St. Therese of Lisieux made a point of going the extra mile in kindness towards those people who really got under her skin. It was part of her own brand of Everyday Stewardship — thanking God for all His creation, even the parts with which, in her own humanness, she struggled to cope.

Woe to the shepherds who mislead and scatter the flock! When you hear these strong words from the Old Testament, you’re probably thinking, thank goodness I don’t have any sheep — dodged that bullet. Nobody misled here! No flock scattered on my watch! However, we are all shepherds of a kind, called to tend our own sheep: our families, our parishes, our communities.

In my experience, there are two kinds of people: the folks who kick off their shoes the second they walk through the door, and the ones who don’t.

Prophet. There’s a heaviness to this word. It’s weighted down with meaning. We think of prophets and we think of Charlton Heston with wild hair and a booming voice, reaching out his hand to work wonders of nature by the grace of God. We think of prophets and we think of ancient Biblical history someone far away, someone so removed from our everyday life. A prophet is someone who knows something we don’t.

Look to today’s Gospel and you’ll find one of the most arresting images in all of Scripture. Christ in a crowd, everyone clamoring for his attention, pressing against him. Several feet away, is a chronically ill woman, weak and desperate for help. She knows she doesn’t have a chance of getting his attention. She has no connections. She has no strength. All she can do is lift up her hand.

Fatherhood has its origins in God, who chose to reveal Himself to us as Our Father, sending his only Son for the sake of our salvation. Fathers therefore have a special role “in revealing and in reliving on earth the very fatherhood of God”. Indeed, the role of the father “is of unique and irreplaceable importance”. Although society increasingly tells fathers that they have no say in the lives of their children before birth and fails to recognize the dynamic and critically important role of fatherhood, it is both a biological and spiritual reality. Pope Saint John Paul II said fathers are called to exhibit “generous responsibility for the life conceived under the heart of the mother”. They are uniquely entrusted with the protection and defense of both mother and child and, in this way, in safeguarding the sanctity of human life.

"Tony, Tony, come around! Something is lost and it must be found.”

Did you learn this one when you were a kid? In my experience there are even a lot of lapsed Catholics — or people who were never Catholic at all — who know that when you lose something, St. Anthony becomes your best friend. Missing keys? Pray to St. Anthony. Can’t find your favorite sweater? St. Anthony. Forget where you parked your car in the mall lot? St. Anth— okay, you get the idea. Whatever it is, large or small, important or trivial, Tony has a reputation for finding the lost things.

We all know that person, don’t we? Hey, maybe we’ve even been that person.

“I have a great relationship with God, but I don’t go to church regularly. God and I are on good terms. I can talk to Him just fine on my own.”

An acquaintance who works in church ministry once told me a story about one of the students she had in Faith Formation. This student informed my friend that his family doesn’t come to Mass in summer. “God takes a break in summer, and so do we,” he said.

There’s a lot to unpack here. First, it’s tragic to think of anyone voluntarily missing out on the Eucharist for so long. It’s also a real problem in the church today that a lot of our folks don’t understand the beauty of the Sunday obligation. But if I had to dissect this situation and pinpoint the thing I find most troubling, it’s the idea of God taking a break.

Those of us in ministry love this saying: God doesn’t call the equipped. He equips the called.

We all know that sort of queasy feeling we get in the pit of our stomachs when it becomes clear what we’re supposed to do, in any situation. It’s that feeling of: Oh, no. Not me. Not now. I can’t.

We’ve all got our list of reasons why not, don’t we? We do it for everything, from big life problems to small everyday choices. I’m not going to invite my neighbor to church because I don’t want to come across as pushy. I’m not going to make amends with my cousin because she’ll just walk all over me again. I’m not going to say a Rosary tonight because I’m tired and it’ll just stress me out.

Where do you get the best night’s sleep? For me, it’s in my own bed. I don’t even really know why. There’s something about the texture of the sheets, the groove I’ve worn in the pillow. The mattress seems to recognize my shape. I’ve got a job that sees me traveling often and I’ve stayed in plenty of nice places. But there’s just no sleep like the sleep you get at home.

Love one another. The greatest commandment, the simplest commandment - and if you’ve ever loved anyone, you know it’s also the hardest.

“That’s a really beautiful tree branch. Man, would you look at the bark on that thing? The others are real duds, but that low-hanging branch has really got it all together.”

I’ve never heard anyone say this. Maybe I just need to hang out with more arborists, but I can’t recall ever hearing someone admire the particular beauty of a single branch. When someone comments on a tree, it’s usually the whole tree - perhaps a visual element of it, like the color of the leaves or its height. But people don’t usually zero in on one branch.