Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck

A reflection on the Gospel of Matthew 22:1-14

There once lived a poor couple named Joseph and Anna. Their clothes were worn, their table was simple, and their hands were rough from years of work. Yet every morning they thanked the Father for another day. They spoke to Jesus as a trusted friend, asked the Holy Spirit for guidance, and shared whatever little they possessed.

One day, an invitation arrived from the king: “Come to the wedding feast of my son.”

They were filled with joy—until they looked at their clothing. Joseph’s coat was patched, and Anna’s only dress had faded. “We are not worthy to enter the king’s house,” Anna whispered.

Still, they decided to go. “Perhaps,” Joseph said, “the king wants our presence more than our appearance.”

At the palace entrance, they saw guests dressed in silk and jewels. Embarrassed, the couple began to turn away. Then the king’s son came toward them. His hands and feet bore wounds, yet his face radiated joy.

“Why are you leaving?” he asked.

Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck

Last weekend, my wife Anne and I were joined by our three children: our son Stephen and our daughters Katie and Mary; who all flew in from out of state to help my mother move into my sister’s home. She is suffering from ALS. Together, we fed her, listened to her stories, helped her settle in, and reminded her that we love her and that she is not alone.

There was nothing dramatic about most of what we did. We unpacked boxes, prepared food, listened to familiar stories, and offered a steady hand when her own strength was failing. Yet those ordinary gestures became holy. Through our words and actions, we practiced the fruits of the Holy Spirit. We made the love of Jesus tangible.

This experience helped me hear today’s Scriptures differently.

Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck

Dear Brothers and sisters,

Perhaps we know someone like Thomas—or perhaps part of his story is our own.

Thomas had made choices that hurt those he loved and carried him away from God. Though he continued with daily life, his heart felt empty. He wondered whether God could still want him.

Then a friend noticed his pain. Instead of judging him, the friend listened, helped him, and prayed for him. This kindness gave Thomas hope. He began to pray again: “Jesus, if you are still there, help me.”

In time, Thomas returned to Mass and made his first confession in many years. As he heard the words of absolution, a heavy burden began to lift. In the Eucharist, he met Jesus not as a distant figure, but as a living and merciful friend.

His life did not become perfect overnight. Yet through kindness, prayer, and the sacraments, his wounded spirit began to heal. Thomas discovered that Jesus knew everything about him and still loved him. By God’s grace, his spirit was alive again.

Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck

Reflection on the Sunday 25^th Week in Ordinary Time Readings

When I was a young boy, my grandfather told me that Jesus was his best and faithful friend. I did not understand. How could someone we cannot see become our closest friend? Still, his words remained with me.

As I grew older and turned to Jesus in prayer, I began to understand. I discovered that Jesus was also my faithful friend. Whenever I called upon Him, He reminded me that I was not alone. His presence quieted my mind and brought peace to my heart. The more I received His love, the more I wanted to share it.  To me, the presence of Jesus is a grace from God—a gift I hadn’t earned, but one that met me exactly where I was.

Years later, my grandfather was nearing the end of his life. I visited him in hospice and, sensing this might be our last time together, called my brother to come and be with us. We sat beside his bed, sharing memories, telling stories, and laughing. Although our grandfather could no longer speak as he once had, we knew he was listening. In our hearts, we could almost hear him laughing with us. 

Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck

Reflection on the Gospel of Matthew 18:21-35

Dear Brothers and sisters in Christ,

A man once decided to volunteer at a hospital. His work was simple: he visited patients who had no family or friends coming to see them. On his first day, he entered one room after another, sitting beside people he had only just met. He listened to their stories, held trembling hands, prayed with those who welcomed prayer, and offered encouragement to those who felt forgotten.

He spent the entire day with strangers. Yet by evening, they were no longer strangers. Their gratitude—the relieved smile, the quiet “thank you,” the light returning to a lonely face—was more than enough to bring him back the next day, and the next.

Whenever he left a room, he tried to leave something of Jesus behind: the light and love of Christ flowing from his heart into the heart of the person he had visited. He would offer a smile and a word of hope. Then he would say, “I love you as Jesus loves you.”