Fr. Ace will be offering our parish’s Advent Recollection through his Sunday homilies. At each Mass he celebrates during the Sundays of Advent, he will share a focused reflection for that week.

For those who are unable to attend the Mass he celebrates, or who may be at a different Mass time, the same Advent reflections will be posted on our parish website each week. This ensures that our entire parish ‘ohana can pray with the reflections and journey through Advent together, whether in church or from home.

4th Sunday of Advent

When God Interrupts, He Saves

Matthew 1:18-24

Throughout salvation history, God’s work often begins with an interruption. Rarely does God act according to human plans. Instead, He interrupts them—not to confuse us, but to save us. Scripture reminds us again and again that when God steps in, it is always to realign us with our true purpose.

In the Gospel of Matthew 1:18–24, Joseph’s life is marked by interruption. His plan was simple and good: to marry Mary and build a quiet life together. When Mary is found to be with child, that plan collapses. Joseph then forms another plan—to divorce her quietly, mercifully, without scandal. But God interrupts again. In a dream, the angel tells Joseph not to be afraid, to take Mary into his home, and to trust that this child is from the Holy Spirit. Joseph’s plans are overturned, but salvation moves forward. That interruption allows love to take flesh, Emmanuel—God with us—to enter the world.

Joseph teaches us something essential: God’s interruptions are not punishments. They are invitations—to trust more deeply, to love more courageously, and to live for something greater than ourselves.

I once met a young man at St. Anthony Church who shared how God interrupted his life. For years, his routine was simple: work, home, and drinking. Church was never part of his life—not even with his family. Faith was distant, unnecessary, and easily ignored. Then came the interruption. He was diagnosed with cancer on the left temporal side of his brain. What followed was surgery, chemotherapy, fear, and uncertainty. His plans stopped. His routine disappeared. His sense of control was gone.

And yet, through treatment and time, he was healed. What happened next surprised even his wife.

One Sunday morning, she watched him get up, get dressed, and prepare for church—without being asked. That single step became the beginning of a new life. Today, he is discerning the call to the diaconate, and his entire family is active and engaged in their parish community.

God interrupted his plans—not to destroy his life, but to restore it. This is how God saves. He interrupts what is comfortable to awaken what is meaningful. He interrupts routines to remind us of our purpose. He interrupts our plans to draw us back to Himself.

Salvation history—from Joseph to today—is filled with people who never planned on becoming saints, servants, or disciples. They simply allowed God’s interruption to realign their lives.

As we prepare for Christmas, we are reminded that the greatest interruption of all was the Incarnation itself—God entering human history, human weakness, and human plans.

So when God interrupts us—through illness, unexpected change, or a stirring of the heart—it may not be a setback. It may be salvation at work.

Because God does not interrupt to derail us. God interrupts to bring us home.

Reflection Questions:

1. Where might God be interrupting my plans to draw me closer to Him?
2. What step of trust is God asking me to take, even if it disrupts my comfort or routine?

3rd Sunday in Advent

The Joy We Receive...Not Rushed
Isaiah 35:1-6a, 10 / Matthew 11:2-11

Joy to the world, the Lord is come. It may feel a little early to be singing that hymn. We usually save it for Christmas Day, when the manger is full and the celebration is complete. Yet on Gaudete Sunday, right in the middle of Advent, the Church dares us to sing about joy before Christmas arrives. We rejoice not because everything is finished or perfect, but because the Lord is near. Christian joy is rooted in hope, not in completion.

Our world often tells us that joy comes from moving faster, doing more, and accomplishing everything on our list. But joy does not operate at the speed of our schedules. Matthew Kelly, in his book The Speed of Joy, reminds us that joy requires something our culture resists: slowing down. He describes leisure not as laziness, but as “an attitude of mind and a condition of soul that fosters a capacity to receive the reality of the world.” Joy, then, is not something we force or manufacture. It is something we receive—and receiving always requires space.

Interestingly, the people who seem to understand this best are teenagers. If you ask a teenager what they were doing while hanging out with their friends, the answer is almost always, “Nothing.” And that answer is actually true. They were not being productive, they were not checking items off a list, they were simply present to one another. In that “doing nothing,” relationships are built, laughter happens, and joy naturally emerges. Without realizing it, they are practicing something very close to what we call leisure.

This understanding of leisure is deeply rooted in our faith. Leisure is born in religion because God Himself commands rest. The Sabbath was never meant to be a burden; it was meant to be a gift. It is a sacred pause in which we stop producing and start receiving—receiving God’s presence, receiving one another, and receiving the goodness of creation. At its heart, the Sabbath is about love. Just as teenagers find joy simply by being together, the Sabbath teaches us to be with God, not to accomplish something for Him.

We see this reflected in today’s Gospel. John the Baptist, waiting in prison, asks Jesus a question filled with longing and uncertainty: “Are you the one who is to come?” Jesus does not respond with theories or arguments. Instead, He points to what is happening: the blind see, the lame walk, the deaf hear, and the poor receive good news. These signs reveal a God who restores rather than rushes, who heals rather than overwhelms. Joy emerges as people finally receive what they had been missing.

This is the joy Gaudete Sunday places before us. It is not loud or forced happiness. It is the quiet joy that comes when we slow down enough to notice that God is already at work, already near, already coming toward us. As we continue our Advent journey, perhaps the invitation today is simply this: slow down to the speed of joy, recover a Sabbath heart, and make room. Because when we do, we discover that what we sang at the beginning is already true—Joy to the world, the Lord is come.

Reflection questions: 

REJOICE — Matthew

1. Where is my life dry right now—and what small sign of new life might God already be showing me?
2. How is God inviting me this Sunday to stop striving, rest in Him, and receive joy again?
   

2nd Sunday in Advent

Start video from 3:45 time until the end.

Prepare the Way… Begin With One Corner
Matthew 3:1-12

John the Baptist appears in today’s Gospel like a voice cutting through the noise of our lives: “Prepare the way of the Lord; make straight His paths.” His message isn’t meant to shame us or overwhelm us. It is meant to awaken something inside us. It is a call to look honestly at the inner landscape of our hearts and to clear the places that have become cluttered, crooked, or overgrown. John is speaking to people just like us—busy people, tired people, people whose lives have gotten complicated. People carrying things they don’t always have the time or courage to face.

A scene from The Lion King captures this perfectly. Simba has spent years running—running from his guilt, running from his past, running from the truth. He distracts himself with fun, noise, and a laid-back philosophy of “hakuna matata.” But deep inside, he knows something is not right. There is unfinished business in his heart. There is a home he has abandoned. There is a truth he has refused to face. And then Rafiki appears—strange, wise, and prophetic. He tells Simba, “The past can hurt. But you can either run from it, or learn from it.” That moment becomes a turning point. Simba doesn’t fix everything at once. But he turns—he takes one step toward home. And that single step changes everything.

Preparing the way for the Lord often looks just like that: not dramatic, not perfect, not instant—but a simple, honest step in the right direction.

A few weeks ago, after a long stretch of parish events, meetings, school activities, liturgies, and everything else that fills a priest’s calendar, I finally found myself with a free Saturday. For once, there was nothing scheduled. No appointments. No rehearsals. No emergencies. I walked into my house, looked around, and I thought, “Okay… it’s time. I need to clean.” But the more I looked, the more overwhelming it felt. Piles of mail. A table full of things I never put away. Laundry waiting for attention. Surfaces that needed clearing. Rooms that needed order. It felt like too much.

My first instinct was the same as anyone else’s: “Where do I even begin?” But then I caught myself and said, “Well… just start with one corner.” So I did. One corner of the room. One shelf. One small space. And little by little, something surprising happened. Once I started, the overwhelm began to fade. The room didn’t become perfect instantly, but something opened up. The space felt lighter. I felt lighter. And by the end of it, I realized how much I had been carrying—without even noticing.

That experience became a prayer. I thought, “If this is true for my house, how much more is it true for my heart?”

This is the work of Advent. God isn’t asking us to overhaul our entire spiritual lives in one week. He isn’t asking us to fix everything, face everything, or become perfect by Christmas. He simply asks us to begin—to open one corner of our hearts where grace can enter.

Maybe that corner is a wound we’ve avoided. Maybe it’s a conversation we need to have. Maybe it’s a habit we need to release. Maybe it’s a truth we’re finally ready to face. Maybe it’s quieting the noise so we can hear God again.

Like Simba, we don’t have to resolve everything today. We simply need to stop running and turn toward home. And once we do, the entire landscape of our lives begins to change. The path becomes straighter. The heart becomes lighter. And God finds room to come in.

So this Advent, let us ask: What corner of my life needs clearing? Where do I need to stop running? What small step can I take today to prepare the way for the Lord? Begin with one corner. God will take care of the rest.

Reflection questions: 

PREPARE — Matthew 3

1. What part of my past—like Simba—am I still running from, and what might God be inviting me to finally face with honesty and courage?
2. What “one corner” of my life needs clearing—an obstacle, habit, wound, or fear—that would open more space for God this Advent?
3. What would it look like for me to “prepare the way of the Lord” in my heart right now—what concrete step can I take to make a straight path for Christ to come closer?
   

1st Sunday in Advent

Remember Who You Are
Isaiah 2:1–5 • Matthew 24:37–44

There was a morning when I woke up, saw 6:17 AM on the clock, and jumped out of bed thinking I was late for Mass—heart racing, wide awake in seconds. I wasn’t even scheduled that day, but that jolt reminded me how quickly we can wake up when something matters. Jesus begins Advent with that same urgency: “Stay awake!” Not busy, not distracted—awake to God, awake to our purpose, awake to who we are.

In The Lion King, Simba runs away out of fear and guilt, numbing himself with hakuna matata. But then Mufasa appears and says, “You have forgotten who you are… remember who you are.” Simba forgot he was the son of a king. Advent is God speaking the same truth to us. Before we decorate or plan anything, God whispers: “Wake up… I am here.” We are beloved sons and daughters, made in His image—not spiritual sleepers, not runaways. Yet like a morning alarm, God calls—but we often hit the snooze button in our spiritual life. Where do we keep delaying God’s call? In prayer? In conversion? In forgiving someone? In finally returning to the sacraments? Every snooze pushes us a little further from who we truly are.

Isaiah gives us a powerful image: “Come, let us climb the Lord’s mountain.” No one climbs a mountain asleep. Movement awakens us; prayer awakens us; choosing God awakens us. To climb the Lord’s mountain means rising above distraction and walking again in His light. Jesus warns that the people in Noah’s time weren’t wicked—they were simply unaware. Advent invites us to move from unawareness to intention, from passivity to purpose.

So the message of this season is clear and direct: Remember who you are. You belong to God. You were made for His light. Wake up spiritually, stop hitting the snooze button, take a step toward Him, and let this Advent be the moment you return to your true identity—beloved, chosen, and called to walk in the light of the Lord.

Reflection questions: 

AWAKEN — Matthew 24 / Mufasa’s Call

1. What part of your life feels “asleep” spiritually (hitting the snooze button)?
2. What voice or nudge from God have you been ignoring?
3. How is God inviting you to “remember who you are”?