Beyond Being “A Good Person”

Sometimes I sit in silence and honestly think, “Lord… I don’t even know what I should repent of.”

And that itself has been an ongoing struggle for me.

It feels like I’m checking the right boxes - not flawless, but decent enough. And my conscience doesn’t disturb me much anymore. This quiet satisfaction, unfortunately, has dulled the deeper call.

Recently I came across a video by Fr. Mike Schmitz (1) where, almost in passing, he mentioned something that struck me deeply. He spoke about people who don’t know what they should repent of and said maybe it’s because they have no idea how incredible they are supposed to be.

That line stayed with me.

Because isn’t it true? We often congratulate ourselves for being “good.” We don’t commit major crimes. We’re faithful spouses. Responsible parents. Decent citizens.

But God’s standard?

It’s shockingly high.

Jesus says even a look of lust is adultery. Even anger in the heart is murder. 

Suddenly, it’s not just about outward behavior bit it’s about thoughts, intentions, subtle attitudes.

The resentment we rehearse in our minds.
The bitterness we justify.
The fantasy of “what I should have said.”
The quiet revenge scenarios we play out.

Imagine that! Even that counts.

And yet we rarely measure ourselves against God’s holiness. We measure ourselves against other people. And compared to the world, we look fine. Our scale has corroded and our standards have slowly shifted without us realizing it.

Porn is obviously sin. But a romantic K-drama? That’s harmless, right?

But what about the thoughts that follow?
The subtle comparisons?
The dissatisfaction with our spouse or our life because reality doesn’t look cinematic?

Comparison quietly steals gratitude. And we don’t even notice.

Or modesty. “I’m covered more than most people. I’m modest.”

But the question isn’t the world’s standard but it’s God’s call to honor the dignity of our body. Sometimes what looks acceptable socially is still subtly shaped by vanity, attention-seeking, or insecurity. And we rarely bring that to confession.

Or this one hits hard:
“I give my all to work. Work needs me. Missing Mass sometimes is understandable.” OR the ”I’m not abusing my family.”

But what are we modeling?

At Baptism, we promise to lead our children to Christ. We want them to receive the sacraments. But do they see prayer in us? Do they see reverence? Do they see sacrifice for God? Or do they see that everything else comes first?

When we truly look at God’s standard we realise that it’s very, very high.

And once we begin examining honestly, the list of “infractions” becomes long - very long!

But here is the beautiful part.

Jesus is not waiting with a clipboard to condemn. He understands. He forgives. He strengthens. He doesn’t reveal our sins to shame us but to heal us. The higher the standard, the greater the invitation to holiness.

Maybe the reason we sometimes don’t know what to repent of isn’t because we are sinless but because we’ve forgotten how extraordinary we are called to be.

So this Lent, instead of leaning on our own understanding, maybe we can pray:

“Lord, gently reveal the parts of my heart that need surrender and transform me.”

And He will. Slowly. Lovingly.

Wishing you an incredible life. Not just a “good” one but a holy, joyful, deeply transformed life with Jesus.

(1) https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=hPTcMWpHfKk&si=TvflbcDRFgXfizn9

--

18 Feb 2026

Why do we fast?

Have you ever stopped and really asked yourself, Why do we fast?

I have.

Is it just something we do during Lent? A tradition we inherited? Or is there something deeper happening in us when we willingly give something up?

For me, fasting has become less about food and more about freedom.

When we choose to fast, we are choosing to take up our own crosses and follow Him. That sounds beautiful but it’s also very practical. It means we don’t just enjoy the joyful moments of life; we also embrace the difficult ones. We begin to see challenges not as interruptions, but as invitations for deeper spiritual growth.

If I’m honest, my appetites can easily cloud my thinking. Not just hunger for food but hunger for comfort, distraction, recognition, ease. These desires aren’t always sinful, but they can quietly take control. And when they do, I stop desiring only God and His will.

That’s where fasting becomes powerful.

When we say “no” to something our body wants, even something small, we are retraining our hearts. We are reminding ourselves that God is in charge. These small acts of self-denial help curb our disordered appetites. They strengthen the spirit so it can guide the body, not the other way around.

And let’s be real: fasting doesn’t feel exciting at first. Penitential acts are rarely attractive. But that’s actually the key. When we do what our flesh does not “desire,” something shifts inside us. Our spirit grows stronger. Our will becomes clearer. We gain control over impulses that once controlled us.

And that changes everything.

We are called to imitate our Lord and to look at Him interiorly with the eyes of faith and then act outwardly as instruments of sacrificial love. But how can we love sacrificially if we cannot deny ourselves even in small things? We need our passions and appetites under control to fulfill our mission. 

Fasting, along with increased prayer and penance, draws us into a deeper spiritual journey. It clears noise. It creates space. It sharpens our spiritual hearing.

In the end, fasting is not about punishment. It’s about purification.
Not about deprivation. But about direction.

It teaches us that we don’t live by every craving that rises within us. We live by every word that comes from Him.

And slowly, quietly, we begin to follow Him cross and all.

✝️ “Nobody Dies for a Lie”

I recently came across a post on Instagram that said:

“Nobody dies for a lie” — Mel Gibson, speaking about Jesus’ Resurrection.

That statement stopped me in my tracks. He's talking about his new movie on Jesus's resurrection, and it's an idea he wants to project in it. 

It’s a simple statement, but it gets right to the heart of something profound, doesn't it?

Think about it. People may suffer for many reasons - for family, for country, for dreams, or even by accident. But who would willingly give up their life for something they knew wasn’t true? 

No one. 

If the Resurrection were a lie, would the Apostles have gone to their deaths proclaiming it? Certainly not. They knew what they had seen, they had touched, and they testified to it even at the cost of their lives.

Jesus Himself knew exactly what He was laying down His life for. He wasn’t caught up in confusion or swept away by chance. He endured the Cross because He saw the glory beyond it. 

“For the joy that was set before him [he] endured the cross, despising the shame, and is seated at the right hand of the throne of God” -- Hebrews 12:2

The pain and humiliation of the cross were real, but they were nothing compared to the glory that was to come. He knew that His sacrifice was the ultimate act of love - a love that would bridge the chasm between God and humanity forever. His gaze wasn't on the temporary agony but on the eternal victory.

And we see this echoed in the life of the first martyr, Stephen. As he was being stoned, 

“he, full of the Holy Spirit, gazed into heaven and saw the glory of God, and Jesus standing at the right hand of God” -- Acts 7:55

That vision gave him strength. The pain of stones crashing against him could not crush the hope of what he saw. He knew the outcome, and it was worth it.

You and I wouldn't risk our lives for something we weren't absolutely sure was true, right? That’s the entire point.

It makes me wonder  what do we value in our daily lives? Most of the time, we weigh everything by what we can gain or what suffering we can avoid. We pray for convenience, for relief, for comfort. Yet when we say “Thy kingdom come”  we are really asking God to prepare us and the world not just for the temporary but for eternity.

And eternity comes with a cost. It demanded everything of the Father’s only-begotten Son. And in some sense, it has demanded everything of the saints who followed Him. Their lives were not lost but were poured out for the truth.

The Resurrection proves once and for all that Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life (John 14:6). When we see Him clearly, this temporal life loses its grip on us. Suffering doesn’t vanish, but it finds meaning. Death doesn’t terrify, because it is no longer the end.

The things we worry about in our daily lives and all our worldly ambitions fade in comparison to the immense reality of God's love and the promise of His Kingdom.

“Nobody dies for a lie.” The martyrs didn’t, the saints didn’t and neither did Jesus. He died and rose because the truth of God’s love is more powerful than death. And that same truth is what gives us strength today.

🛟 A Father's Dive

The Father’s Dive

When your child is in trouble, you don’t really think, do you? You just jump in. You don’t pause to calculate the risk of crashing waves or raging fire but you move to rescue.

I was reminded of this when I saw a short snippet of Moana’s father. She’s underwater, not surfacing, and without hesitation he dives in after her. No second thought, no plan B, just a father’s love in action.

It got me thinking… isn’t that a glimpse of what God did for us?

Only His dive wasn’t into the ocean. It was into a world of wolves, sin, betrayal, and suffering. He didn’t hesitate, but He also didn’t act rashly. Unlike Moana’s father, whose jump was an instantaneous reaction, the Father’s decision was eternal and deliberate. From the very beginning, God knew He would send His only Begotten Son. It wasn’t a plan B. It was always the plan.

And yet here’s the difference that really stirs my heart: you and I, as parents, sometimes get tired. After years of the same battles of tantrums, teenage struggles, adult wounds we get frustrated. Sometimes we even feel like giving up.

But not God.

He is patient. He is kind. He does not give up when we push back against Him. Even when we crucified His Son, His response was forgiveness: “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do” -- Luke 23:34

That’s the Father’s heart. The heart that dives in; not blindly, not recklessly, but with steadfast, deliberate love.

So maybe the next time we feel like throwing up our hands with our kids, or even with ourselves, we can remember: God never gave up on us. He still hasn’t. And if His Spirit lives in us, then His patience, His perseverance, can live through us too.

🥹 Why Faith Doesn't Erase Grief

We all start our spiritual journey, I think, hoping for a shield. We imagine that a deep, authentic prayer life or perfect devotion will be a kind of divine insurance policy; a guarantee that the big, painful things will simply pass us by. We crave a faith that removes the suffering.

After all, if God is good, why would He let us hurt?

The simple truth, however, is that spirituality doesn’t erase grief, struggles, or hardships—it transforms how we navigate them. The life of faith doesn't take us around the Cross; it teaches us how to carry our own little crosses with meaning.

The Reality of the Christian Walk

Look at the greatest saints. Were their lives easy? Absolutely not. St. Teresa of Calcutta dealt with profound spiritual dryness. St. Padre Pio bore the stigmata. Jesus Himself, the very model of perfect spiritual communion with the Father, faced betrayal, agony, and death on the Cross.

If the most spiritually advanced people in history still faced immense pain, we can’t expect to bypass it. Suffering is simply an unavoidable condition of life in this fallen world.

The difference for us, as Catholics, isn't that our pain disappears, but that our perspective changes. We move from asking, “Why is this happening to me?” to asking, “How can God use this pain?”

The Redemptive Power of Suffering

The Bible doesn’t promise ease; it promises purpose in the struggle. The Apostle Paul lays out this incredible spiritual math:

“More than that, we rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit which has been given to us.” --Romans 5:3-5

This verse is the key. Suffering isn’t a dead end; it’s a necessary step in a process of spiritual formation. It’s the kiln that fires the clay of our character.

Our spirituality transforms our navigation of hardship in two profound ways:

It Unites Us: We are invited to unite our small pains—the loss, the anxiety, the physical aches—to the boundless, redemptive suffering of Christ on the Cross. This is the incredible, almost incomprehensible Catholic concept of redemptive suffering. Our pain, which would otherwise be meaningless, becomes a way to participate in Christ's work for the salvation of souls, including our own.

It Grounds Us: When the world feels unstable, our faith is the anchor. Grief still hurts, but the pain doesn't have the final word because we know, with absolute certainty, the Resurrection.

How to Navigate, Not Escape

So, what does this look like practically when you’re facing a real, painful struggle?

Lean into Prayer of Presence: Don’t feel pressured to have perfect, eloquent prayers. Sometimes the most spiritual act is simply sitting quietly with God and saying, "This hurts, Lord. I'm here. Help me."

Embrace the Sacraments: Go to Confession. Receive the Eucharist. These sacraments are the divine fuel that gives us the actual grace needed for endurance. You don't get through the hard times on sheer willpower; you get through them on grace.

Find Meaning: When you feel overwhelmed, intentionally offer that moment of suffering up for someone else—a loved one who is struggling, the Holy Souls in Purgatory, or a specific intention. This simple act of spiritual redirection transforms a moment of self-pity into a moment of sacrificial love.

Our faith isn't about avoiding the shadows; it’s about having a Light that shines in them. The goal is not a life without pain, but a soul that is stronger, more compassionate, and utterly fixed on Christ because of the pain it endured. And that, truly, is the deepest kind of spiritual victory.

💍 From Divided to Whole: Learning to Reorder Our Loves

 “Seek first His kingdom and His righteousness, and all these things shall be yours as well.” -- Matthew 6:33

We’ve reflected on how God’s people once divided their hearts  through many wives, many desires, and many distractions.

We’ve seen how we, too, can love God and love other things that quietly compete for His place.

So how do we begin to reorder our loves?
How do we move from scattered affection to steady devotion — from many loves to one wholehearted love for God?

🌿 1. Begin With Awareness and Ask: What Rules Me?

Every heart has a throne. Something or someone sits on it.
For some, it’s control.
For others, comfort, reputation, or security.

To reorder love, we first have to notice what has taken God’s seat.

St. Ignatius of Loyola called this “discernment of spirits” — learning to see what draws us toward God and what quietly pulls us away.

“Examine yourselves, to see whether you are holding to your faith.” -- 2 Corinthians 13:5

A simple prayer helps:

“Lord, show me what I love too much.”

It’s not about guilt. It’s about clarity and seeing what competes with Him so we can love Him freely.

🔥 2. First Things First: Reorder by Returning

Once we recognize our misplaced loves, we bring them to God and reorder them not by removing them, but by re-ranking them.

God doesn’t always ask us to give up every good thing; He asks us to give Him first place among them.

St. Augustine said,

“To love things in the right order, so that you do not love what is not to be loved, or fail to love what is to be loved.”

It’s not wrong to love work, relationships, hobbies, or even comfort but the problem arises when they rise above the Giver.

That’s why Jesus says:

“Seek first the kingdom of God.” --Matthew 6:33

Once first things are first, everything else falls beautifully into place.

🌅 3. Choose Daily Detachment

Reordering love is not a one-time act but a daily rhythm.
Every day the world tugs at us: more, faster, better.
But detachment doesn’t mean not caring; it means holding things lightly.

“If anyone would come after Me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow Me.” -- Luke 9:23

Detachment says:
“I love this, Lord but I love You more.”
“I want this but not if it costs Your peace.”

It’s how saints stayed free.
St. Francis of Assisi let go of wealth and found joy.
St. Thérèse let go of pride and found peace.
Their surrender didn’t shrink their lives but it expanded them into love.

✝️ 4. Anchor Your Day in Love

If love can drift, it must also be anchored.
And our anchor is prayer.

Even five minutes of heart prayer  not just words, but quiet awareness of God’s presence starts to realign our loves.

St. Francis de Sales advised,

“Half an hour’s meditation each day is essential, except when you are busy. Then a full hour is needed.”

Prayer trains our hearts to remember Who we belong to.
It brings order to the chaos of competing loves.

🌤️ 5. Let Love Be Lived, Not Just Felt

Reordered love shows up in action; in patience with others, humility in success, generosity in scarcity.

“Little children, let us not love in word or speech but in deed and in truth.” -- 1 John 3:18

When we love rightly, our choices begin to reflect God’s priorities.
Our words soften. Our schedules shift.
Peace replaces the inner noise of divided desires.

And that’s when our heart, finally, becomes whole again.

🌹 Reflection

What is one love that has taken up too much space in your heart lately?
What would it look like to reorder it by returning it to its proper place under God’s will?

Remember: holiness isn’t about having fewer loves but it’s about having rightly ordered ones.

🙏 Prayer

Lord,
You alone are worthy of first place in my heart.
Yet my love often drifts toward many things.
Teach me to order my heart rightly —
to seek You first in all things,
to hold Your gifts with gratitude,
and to let nothing replace You on the throne of my heart.
Make my love whole again,
so that my life may reflect Your peace.

Amen.

💍 Modern Polygamy of the Heart

 “You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind.” -- Matthew 22:37 

In previous blog we read about how people in the Old Testament had many wives and hence divided affections, divided households, divided peace.

But if we’re honest, we do the same thing today… only differently.

We may not have multiple spouses,
but we often have multiple loves.

Comfort. Success. Screens. Security. Approval.
One heart, but pulled in a hundred directions.

And in the quiet, God still whispers the same truth He spoke long ago:

“You must love Me with all your heart.”

💔 When Our Hearts Have Many Loves

Polygamy in the ancient world was physical; ours is spiritual.

We say we love God; and we do
but we also love being liked,
being comfortable,
being in control.

And those loves compete.

Just as Solomon’s many wives “turned away his heart after other gods” (1 Kings 11:4), our many attachments pull us away from the simplicity of loving God first.

It’s rarely dramatic.
It’s subtle like the slow drift of a distracted soul.

We still pray, but half-heartedly.
We still serve, but check our phones.
We still say “Thy will be done,”
but secretly hope ours wins out.

🌿 God Doesn’t Want Half of You

God isn’t possessive but He doesn’t want a portion of your heart; He wants your whole self, because only then can He fill you fully.

St. Augustine once prayed,

“You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our heart is restless until it rests in You.”

Restlessness is often the sound of a heart divided.

God doesn’t shame us for it but He invites us to reorder our loves.
He knows how easily we attach to things that fade.
He gently reminds us:

“You cannot serve God and mammon.” --Matthew 6:24

Not because He’s harsh, but because He knows divided love will always leave us empty.

🌤️ The Call Back to Simplicity

Loving God with all our heart isn’t about emotion; it’s about direction.
It’s the steady turning toward Him, again and again, even when the world tugs in every direction.

It means putting prayer before scrolling.
Putting mercy before pride.
Putting obedience before convenience.

And when we fail - because we will - He doesn’t condemn. He calls us home.

Like He did with Solomon, like He did with Peter,
He reminds us that our hearts are made for undivided love.

✨ Reflection

What are the “many loves” competing for your heart?
Which of them quietly steals time, peace, or joy that belongs to God?

Sometimes the hardest idols to let go of aren’t bad things but they’re good things we’ve loved too much.

The cure is not guilt, but grace and the slow realignment of love toward its true center - Christ

🙏 Prayer

Lord,
You deserve my undivided heart,
yet I confess that I have many loves.
Things, people, habits, and comforts
that quietly sit where You should reign.
Teach me to love You above all else —
not because You demand it,
but because only in You am I whole.
Heal my divided heart
and make it one again in Your love.

Amen.