And perhaps it is precisely in our clinging, trembling and uncertain though it may be, that Christ sees the echo of His own steadfastness in the Garden of Gethsemane. Yes, He asked the question. But it is we who must answer it with our lives. And when He comes, oh glorious terror, oh splendid hope, may He find us not with explanations, but with open hands, lifted eyes, and hearts still burning. --- 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. Ignatius of Antioch, facing martyrdom with unwavering courage, expressed a profound desire to be "ground by the teeth of wild beasts, that I may be found the pure bread of Christ." In this powerful image, he saw suffering not as defeat, but as a sacred offering—his very life becoming a Eucharistic sacrifice. For Ignatius, to die for Christ was not tragedy, but triumph. It was a way to be fully united with the One he loved. His words inspire us to embrace our own trials with faith, knowing that even in pain, we can be transformed into something holy, something that nourishes others with love and purpose. --- 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 a scene in the Gospel according to Saint Luke, brief in its telling but vast in its implication, that speaks volumes about the human heart. Ten lepers cry out to Christ from a distance, exiled by their affliction, their humanity diminished in the eyes of the world. With a word, He sends them to the priests. As they go, they are healed. But only one returns! One out of ten. And even more shocking, it's a Samaritan no less who falls at His feet in thanksgiving. And Jesus asks, with divine ache: "Were not ten cleansed? Where are the nine?" (Luke 17:17).Ten were healed; one was grateful. This is no small parable in passing. It is a mirror. We are all, in some manner, lepers—ailing in soul or circumstance, calling out to God in the wilderness. And He, in mercy, hears us. He grants healing, restoration, daily bread, breath itself. But how often do we return to give thanks?The modern soul, so puffed with knowledge, tends to treat blessings as entitlements. Health is expected until lost. Beauty, until faded. Time, until it is spent. We do not thank the sun for rising; we demand it. But the thankful man, the one like the Samaritan, sees all with fresh eyes. He understands that he is not owed the sunrise, nor the healing, nor the gift of grace itself. All is gift. All is mercy.The ungrateful man lives in illusion, thinking himself self-made, imagining a world where God is irrelevant. But the grateful man sees clearly. He sees the Giver behind the gift.In the end, gratitude is not for God’s benefit, as though He needed our thanks. It is for ours. The nine were healed in body, yes—but the one who returned was healed in soul. Christ says to him, “Your faith has saved you." The Greek word here—sozo—can mean saved, made whole. The returning leper received more than the others because he gave more: he gave thanks.Let us then cultivate the holy habit of gratitude, not as a mere politeness but as worship. Let us rise each day and say, “Thank You,” for the breath in our lungs, the light in our eyes, the cross that bore our salvation. For in giving thanks, we do not flatter God; we draw near to Him. We remember who we are, and more importantly, whose we are.And perhaps, in the end, gratitude is the seed of every other virtue. For the man who is truly thankful will not be proud, nor greedy, nor bitter. He will walk humbly, love deeply, and live wisely.May we be the one who returns. In fact, by coming to Sunday Mass today, you are returning back to the God who gives us everything. You are the Samaritan. That is why the “Eucharist”, the greatest gift of all because it is Jesus Christ himself, comes from the Greek word,  “thanksgiving”.   --- 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

Indeed, in the quiet home of Bethany, amidst the clatter of dishes and the urgency of preparation, Mary did something both simple and profound—she sat at the feet of Christ. While Martha busied herself with many good things, Mary chose the better thing, the one needful thing. It is a subtle yet eternal truth: the soul’s deepest nourishment is not found in the rush of service, but in the stillness of communion. To sit quietly and listen to the Word Himself is not idleness, but the highest act of love. In a world that applauds motion and noise, Mary reminds us that peace is found not in doing for Jesus, but in being with Him. --- 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 striking fact, though often overlooked, that from the earliest days of the Church, the Virgin Mary was not merely honoured as the Mother of our Lord, but held up as the model of Christian faith itself.This wasn’t because early Christians confused her with Christ, or wished to place her above Him. Rather, they saw in her something the modern world too often misses: a life fully and freely surrendered to God. Before she carried Christ in her womb, she had already welcomed Him in her heart.When the angel Gabriel came to her, he did not offer a polite suggestion. He declared a divine reality: “You will conceive and bear a son.” No theological debate, no careful exposition, only a moment of decision. And Mary’s response—“Be it unto me according to thy word”—was more than agreement. It was the first, purest act of discipleship in all of Christian history. From that moment, the Church understood something profound: Mary is not the exception to the Christian life; she is its pattern.Long before St. Peter dropped his nets or St. Paul fell from his horse, Mary had already said yes to God. She believed when belief came at a cost. She trusted when she did not understand. She obeyed when the path was unclear. And when all others had fled the cross, she remained.This is why the earliest Christians honoured her—not as a goddess, not as a distant symbol, but as the first and truest disciple. They called her Theotokos, “God-bearer,” not to exalt her above Christ, but to defend the truth of the Incarnation: that God truly became man, and did so through the willing obedience of a human being.Mary shows us what it looks like when humanity is fully open to God. Not proud. Not self-sufficient. Not scrambling to control. But open. Receptive. Willing. We are not called to be her, but we are called to follow her. And most of us, it must be said, are not likely to become apostles, prophets, or martyrs. But we are all called to do what she did: to listen for the voice of God—and to respond, not with delay or demands, but with faith.If the Fall began with Eve’s “no,” then redemption begins with Mary’s “yes.” In that yes, history turned, Heaven touched Earth, and the Word became flesh. She did not work miracles. She did not preach sermons. She simply gave herself to God—and in doing so, gave the world its Saviour. Her faith was quiet, but unshakable. Hidden, but world-changing. And if we have eyes to see it, her life offers us not a relic to revere, but a path to walk.  --- 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 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