From the Pastor's Desk

Saturday of the Thirty-second Week in Ordinary Time Optional Memorial of St. Albert the Great, Bishop and Doctor of the Church Brief Background: St. Albert the Great (1200–1280), also known as Albertus Magnus, was a German Dominican friar, bishop, philosopher, and scientist. He is considered one of the greatest minds of the medieval Church. Albert was a teacher at the University of Paris and became the mentor of St. Thomas Aquinas, recognizing his brilliance early on. Albert was known for integrating faith and reason, showing that scientific inquiry and theology work together, not against each other. He wrote on an astonishing range of topics: theology, botany, zoology, astronomy, chemistry, geology, physiology, and more. Because of his vast knowledge, he was called “Doctor Universalis” – the Universal Doctor. He was canonized and declared a Doctor of the Church in 1931. St. Albert the Great is the patron saint of scientists, philosophers, students, natural sciences, medical technicians, and those seeking to use knowledge wisely REFLECTION: Just recently, I was up late waiting for my nephew to come home from work. He had started a new job, and since it would be too late for him to drive all the way home, I told him to stay at the rectory for the night. Midnight was getting close, and he still hadn’t arrived. I called, but there was no answer. So, I waited. Eventually, it struck midnight, and there I was—still sitting in the living room. I turned off the TV, put my phone away, and simply sat there. Even though the rectory is in town, there was a strange and beautiful calm in the air at that hour. A stillness. A quiet you can’t manufacture or plan. I took that moment to pray—for my nephew’s safety, and for anyone who came to mind in that quiet hour. By the time the clock hit 1:00 AM (a time I haven’t stayed up to see in a long while!), I was tired and ready for bed. Just as I was lying down, my nephew called to say he had arrived safely. I was relieved. God had listened. God had been present in the waiting. The Book of Wisdom speaks about one of the holiest moments in salvation history happening in a similar silence: “When peaceful silence lay over all, and night had run half its course…” That was the moment God moved. It was in the stillness of the Passover night that God’s “all-powerful Word” descended to bring justice to Egypt and freedom to Israel. No thunder. No choir. Just the quiet of midnight—and a divine action that changed everything. And yet, silence has become awkward for us today. We rush to fill it with noise, distractions, and screens. If a moment feels too quiet, we grab our phones. If life slows down, we find something—anything—to keep ourselves busy. Silence feels uncomfortable—almost unnatural. But Scripture shows us the opposite: It is often in the silence that God speaks the loudest. In the stillness that His presence becomes clear. In the quiet that His saving power begins to move. I have found this to be true in my own life and ministry. When I reach moments where frustration builds, when I feel upset, irritated, or on the edge of wanting to throw someone—or something—out the window, I’ve learned to step away and find a space of silence. That small pause, that moment to breathe, is often where God recenters me, calms me, and reminds me who I am and who He is. Silence becomes the place where grace breaks through. Throughout Scripture, God chooses the quietest moments to act. At midnight, He passed over Egypt. In the deep of night, He spoke to Samuel. In dreams, He guided Joseph. In the fourth watch of the night, Jesus walked on water while the world slept. And on the silent night before the Red Sea parted, Israel waited as God prepared a miracle. Again and again, God reveals that His greatest works often begin in silence—long before the world notices. We need to reclaim the holiness of silence. Not fear it. Not fill it. Not run from it. The next time you find yourself in a quiet moment—late at night, early in the morning, or even in the middle of a stressful day—resist the urge to distract yourself. Allow the silence to be what Scripture reveals it to be: a sacred space where God moves, God speaks, and God heals. So whenever you find yourself in that stillness—waiting, worrying, resting, or recalibrating—remember that God is already there. He moved in the silence of Egypt. He moved in the stillness before the Red Sea. He moved in the quiet moments of His saints. And He moves in the quiet corners of your heart today.  Sometimes God speaks the loudest when everything else is silent.

Friday of the Thirty-second Week in Ordinary Time REFLECTION: St. Thomas Aquinas teaches that we can come to know the existence of God not only through Scripture but also through the natural world. In his Five Ways—his five classic proofs for the existence of God—one of the most accessible is the “Design Argument” or the Argument from Governance. Aquinas says that when we look at the order, harmony, and purpose in creation, it becomes reasonable to conclude that there is an Intelligent Designer behind it all. In simple terms: things that lack intelligence do not move toward order and purpose on their own. If an arrow hits the target, someone aimed it; if the universe displays order, Someone designed it. Another way to look at the Design Argument is to pay attention to how creation has a natural flow and connection. There is a rhythm woven into nature—from the tides that respond to the moon, to ecosystems that depend on one another, to seasons that move in perfect cycles. If there were no God, there would be no purpose, no order, no deeper unity holding everything together. And if there were many gods, each creating their own section of the world independently, nature would look disjointed—different parts with different rules, patterns that clash instead of harmonize. Instead, what we see is a creation that moves like a single symphony under one divine Conductor. This is exactly the message Wisdom 13:1–9 tries to awaken in us. The sacred author challenges people who admire creation but stop there—who see the beauty of the stars, oceans, mountains, and forces of nature, yet fail to lift their gaze to the One who fashioned them. The issue is not admiration; admiration is good. The issue is when people worship the creation instead of the Creator. We live in a world not so different from ancient Alexandria, where this book was written. People today worship the universe, crystals, energy, nature, success, or even themselves—everything but God. They want the “design” without acknowledging the “Designer.” And yet, as Aquinas would insist, you cannot have order without an Orderer, design without a Designer, creation without a Creator. Wisdom invites us to look deeper: If you can admire the beauty of creation, why not admire the One who breathed beauty into it? If you can marvel at the rhythm of the seasons, why not worship the One who set its tempo? If you are amazed by the balance of ecosystems, why not praise the One who sustains them? Today, let creation become a classroom of faith. Let every sunrise remind you of the Artist. Let every breeze carry the whisper of the Creator. Let every moment of wonder move your heart toward worship. May we be people who don’t just see the world, but see God through the world, and allow creation to lead us to the Creator.

Memorial of St. Frances Xavier Cabrini, Virgin Brief Background: St. Frances Xavier Cabrini (1850–1917)—known as Mother Cabrini—was an Italian-born religious sister and the first U.S. citizen to be canonized a saint. She founded the Missionary Sisters of the Sacred Heart of Jesus with a deep desire to serve the poor and to bring Christ’s love to the world. Although she dreamed of being a missionary in China, Pope Leo XIII told her, “Not to the East, but to the West.” Obeying this call, she traveled to the United States where she tirelessly served Italian immigrants, opening schools, hospitals, orphanages, and missions across the country. She established more than 60 institutions dedicated to education, healthcare, and social services. Her life was marked by deep trust in the Sacred Heart of Jesus, courage in hardship, and a joyful missionary spirit. She died in Chicago in 1917 and was canonized in 1946. St. Frances Cabrini is the patron saint of immigrants, migrants, hospital administrators, and those who work in education. REFLECTION: In today’s first reading, we hear Wisdom described almost like a person—someone who moves, acts, teaches, and guides. But we usually think of wisdom as a gift of the Holy Spirit, something placed within us, just as the Catechism of the Catholic Church explains. Do these two descriptions contradict each other? Or do they actually complete the picture of how God works in our lives? Let’s take a closer look. When Scripture describes Wisdom as a person, it’s using a poetic image to show us something powerful: God’s guidance is alive, active, and always reaching out to us. Wisdom in the reading is pictured as someone who walks beside us, helps us understand life, and points us toward what is good and true. It’s the Bible’s way of saying that God is not distant. He is close. He seeks us. He teaches us. But the Church also reminds us that Wisdom is a gift of the Holy Spirit—something God places within us. It’s a strength in our soul that helps us see situations with God’s eyes, make good choices, and recognize what truly matters. This is the Wisdom that nudges your heart when you’re tempted, encourages you when you’re afraid, and helps you choose kindness over anger, honesty over dishonesty, and faith over fear. So are these two kinds of Wisdom different? Not at all. They actually fit together beautifully. The Wisdom described in Scripture is God’s presence walking beside you, and the Wisdom described in the Catechism is God’s presence speaking within you. One guides you from the outside; the other empowers you from the inside. Together, they show that God surrounds your life with guidance—like a friend by your side and a light in your heart. These two come together beautifully in the life of St. Frances Xavier Cabrini. Mother Cabrini trusted deeply that God’s Wisdom was beside her, opening doors and guiding her mission, even when she arrived in America with no support and faced countless obstacles. At the same time, she carried an inner Wisdom from the Holy Spirit—a courage and clarity of heart that pushed her to build schools, hospitals, and homes for immigrants who had no one else to help them. Her life shows us that Wisdom is both God leading us from the outside and God strengthening us from the inside. Today, ask yourself: Where do I feel God guiding me right now? What choices or friendships need God’s Wisdom today? How is God trying to teach me—through others, through prayer, or through His voice within me? Remember this simple truth: God’s Wisdom is not just something you learn. It’s Someone who walks with you and something that grows within you. May we welcome Wisdom in both ways—listening for the voice beside us and responding to the voice within us.

Memorial of St. Josaphat, Bishop and Martyr Brief Background: St. Josaphat (c. 1580–1623) is honored as the patron saint of Christian unity, particularly between the Eastern and Western Churches. Born in what is now Ukraine, he devoted his life to healing divisions within Christianity and fostering reconciliation among believers. Because of his tireless efforts to bring the Orthodox and Catholic Churches into communion, he is also recognized as a patron of ecumenism and of the Ukrainian people, whose faith and culture he deeply loved. His witness continues to inspire those who work for understanding, peace, and unity within the Body of Christ. REFLECTION: One of the gifts we often pray for as priests is the gift of listening and understanding. In the confessional, much of our ministry is not in speaking, but in listening—listening to the hurts of the heart, the burdens of conscience, and the longing for peace. Yet it is not enough simply to hear; we must also strive to understand where a person is coming from—to discern the root of sin or struggle, and to respond with patience and compassion. The same is true in our daily ministry: we listen to frustrations, to new ideas, and to the hopes and fears of those we serve. True listening seeks to understand the person behind the words. The Book of Wisdom begins today’s passage with a strong invitation: “Hear, O kings, and understand; learn, you magistrates of the earth’s expanse! Give ear, you who rule over multitudes” (Wis 6:1–2). These words were written to rulers and leaders, but they speak also to every one of us who has influence over others—parents guiding their children, teachers shaping young hearts, supervisors leading teams, and parishioners who build up the community. God reminds us that with every role of responsibility comes the sacred call to listen with humility and act with justice. “Because authority was given you by the Lord and sovereignty by the Most High” (Wis 6:3). How often in life do we speak before we listen, or react before we understand? We may raise our complaints or opinions, yet forget to pause long enough to hear the fuller story or the reason behind a decision. The same happens in our prayer life: we tell God all that we need, yet become discouraged when He seems silent. But perhaps the silence is not absence—it is an invitation to listen and understand more deeply, to see that His answer may be unfolding in a different way. The life of St. Josaphat, whose memory we honor today, reflects this call to hear and understand. As a bishop in a time of deep division between East and West, he listened first to the voice of Christ, who prayed “that all may be one.” His ministry was marked not by argument, but by dialogue and sacrifice. He gave his life seeking unity in the Church—an act that required both courageous leadership and deep understanding. St. Josaphat teaches us that listening is not weakness; it is strength rooted in love.  May we, too, learn to hear as God hears—to listen with our hearts, to understand before judging, and to lead those entrusted to us with mercy and truth. For as the Scripture reminds us, “Those who keep the holy precepts will be found holy, and those who have learned them will have a ready defense” (Wis 6:10). May our listening and understanding become the path through which God’s wisdom rules our hearts.

Memorial of St. Martin of Tours, Bishop Brief Background: St. Martin was born in Pannonia (modern-day Hungary) and raised in a pagan family, though he felt drawn to Christianity from an early age. As a young man he was conscripted into the Roman army. One cold winter day, while still a soldier, Martin met a beggar shivering by the city gate of Amiens. Moved with compassion, he drew his sword, cut his military cloak in half, and shared it with the poor man. That night, Christ appeared to him in a dream wearing the same piece of cloak, saying, “Martin, you have clothed me with this garment.” Deeply changed by this experience, Martin sought baptism, left military service, and dedicated his life to God. He became a monk and later the Bishop of Tours in France, known for his humility, simplicity, and care for the poor. He died around the year 397 and is one of the first non-martyr saints honored by the Church. St. Martin is the patron saint of soldiers, tailors, and the poor, and his feast day is celebrated on November 11 — also Veterans Day in the United States.  REFLECTION: In the beginning, God created humanity to live forever — to share in His own divine life. As the Book of Wisdom reminds us, “God created man for incorruption and made him in the image of His own eternity.” But then came an interruption. “Through the envy of the devil, death entered the world.” The devil could not bear to see humanity living in harmony with God, so he interrupted God’s plan, twisting what was meant for goodness and love. From that moment, sin and death became part of the human story. Yet, even in that brokenness, God’s plan was never destroyed — only delayed. For the same passage tells us, “The souls of the just are in the hand of God, and no torment shall touch them.” To be just means to live rightly before God — to seek what is true, good, and faithful in all things. The just person allows God, not sin or fear, to guide their actions. Even when life is interrupted — by sorrow, illness, or disappointment — their peace remains because it is anchored in God’s will. The devil may interrupt, but he can never overpower the one who stays close to the Lord. The souls of the just live in a security that no evil can reach, held firmly in the palm of God’s hand. In our own lives, interruptions happen all the time. A child calls for attention when we’re busy, a family member needs help when we’re tired, a student lingers after class, a friend reaches out unexpectedly, or a stranger stops us with a story we didn’t expect to hear. These moments may seem inconvenient at first, but they can also be sacred interruptions — God’s gentle way of turning our eyes back to Him. Every interruption carries the possibility of grace: an invitation to step out of our routine and enter a holy moment. When we pause to listen, to help, or simply to be present, we allow God to work through us. Interruptions, if embraced with love, can become opportunities to do good and to rediscover His presence in the ordinary flow of life. This truth shines clearly in the life of St. Martin of Tours, a soldier whose life was transformed by an interruption of compassion. One cold winter day, he encountered a poor beggar shivering on the roadside. Without hesitation, Martin took his sword, cut his cloak in half, and shared it with the man. That night, Christ appeared to him in a dream wearing that same torn cloak, saying, “Martin, you have clothed me.” That single interruption became the turning point of Martin’s life. He left the army, dedicated himself to prayer and service, and became a bishop known for his humility and mercy. His holiness began not in a grand gesture, but in one simple moment when he allowed an interruption to become an encounter with Christ. As we observe Veterans Day, we honor the men and women who, like St. Martin, allowed their lives to be interrupted by duty, service, and sacrifice. Many of them left behind comfort, safety, and family to protect and serve others. Their courage reminds us that even life’s greatest interruptions can reveal the depth of one’s character and love. In their service, we glimpse the power of a just and selfless heart — one that chooses good even when the path is difficult. So when your own plans are interrupted, let faith interrupt your frustration. See these moments not as burdens, but as blessings — chances to pause, to listen, to serve, to love. The devil may have interrupted God’s plan in the beginning, but in Christ, every interruption can now become an invitation to grace. For those who strive to live justly, who choose compassion over convenience, and who trust in God’s timing, there is peace that cannot be taken away. Truly, “the souls of the just are in the hand of God,” and in those hands, even life’s interruptions become instruments of His mercy.

Memorial of St. Leo the Great, Pope and Doctor of the Church Brief Background: St. Leo the Great served as Pope from 440 to 461 A.D. and is remembered as one of the most influential leaders in the early Church. He lived during a time of great turmoil—both politically, as the Roman Empire was collapsing, and theologically, as false teachings about Christ’s nature were spreading. Leo was a gifted preacher and writer who defended the true faith with courage and wisdom. His famous letter, known as the “Tome of Leo,” clarified that Jesus Christ is one Person with two natures—fully God and fully man—a teaching later affirmed by the Council of Chalcedon in 451. He is also remembered for his pastoral leadership and deep compassion. When Attila the Hun threatened to invade Rome, Pope Leo personally met him outside the city and persuaded him to turn back—saving countless lives through his courage and faith. Because of his strong teaching, clarity of doctrine, and pastoral care, he was given the title “Doctor of the Church.” St. Leo is the patron saint of preacher, orators, catechists and religious educators.  REFLECTION: Every Sunday at 8:00 AM, our Adult Initiation group gathers in the rectory dining room. This past Sunday, I stopped by to listen in and talk story with them. Their topic was on angels, but as often happens in faith conversations, it opened into a wider discussion—this time about speaking in tongues and being “slain in the Spirit.” I could sense their excitement and curiosity, which was wonderful to see. Yet I also reminded them that whenever we encounter something spiritual, we must always discern the spirit—seeking guidance from Scripture, the Church, and trusted spiritual directors. Not every feeling or experience automatically comes from God. As the Book of Wisdom says, “perverse counsels separate people from God.” This week’s reading from Wisdom 1:1–7 tells us to “love righteousness” and “seek the Lord with sincerity of heart.” True wisdom is not found in emotions or extraordinary signs, but in a heart that is humble, truthful, and open to God’s will. The Spirit of God—the “holy spirit of discipline”—will not dwell in a heart filled with deceit or selfishness. Instead, God’s Spirit fills the world with peace, truth, and goodness. That is why discernment matters: the Spirit of God always leads us toward unity, humility, and love, while false spirits lead us toward confusion, pride, or division. Today, we also celebrate St. Leo the Great, pope and doctor of the Church. St. Leo lived this wisdom deeply. In a time when heresies and divisions threatened the early Church, he spoke with courage and clarity, guided not by pride or fear, but by the Spirit of Truth. His famous teaching, “Christian, remember your dignity,” calls each of us to live as people in whom God’s Spirit dwells. Like St. Leo, we are called to let God’s wisdom shape our words, our leadership, and our love for others—especially when confusion or false ideas arise around us. The Book of Wisdom and the example of St. Leo both remind us that holiness begins with a sincere heart and a discerning mind. The Spirit of God is present wherever truth, goodness, and humility are chosen. Examine your thoughts and actions—are they guided by truth and sincerity? Each day, pause and ask: Do my words build up others? Do my decisions reflect honesty and love for God? The Spirit of Wisdom speaks most clearly in a heart that is transparent and humble. Invite the Holy Spirit into your studies, work, and relationships. When we welcome the Spirit into all we do—our schoolwork, our conversations, our service—ordinary moments become sacred. God’s wisdom transforms the simple things into signs of His presence. Remember: Wisdom lives in the heart that chooses what is good and seeks God honestly every day. Wisdom isn’t found in noise or attention, but in small acts of truth, love, and faithfulness. Each time we choose what is right, we open the door for God’s Spirit to dwell within us. In the end, Wisdom 1:1–7 and the life of St. Leo the Great teach us this timeless truth: where sincerity and truth abide, there the Spirit of God lives. May we live each day with discerning hearts, letting God’s wisdom guide our words, our actions, and our witness to the world.

Saturday of the Thirty-first Week in Ordinary Time REFLECTION: So, naturally I am not a hugger, but I won’t deny a hug that someone would initiate with me. When I was at St. Anthony on Maui, there was one lady who would always give me a hug and kiss on the cheek after the 7am Mass. Her family and I grew close as I accompanied them during the passing of their young son due to a drug overdose. It was a dark moment for them, but I was called to their home — we prayed, we cried, we shared stories. I did their son’s funeral and burial, and ever since then, they felt close to me, and I to them. So the mother would always approach me after Mass and give me a big hug and a kiss on the cheek — a gesture that said more than words ever could. Here at Sacred Heart Church and Maryknoll School, the only person who has approached me for a hug is one of our high school students. I had a conversation with her, and I guess she felt close to me — maybe she felt comfortable but still respectful. She always says hi, and when there are events, she asks if I need help or anything. I’ve come to realize that people who feel close or connected to you, who share a sense of relationship and trust, are the ones who draw near — who are not afraid to greet you with a hug. Now, I know that I’ve been told more than once that I can seem intimidating. And that’s fine with me — I can’t change that. But I’ve also learned that when we step outside our comfort zones and make the effort to get to know others, walls come down and real connection begins. Maybe not everyone will greet you with a hug (and no, I’m not suggesting everyone start hugging now! 😂), but the point is this — faith is lived in relationships. That’s exactly what we see in Romans 16, when Paul ends his letter by naming people — real people — who have worked, suffered, and prayed with him. He greets them not with titles, but with affection: “Greet one another with a holy kiss.” In the early Church, this was not just a polite gesture; it was a sign of unity, peace, and love among believers — a reminder that we are one family in Christ. When we come to Mass, that same spirit of unity should fill our hearts. During the Sign of Peace, we’re invited to do more than a wave or a nod. We’re called to truly share peace — to see Christ in one another. Yes, Covid made us cautious, and we’ve grown used to keeping a safe distance, but maybe it’s time to recover not just the gesture, but the heart behind it — that warmth, sincerity, and closeness of the Body of Christ. Because when we truly grow in relationship with Christ, we naturally want to draw closer to Him too. If we could see Jesus face to face, wouldn’t we want to greet Him with a hug? Or even a “holy kiss”? Our closeness to others and our closeness to Christ are deeply connected — both flow from love. So maybe today, we can take a step closer — to one another, and to Christ. Faith is not meant to keep us distant; it’s meant to bring us near — to heal, to embrace, to unite. And who knows, maybe the next “holy kiss” is just a heartfelt hug away.

Friday of the Thirty-first Week in Ordinary Time REFLECTION: This whole week since All Souls Day, it seems like St. Paul has been inviting us to think deeply about our life now and the life that awaits us after this world. Today, Paul continues that invitation by turning our attention to our mission in life — to pause and ask whether we are living it faithfully. Each of us has been entrusted with a mission or purpose by God. For some, it is as a parent, teacher, student, friend, or priest. For others, it may be the quiet, unseen roles of caring, listening, or simply being present. Whatever it is, it is the unique way God calls us to love. In this passage, Paul looks back on his own mission with gratitude. He recognizes that everything he accomplished was by God’s grace, not his own doing. Paul’s goal was to bring Christ to those who had not yet heard of Him — not for personal recognition, but so that others might come to faith. His life became an offering to God, and through it, Christ was made known. That same call belongs to each of us. God continues to work through our words, actions, and example, often in ways we may never fully see. Each day becomes part of our mission — a chapter in the story God is writing with our life. And while none of us may complete that mission perfectly, we are invited daily to begin again, to keep striving, and to let Christ work through us. One beautiful spiritual practice that helps us do this is the examination of conscience. It is a quiet moment at the end of the day to look back with honesty and gratitude. It’s not about feeling guilty or listing failures, but about reflecting with God on how we lived that day — where we saw His grace, where we fell short, and how we might respond better tomorrow. We ask: Did I live today in a way that reflects my calling? Did my words, actions, and choices help me move closer to fulfilling the mission God has given me? When we take time for this reflection each night, we allow the Lord to shape us a little more each day — to mold us into faithful servants, just as He molded Paul. And one day, when our mission in this life is complete, may we look back with peace and say, as Paul did, that we have finished the work God entrusted to us.

Thursday of the Thirty-first Week in Ordinary Time REFLECTION: On All Souls Day, I went to visit my aunt’s grave that Sunday afternoon. It was just me there, so I sat quietly, read a book, and prayed. As I looked around the Hawaii State Veterans Cemetery, I noticed the tombstone right next to my aunt’s. It belonged to a soldier who had received the Purple Heart and other medals of honor. I paused for a while, realizing that a decorated soldier rested beside my aunt — a simple widow of a veteran. Yet, as I looked across the rows of graves, I saw that every headstone looked the same. The size, color, and design were uniform, no matter who was buried there. That sight made me realize something profound: in the end, all our titles, awards, and achievements fade away. Whether we were soldiers or teachers, business owners or homemakers, rich or poor — death reminds us that our life was never truly ours to begin with. From the moment we are conceived until the day we take our last breath, our life belongs to God. We didn’t choose to be born, and most of us will not decide when we die. The time in between — our years of living — is not ours to control, but ours to steward in love, faith, and service. St. Paul’s words in Romans 14 remind us: “None of us lives for ourselves, and none of us dies for ourselves. If we live, we live for the Lord; if we die, we die for the Lord.” In other words, every moment we are given is on loan from God — a gift meant to be used for His purpose. If our life is not our own, then how should we live it? We live it for the Lord when we forgive even when it’s hard. We live it for the Lord when we serve others quietly without expecting recognition. We live it for the Lord when we use our time and talents to build up faith, family, and community. We live it for the Lord when we pray, when we care for the poor, when we love as Christ loved. Living for the Lord means realizing that our daily choices — how we speak, act, and treat one another — all belong to Him. One day, when our life here ends, what will matter most is not what we accomplished, but who we belonged to. In the end, death reminds us that all things are made equal. What remains is not the mark of success, but the seal of faith.  So today, let us live each moment remembering that our life is not ours — it is God’s. And if it is God’s, then let us live it well: with gratitude, with mercy, and with love.