Hope you had a blessed Sunday! 🙏✝️
Time for another Catholic Meme Monday.
That’s all I have this week. Stay tuned for next week’s Catholic Meme Monday. Receive updates straight to your email inbox by subscribing to The Simple Catholic blog.
P.S. If you prefer receiving quality Catholic humor in daily doses follow me on Instagram @thesimplecatholic.
Editor’s Note: Matthew Chicoine interviewed Kate Roshak via phone call on July 7th, 2025. Some of the questions have been rearranged and edited to provide the best reader experience without losing any integrity of the answers given.
I was involved in the Libertarian memes pages in 2016. As I stayed involved with them I started creating my memes and some of them went viral.
Slowly, I zoned into Catholic memes. From the start, I wanted to name my account after my childhood pastor. He passed away in 2006. And this particular priest in college had a comic strip for the Notre Dame newspaper. He was a comedian.
After about a year of thinking about it, I took the handle Fête in Heaven.
He was just the funniest priest. He would have the whole parish rolling in laughter, but he had this balance to tell the hard truths. There was this homily he spoke out against abortion.
Fr. Fête’s first assignment was in Youngstown, Ohio. And that’s a rough part of Ohio. The fire department had to talk to father about having too many live trees in the church for Christmas as it was due to a fire hazard. He was just larger than life!
We used to gather for Christmas, and one year I walked in on the finishing touches and Father Fête asked me to get the Christmas lights to the top of this tall tree. My dad walks into the church and sees me way at the top of these tall ladders and panics. And Father Fete assured me that it was okay, but that if I was to fall it would be on the altar and not on the manager scene, since that’s where sacrifice takes place. My dad wasn’t a fan of that joke but I thought it was funny!
A lot of times the inspiration will hit when I’m at Mass, listening to the homily. Sometimes I will add a little code word in my phone. Sometimes I will have a picture that’s so funny.
On a big liturgical holiday or saint’s feast day I try to think of how I will honor this saint. Sometimes if I go a few days without making a meme I will ask the Holy Spirit to send me something.
I like making memes. I can create a meme quicker than it takes to send a text message.
I have learned that you catch more flies with honey, than vinegar. And I think that’s so true. It’s important to keep my memes sweet (although sometimes it can be a bit spicy). For example my personal taste is to point out irony when it comes to pointing out the differences between Catholic and Protestant theology. I think humor keeps the door open for the Holy Spirit to work.
As my page has slowly grown this is something I worry about. Making sure I don’t fall into heresy or create something blasphemous.
I do have some very close friends who on occasion I bounce my memes off them first. I have sent them to priests and seminarians. For the most part, I am overthinking it. I try very hard to maintain that level of responsibility with sharing the Catholic faith.
If I’m not going to Mass or going to Confession I’m not going to have much inspiration for memes. I try to hold myself accountable when I am creating this type of content.
Where I am guilty, I don’t go deep in the comments sections. I just don’t have the time. I know there are some posts that have longer threads of comments usually as it relates to the comments. I have had other conversations with other meme-lords but that’s all in the DMs and private.
One of my favorites that does very well every year is one of Sacred Heart cupcakes (One year I made cupcakes for my family) and they were very DIY.
I also made one because it’s local to me. I saw a photo of a church dedication, the priest and seminarian looking into the sun, and found it on a diocesan website. The caption was about as they were watching parents wrestle their toddler in the car seat their vocation was reaffirmed.
I don’t know if it’s a grace God has given me but I have been able to take a step back and walk in the other direction. If somebody can’t see the grace in using humor to share the Gospel it’s probably not inspired by the Holy Spirit.
I have done a good job of tuning out the haters.
That’s a good question, he would probably laugh at some of the parish council Susan memes. I’m thinking of Fr. David Michael Moses (he did a video about going out the window to hide from “Susan”.
About Kate:
Kate Roshak grew up in N. Canton, Ohio and is the oldest of 10 children. After college, she broke up with Ohio winters and moved south. Kate currently resides in Memphis, TN with her two daughters. She stays busy working and balancing “mom life” but she also runs and loves staying active. Currently Kate is in her “Soccer Mom Era” and loving every minute of it!
Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck
As we gather here today, surrounded by the gentle presence of our Lord Jesus, I invite you to settle your hearts and simply listen; not just with your ears, but with the quiet spaces inside you where God loves to whisper. Today we reflect on a Gospel that feels almost like a scene from our own lives: Luke 10:38–42, the story of Martha and Mary.
Picture it. Jesus comes to visit Martha, Mary, and Lazarus in their home near Jerusalem; a home filled with love, laughter, and, on this day, a little bit of tension. Martha is hustling, doing all the things a good host does: cooking, cleaning, making sure everything is just right for their honored guest. Meanwhile, Mary sits at the feet of Jesus, soaking in every word. And Martha, overwhelmed and maybe feeling a little alone in her service, finally speaks up: “Lord, do you not care that my sister has left me to do all the work by myself? Tell her to help me.”
If you’re anything like me, you’ve felt like Martha before. Maybe more often than you’d like to admit. There’s always something that needs doing: at home, at work, in our families, even in our parishes. The world demands so much from us. But Jesus, with a gentleness that cuts right through the noise, answers: “Martha, Martha, you are anxious and worried about many things, but there is only one thing that matters. Mary has chosen the better part, and it will not be taken from her.”
This isn’t Jesus scolding Martha, or telling us to stop working, or to ignore our responsibilities. Far from it. Jesus is inviting Martha – inviting all of us – to step out of our anxious busyness and into the peace of his presence. He’s saying, “Let me be your center. Let me be your peace. Come, sit with me; let your heart rest in me.”
St. Ignatius of Antioch wrote about two “coinages”: one of God, one of the world; each stamped with a different image, a different set of priorities. The question for us is simple, but not easy: When we look at our own lives, which coin do we spend? Which side do we show the world? Is our life marked by frantic activity, or by a deep trust that God’s love is enough?
The truth is, we are called to be both Martha and Mary. We are called to serve, to work, to love our families and our neighbors. But before all that, we are called to be with Jesus. To listen. To pray. To let ourselves be loved by God so that everything we do flows from that love. Because when we put God first, when we let the Holy Spirit fill our hearts, our work becomes more than just busyness; it becomes worship.
And why do we place God first? Because of what Jesus has done for us in the Paschal Mystery: his suffering, death, and resurrection. Through his sacrifice, he opened the way for us to be reconciled with our Father, to receive forgiveness, and to share in the very life of God. Every time we sit at Jesus’ feet in prayer, every time we choose love over anxiety, we are living out the gift of new life he won for us. It’s not just our own strength that lets us choose the better part – it’s Christ living in us, through the Holy Spirit, because of the cross and the empty tomb.
How do we do this? We start by asking the Holy Spirit for help. We ask for the grace to put God first, to let him shape our priorities, our days, our hearts. And when we stumble – and we all do – we remember that God’s mercy is endless. There’s always a place for us at Jesus’ feet.
Every day is a new chance to choose “the better part.” It might be as simple as a moment of silence before the day begins. A whispered prayer in the car. A few verses of Scripture before bed. Or, if you’re overwhelmed, maybe just a deep breath and a simple, “Jesus, I need you.” Every act of turning toward Jesus, no matter how small, draws us closer to the heart of God.
And here’s the real miracle: When we let ourselves rest in Jesus, we find that we are not alone in our work. He works with us. He gives us the strength to serve, to love, to carry the burdens of life with a peace the world can’t give. And he invites us to share that peace with everyone we meet.
So today, as we go out into the world, let’s remember Jesus’ invitation: “I love you, my son. I love you, my daughter. Come, be by my side. Let our hearts become one.” Let’s choose the better part. Let’s place our trust in God, and let his love flow from us: in our work, in our families, in every act of kindness and service.
May we be a people marked not by anxiety, but by love. Not by busyness, but by presence. And may we always remember: Jesus is with us, now and always, loving us into the fullness of life.
Amen.
Blessed Carlo Acutis once said, “Not me, but God.” His words echo deeply in my own spiritual life. This blog is not about me, but about the work of the Holy Spirit. I choose to remain anonymous because the voice behind these reflections isn’t what matters — the One speaking through them is.
I am a lifelong Catholic with a deep love for Scripture, the sacraments, and the quiet ways God speaks through everyday life. Live the Eucharist was born from my desire to share how the Gospel and the Eucharist shape not just my Sundays, but every step of the journey.
My hope is that these reflections bless you, challenge you, and draw you closer to Jesus — truly present in the Eucharist and profoundly present in your daily life.
Hope you had a blessed Sunday! 🙏✝️
Time for another Catholic Meme Monday.
That’s all I have this week. Stay tuned for next week’s Catholic Meme Monday. Receive updates straight to your email inbox by subscribing to The Simple Catholic blog.
P.S. If you prefer receiving quality Catholic humor in daily doses follow me on Instagram @thesimplecatholic.
Welcome to another The Simple Catholic Sunday Funnies! Growing up, one of my favorite parts of Sunday was flipping to the comics section of the newspaper: a little pocket of humor, color, and light-heartedness to start the week.
Now, in that same spirit, I’m excited to share this weekly collection of wholesome, funny Catholic comic strips. Thanks to the incredible talents of artists like Father Alvaro Comics, The Catholic Cartoonist, Sam Estrada, Tomics, and Fr. Michael DeBlanc. These comics bring a joyful twist to our shared faith, reminding us that laughter is one of God’s great gifts.
Enjoy Catholic comics!
Summer Note: With many of our amazing comic artists taking some well-deserved vacation time with their families, you may notice a lighter batch of comics some weeks. Thanks for understanding!
You can follow Fr. Michael on Instagram: @patermichaeldeblanc and on Facebook Fr. Michael DeBlanc).
Follow The Catholic Cartoonist on Instagram.
Follow Father Alvaro Comics on Instagram
Find more of Sam’s work at prostrada.com!
I hope this week’s edition of The Simple Catholic Sunday Funnies brought a smile to your face and a bit of lightness to your Sunday. In a world that can often feel heavy, it’s good to pause, laugh, and see our faith reflected in simple moments of joy.
Be sure to check back next week for more Catholic humor — and as always, feel free to share with a friend who could use a laugh and a little grace.
Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck
Today, as we gather in prayer and quiet reflection, I invite you to listen; not just with your ears, but with your hearts—to the words of Jesus, spoken gently to each one of us: “My son, my daughter, I love you so very much and am always with you. Come and be by my side, and together our hearts shall be one; one with our Father in heaven and united with the Holy Spirit.”
These aren’t just words for comfort. They’re an invitation. An invitation to relationship, to unity, and to a love that doesn’t just fill us up, but spills out into the world around us. And nowhere does Jesus make that more practical, more concrete, than in the parable we hear today: the Parable of the Good Samaritan.
In Luke’s Gospel, a scholar asks Jesus what must be done to inherit eternal life. As He often does, Jesus answers with another question: “What is written in the law?” The scholar recites the great Commandments: “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” Jesus commends him, but the scholar, wanting to justify himself, presses further: “And who is my neighbor?”
That’s the question that cracks everything open. Not “What should I do?” but “Who counts? Where do I draw the line?” It’s a question that tries to limit love, to keep it manageable. But Jesus won’t let us off that easily. He tells a story that blows up all our categories.
You know how it goes: a man is beaten, robbed, and left for dead. Two respected religious men; a priest and a Levite – pass by. They see the man, but for whatever reason: fear, ritual purity, inconvenience – they cross to the other side. Then comes a Samaritan: a stranger, even an enemy in the eyes of Jesus’ audience. And he’s the one moved by compassion. He stops, tends the man’s wounds, carries him to safety, and pays for his care. Not just the bare minimum, but more than anyone could expect.
What’s striking here isn’t just who helps, but how he helps. The Samaritan doesn’t ask if the man is worthy, or if he’s the right kind of person. He sees need, and his heart responds. Mercy, not calculation. Compassion, not qualifications. In this, Jesus shows us what it means to truly love our neighbor: to cross boundaries, to take risks, to put love into action.
And so, Jesus flips the scholar’s question around. It’s not “Who is my neighbor?” but “How can I be a neighbor?” The difference is everything. We’re not called to pick and choose who is deserving. We’re called to become people whose hearts are shaped by mercy, whose lives overflow with the love we ourselves have received from God.
But let’s be honest: this isn’t always easy. It’s one thing to know the words: “Love your neighbor as yourself”; and another thing entirely to live them, especially when loving means inconvenience, sacrifice, or stepping outside our comfort zones. The scholar in the Gospel had the right answer in his mind, but it hadn’t yet made its way to his heart, or from his heart to his hands.
That’s where grace comes in. The love the Father pours into our hearts through Jesus and the Holy Spirit isn’t meant to stay locked up inside. It’s meant to flow outward. And this love is made visible in the Paschal Mystery. Through the passion, death, and resurrection of Jesus, God shows us the deepest mercy; a mercy that reaches us even in our brokenness and lifts us up to new life. In the cross and the empty tomb, we see the true cost and the true power of compassion. Jesus did not pass us by in our suffering; He became our neighbor, carrying our wounds, healing us, and opening the way to eternal life.
When we ask God to help us love as He loves, His Spirit begins to change us. He softens our hearts, opens our eyes, and gives us the courage to act. Through prayer, the Sacraments – especially the Eucharist, where we encounter the living Christ who gave Himself for us: through acts of charity and forgiveness, we are drawn closer to Jesus. And as we draw near to Him, we begin to see Him in every person we meet.
When that happens, living the new covenant isn’t just about reciting commandments. It’s about letting God’s love move us from the inside out: so much so that it becomes natural to serve, to forgive, to show mercy, to be a neighbor to anyone in need.
This is how the Kingdom of God grows: not by drawing lines, but by building bridges. Not by asking “who counts?” but by counting everyone in. Every act of mercy, every step towards another in love, builds up the Body of Christ.
So let’s return to those words of Jesus: “I love you, my son, my daughter, and am always with you.” Let them sink in. Let them change you. And then, go out: overflowing with that love; to give praise, thanksgiving, and glory to our Father in heaven, and to love those around you as He loves you.
Amen.
Blessed Carlo Acutis once said, “Not me, but God.” His words echo deeply in my own spiritual life. This blog is not about me, but about the work of the Holy Spirit. I choose to remain anonymous because the voice behind these reflections isn’t what matters — the One speaking through them is.
I am a lifelong Catholic with a deep love for Scripture, the sacraments, and the quiet ways God speaks through everyday life. Live the Eucharist was born from my desire to share how the Gospel and the Eucharist shape not just my Sundays, but every step of the journey.
My hope is that these reflections bless you, challenge you, and draw you closer to Jesus — truly present in the Eucharist and profoundly present in your daily life.
There’s something about the rhythm of a day that either drags us down or draws us closer to heaven.
You know what I mean. Morning rush, midday crash, evening blur, and late-night scrolling. Then we wake up and do it all again. It’s easy to get caught up in the noise, in the cycle, in the relentless pace of “just getting through the day.”
But what if our day—yes, the messy, ordinary Tuesday with lukewarm coffee and school drop-offs—could become prayer?
That’s the invitation of the Liturgy of the Hours, also known as the Divine Office. It’s not just for monks in cloisters or clergy in Roman collars. It’s for us: lay people, parents, teachers, students, and that one guy at your parish who somehow always sings the wrong verse. And it’s the Church’s way of sanctifying time itself.
The Liturgy of the Hours is the daily prayer of the Church. It’s meant to consecrate the entire day to God. While the Mass is the “source and summit” of our spiritual lives, the Divine Office flows around it like a river of praise, scripture, and reflection. It baptizes each hour of the day in prayer.
Rooted in ancient Jewish tradition and lived by Jesus Himself, the Liturgy of the Hours is built primarily around the Psalms—those raw, poetic cries of the human heart. Whether it’s “The Lord is my shepherd” or “Out of the depths I cry to You,” the Psalms become a bridge between our lived experiences and God’s eternal Word.
Fr. Timothy Gallagher puts it beautifully: “Jesus not only prayed the psalms: He fulfilled them.” When we pray the Liturgy of the Hours, we don’t just imitate Christ; we enter into His own prayer to the Father.
The Divine Office isn’t private prayer in the strict sense. It’s a liturgical prayer. That means it’s public, communal, and offered with Christ to the Father through His Body, the Church.
The Catechism describes it as a “dialogue between God and His people.” Sometimes that dialogue feels grand and glorious. Other times, it feels like groaning in hope. Either way, when you open your breviary or app, you’re joining a chorus that spans continents, languages, and centuries.
As St. Pope John Paul II said in 1979:
“Through this prayer of Christ to which we give voice, our day is sanctified, our activities transformed, our actions made holy… We pray the same Psalms that Jesus prayed and come into personal contact with him.”
That’s not just poetic. It’s powerful.
The Liturgy of the Hours follows the natural rhythm of the day and is made up of five main “hours” of prayer:
Each Hour includes:
At the heart of it all are the Psalms, those ancient prayers that become surprisingly personal the more we pray them.
While bishops, priests, and religious are obliged to pray the Divine Office daily, the Church invites all the faithful to take part. Vatican II encouraged the laity to pray the Hours either with clergy, in small groups, or individually.
It doesn’t have to be the whole thing. You could begin with Night Prayer before bed, or try Morning Prayer with your spouse or kids. Apps like iBreviary, Divine Office, or Universalis make it easy to access the prayers on your phone. Perfect for the carpool line or a quiet moment during your break.
Even just one psalm a day is a step toward that unceasing conversation with God.
Here’s the beauty. The Liturgy of the Hours doesn’t remove us from daily life—it transfigures it.
That 10-minute Evening Prayer on the couch with the dog snoring and your toddler dumping Cheerios on the floor? That’s holy. That’s liturgical. And that’s you offering your tired, faithful love to God, just like the monks and martyrs and mystics did.
As you pray, you join in Christ’s own praise of the Father. You unite with the Church universal. You lift up the world, hour by hour, into the hands of God.
And over time, the psalms get into your bones. They come back to you when you’re anxious, joyful, weary, or unsure. They become the soundtrack of your soul.
In a world that confuses distraction for peace and noise for meaning, the Liturgy of the Hours is an antidote to religious indifference.
It reminds us: time is sacred. Words matter. Worship isn’t reserved for Sunday. It’s meant to shape every hour.
As St. Ambrose once said, “the Psalms soothe the temper, lighten sorrow, offer security at night, and stir up holiness by day”.
And as John Paul II said with fatherly clarity:
“Christ’s prayer goes on in the world… With the Liturgy of the Hours among the highest priorities of our day—each day—we can be sure that nothing will separate us from the love of God.”
So maybe it’s time to dust off that breviary. Or download the app. Or just start with the Benedictus tomorrow morning.
Either way, take a moment. Breathe. Pray.
Because God doesn’t just want your Sunday. He wants your whole day.