As a first-time pastor in a parish, I received a phone call one afternoon from a young married couple, “Father, our 2-year-old son drowned in our pool this morning. We are at the hospital. Please help us.” I sped over. The little boy was gone, his body cold, slightly blue, laid out on a bed. His parents were distraught and in shock. For the next few years, I walked with the couple along their difficult and painful road. They openly shared with me how they were often tempted to blame and accuse each other for the loss. And yet, by God’s grace, their love for each grew stronger and deeper as the years went by.

The Blessed Virgin teaches us the secret to being blessed, happy, and full of joy. When Elizabeth, her cousin, greets her, she calls Mary “blessed” for two reasons, her motherhood of Jesus, and Our Lady’s belief that “there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord” (Luke 1:45). Mary is “blessed” entirely because of her relationship to the Incarnation of God in Jesus, and for no other. This of course makes perfect sense, because as the Lord, as God-in-the-flesh, her son is the source of all blessedness, life, and joy. Mary is blessed because of her contact with Jesus, and by her faith in him.

On a bright Spring morning, a passerby once saw St. Francis of Assisi hoeing a row of beans and asked him, “What would you be doing right now if you knew this was the last day of your earthly life?” The Saint responded, “I’d keep hoeing this row of beans.” Preparing for this world to end — whether by our death or by Jesus’ glorious coming — invites us to live not in the past or the present, but deeply in the present moment.

In the year 1995, in the seventeenth year of my life, when Fife Symington was governor of Arizona, Bill Clinton was president of the United States, Chuck Keiffer was pastor of St. Theresa parish in Phoenix, Arizona, and Ron and Mary were my parents, the word of God came to my youth minister Eric and through him I started to see the salvation of God. Soon, Christ came into my life never to leave. I’m thankful beyond words.

When I was a young priest, about one year after ordination, I was called to the hospital to anoint a dying mother of three young children. She had a painful, terminal cancer. After celebrating Last Rites with her, I said, “Don’t be afraid.” She looked me square in the eye from her hospital bed and said, “Oh Father, I am in a lot of pain, but I am not afraid. Something wonderful is about to happen.” A few days later she died.