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Reflections of Family and Faith
"The family that prays together stays together." - Venerable Patrick Peyton
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On September 7, 2025, Pope Leo, by God’s grace, raised Carlo Acutis, an Italian teenager, to the altar as a saint. This canonization was an extraordinary family affair. For the first time ever, twin brother and sister and both parents celebrated the sainthood of their son and brother. Carlo died as an only child in 2006 at age fifteen. His mother and father yearned for other children without success and began the long process of adoption. Antonia, his mother, said Carlo appeared to her in a dream to tell her that she would be a mother again soon. Not long after, she discovered she was pregnant with twins. The boy, Michele, proclaimed the first reading at Mass and Francesca presented relics of Saint Carlo at the offertory.
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Holy lives of inspiration | Why pray?
The prophecy today from Zechariah is a bold one, one that no person would have dared to predict on his own without divine inspiration. When Zechariah wrote, the people of Judah had just returned from Exile at the mercy of great Persia; they had re-built the Temple, and as we heard in last week’s readings, it was a meager replica of the original. Judged by appearances, they were a tiny, insignificant nation, surviving at the pleasure of far more dominant civilizations. And yet, here Zechariah is, prophesying that all peoples, including the mighty nations, will seek Jerusalem out and look to the Jews for guidance and wisdom, as the people who uniquely know the LORD. It is a stunning vision.
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Holy lives of inspiration | Why pray?
Some years ago, I read a story about a little boy named Eamon, who was gravely ill and being treated in a children’s hospital. His parents kept vigil by his bedside day and night. One nurse recalled walking past his room in the small hours of the morning and finding his mother singing softly to him, holding his frail hand. She said it was the most beautiful thing she had ever witnessed: in that dimly lit hospital room, it felt like she had stepped into holy ground. The boy Eamon eventually passed away, but his parents said they felt surrounded, carried even, by a strength beyond their own, the kind you can’t explain but only receive. That, I believe, is the quiet work of angels. Not always with trumpets and fire, but with presence, with consolation, with a reminder that God is near. When we hear Daniel’s vision in the Bible—thrones set in place, rivers of fire, the “Ancient of Days” clothed in glory, it feels like something out of a movie. You almost expect special effects and a booming soundtrack. Daniel wasn’t writing a screenplay. He was trying to put into words an experience of God’s majesty that words can hardly hold.
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Jerusalem lay in ruins. For seventy years the songs of worship had fallen silent, the temple reduced to rubble. And then, of all people, a Persian king, the ruler of their former captors, signed the checks to rebuild the house of God. There’s something deliciously ironic about King Darius funding the rebuilding of a temple to a God he didn’t even worship. Yet this is precisely what unfolds in our reading today. The Persian emperor, and his successors, rulers of the known world, becomes heaven’s unlikely contractors. The temple project wasn’t just approved, it came with a blank check and royal protection.
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Holy lives of inspiration | Learn more about our faith
Speaking of concealing light under a bed or a vessel, I think of a true story from World War II. In the blackout nights of London, families were ordered to cover every window so not a single candle or match lit could be seen by enemy bombers. But one evening, a single crack of light escaped from a house, and the entire neighborhood panicked; it could be a target signal for the enemy. One sliver of light in the dark sky could make all the difference. Isn’t that astonishing? Even the faintest light carries immense weight in the darkest night. Consider the curious case of Moses after his mountain-top encounter with God. When he descended Sinai, his face shone so brilliantly that the Israelites couldn't bear to look at him directly. What did Moses do? He covered his face with a veil. The veil wasn't permanent; it came off when he spoke with God and when he taught the people, but at other times the veil remained covering his face. Moses learned the delicate art of being a lighthouse, knowing when to beam at full intensity and when to provide gentle guidance.
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Holy lives of inspiration | Love thy Neighbor
When Pope Francis, whose birth name was Jorge Bergoglio, did one of his first major media spots after his election, the interviewer asked him the question, “Who is Jorge Mario Bergoglio?”, and he answered, “I am a sinner.” While true, it was still a shocking opening response. It would have been as if Babe Ruth, near the end of his career, had been asked, “How would you describe yourself as a baseball player, Babe?” and he would have responded, “I’m a player who strikes out more than just about anyone else.” I mean, that was true, but it was also true that in certain seasons, Babe Ruth singlehandedly hit more home runs than almost all major league teams! Likewise, the Holy Father would have surpassed almost all of us in his prayerfulness and devotion and virtue. But he chose to lead with the truth that unites him to all of us: he is a sinner in need of God’s mercy, in need of the saving work of Jesus Christ.
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