At first, the Apostles try to dodge the question. When Jesus confronts them — and make no mistake, it is a confrontation — with the question “Who do you say that I am?” they act like a man whose wife has just asked him if she looks fat in these jeans. The evasiveness of their answer puts politicians to shame: “Some say John the Baptist, others Elijah, still others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” Some say. But Jesus doesn’t let them off easy. He repeats himself. He wants an answer. “Who do you say that I am?” They all know the answer. They all believe the answer. And they all know the answer could get them thrown in prison or killed. Only Peter is brave enough to say it: “You are the Christ, the Son of the Living God.” People have a lot of opinions about God. They always have. They have a lot of opinions about Jesus and the Bible, about the Catholic Church and the Pope. Some of these opinions are well-founded, well-researched. Some of them are based in ignorance. Many are born of painful misunderstandings. But they are all just that: opinions. Some say. We know who Jesus is. We know who the Eucharist is. We know what the truth is. Amid the chaos and the violence and the excruciating loudness of this fallen world and all the words it shouts into the void about God and Jesus and right and wrong, we know . But will we answer? ©LPi

It isn’t uncommon for me to get to the noon hour only to realize that I haven’t yet eaten anything that day.

If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a hundred times. My daughter is obsessed with mysteries. It’s not enough for her to read about them in the pages of every Nancy Drew book she can get her hands on. She wants more than that.

I was a full-grown adult before I realized that Pentecost is known as “the birthday of the Church,” and it only resonated with me because someone showed up to a church function with cake and candles.

In today’s Gospel, Jesus prays for me. And for you. And for all the people who woke up this morning and headed to Mass because, while it’s true that God is everywhere, the Body and Blood of Jesus is only found in one place.

I think of the walls of heavenly Jerusalem, so high and so sturdy, guarded so scrupulously by God’s strongest angels. These walls are not barriers. They are shields. They are arms, encircling us, gathering us in.

I once wrote an article about several women residents of a local nursing home. In researching the piece, I discovered that they had grown up in the same neighborhood as my grandmother, and that one of the women was, in fact, my grandmother’s dearest childhood friend.

I get a little crazy when it comes to my kids’ safety. We’ve probably had a few too many conversations that could be entitled “What to Do If Mommy Loses You At the State Fair” or “Don’t Trust People Just Because They Smile At You.”