Last week, I had the joy of accompanying a wonderful group on a pilgrimage to Montreal and Quebec, Canada and one of our stops was the Shrine of St. Anne de Beaupré in Quebec. Nestled along the St. Lawrence River, this shrine has welcomed pilgrims for over 350 years. Miracles have unfolded there, crutches left behind, burdens laid down, faith renewed. But for me, the most unexpected grace came not in the grand basilica, but in the crypt church, in front of a statue of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.
At first glance, it was like any other statue until I noticed something peculiar. A kneeler was placed not directly in front of the statue but awkwardly off to the side, toward Jesus’ right. Our guide encouraged us to kneel there and look at the face of Jesus. I did, and some of us did, too. And what I saw caught me off guard.
The eyes of Jesus, soft, human, profoundly alive, looked directly into mine. It didn’t feel like stone. I felt like being seen. There was no judgment in those eyes, only a deep, knowing compassion. Not a passive gaze, but an invitation. I couldn’t look away. I didn’t want to. It was as if He was saying, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
I later learned that the statue was carved by Louis Jobin, a 19th-century Quebec artist known for religious sculptures. He deliberately shaped it to be viewed from the side so that the face and gaze would appear more real and personal, so that each pilgrim would feel as though Jesus was looking right at them. And indeed, He was.
That experience stayed with me. And it’s the perfect key to today’s Gospel, the Parable of the Lost Sheep. Jesus tells of a shepherd who leaves ninety-nine sheep searching for one that wandered. It sounds reckless, even foolish. But not to love. Not to the Sacred Heart. Because the gaze of Jesus doesn’t scan the crowd, it seeks the missing. It’s the look of a shepherd who doesn’t stop counting at ninety-nine. He notices who isn’t there. He sees what others overlook. He searches, not to scold, but to carry it back.
When I knelt beside that statue, I wasn’t thinking about theology or devotionals, of course, I did pray for my intentions, but more so, I was simply found. That gaze reminded me: I’m not lost in a crowd. I’m seen. I’m chosen. And so are you. That’s what this Solemnity celebrates, not a heart of sentiment, but a heart on fire with love that pursues, persists, and gazes until we’re home. The Sacred Heart is not a distant emblem; it is God’s relentless tenderness wrapped in humanity.
Our Holy Founder, Blessed Father Basil Moreau, entrusted the priests of the Congregation of Holy Cross to the Sacred Heart of Jesus. He knew that true pastoral ministry begins not from a pulpit, but from a gaze, a gaze that listens, searches, and lifts. He called us to embody not the heart of a manager, but the heart of a shepherd who sees the one lost.
So let me ask you: When was the last time you allowed Jesus to really look at you? Not your résumé of accomplishments or your carefully managed appearance, but the real you. The weary you. The doubting you. The hurting you. Today, Jesus looks at that you, and says, “You’re mine.” He doesn’t just wait for you to find your way back; He comes to find you.
And when He does, He doesn’t lecture you. He lifts you up. He rejoices. He throws a feast. So, on this feast of the Sacred Heart, may we once again place ourselves in the path of that gaze. Let it find you. Let it love you. And then, go and share that gaze with the world, one lost soul at a time.