May 3, 2026

Dear Friends, I have been on vacation the past week, volunteering at the Boston Marathon and visiting with my Boston friends. I look forward to sharing the events of the past few weeks with you in next weekend’s column. In this week’s gospel, Jesus talks about being a good shepherd. His sheep know his voice, follow him, and are protected and saved by him. Monday’s gospel continues where Sunday’s left off, with the most revealing verse. Jesus once again affirms his deep love for humanity by his willingness to sacrifice himself for all of us. How do we reflect that love in the actions of our daily lives? Fr. John Muir offers some inspiring words again this week. God Bless, Father Rob “I am the good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep.” John 10:11 My most boring job was working at an insurance company as a college student. My main task? Filing. Now imagine if I had told my supervisor, “I just want you to know, I’m willing to die for these files.” She would have called a psychiatrist — or at least security. There is something absurd in Jesus’ words in the Gospel: “I am the good shepherd… I lay down my life for the sheep.” (John 10:11) It sounds noble, until you think about it. No one dies for sheep. Not a hired hand. Not even a good shepherd. Sheep are important, sure, but not worth a human life. And yet, Jesus insists: I will die for them. The crowd understandably responds: “He is out of his mind.” C.S. Lewis once said that Jesus does not leave us the option of calling him merely a good teacher. If someone speaks like him, he is either lying, crazy, or telling the truth. John’s Gospel won’t let us stay sentimental. Jesus means it. He reveals a love that surpasses logic — a love that measures worth not by strength or success, but by the willingness to suffer unto death. The Good Shepherd’s madness is mercy. His cross makes no earthly sense and yet it makes divine sense. He lays down his life not for kings or saints but for sheep — for the ordinary, the unworthy, for you and me. Think of someone who may feel unworthy of love. Do something simple and generous for them, not because they deserve it, but because Jesus did the same for you. — Father John Muir ©LPi

Dear Friends, Alleluia, He is Risen! But that doesn’t mean He has left us. Do you recognize Jesus’ presence all around you? He is here, in the beauty of our planet, in the person sitting next to you at church, in the people we help through our outreach ministries. Please enjoy this reflection from Fr. Muir on our Gospel readings this week. I will be away for a few days as I volunteer once again at the Boston Marathon. God Bless, Father Rob When I first read Homer’s Odyssey as a teenager, one scene captured my imagination: Odysseus finally returning home after 20 years, yet no one recognized him. Disguised as a beggar, he speaks with his wife, his son, and even his enemies. He is fully present, yet hidden. Only at the right moment does he reveal himself, and everyone realizes he has been with them all along. I was struck by the mystery that he could be so close to his loved ones, and yet they simply could not identify him. A similar mystery is at the heart of today’s Gospel. Two disciples walk the road to Emmaus with Jesus, but “their eyes were prevented from recognizing him.” (Luke 24:16) He listens, teaches, and eats with them, yet they remain blind until he breaks the bread. Suddenly their eyes are opened — and at that very moment, he vanishes. His disappearance is not absence. Rather, it is revelation. The Risen Lord is now present in a new way, in the breaking of the bread and in the life of His Church. Faith is this shift of vision. Instead of searching for a visible Jesus as if he were absent, we learn to recognize him unveiled in hidden ways — in Scripture proclaimed, in the Eucharist, in the sacraments, in the very life of the Church. And what is true of him is true of us. Just as he disappears into the mission of his Body, we too are meant to be hidden in him. When we live hidden in Christ, we are seen for who we really are. — Father John Muir ©LPi