Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck

A reflection on the Gospel of Matthew 16:13-20

Dear Friends in Christ,

There’s a story about a woman named Maria who lived in a small town in Italy. Every morning, Maria would visit her elderly neighbor, Signora Rossi, bringing fresh bread and a warm smile. She didn’t have much—her own family struggled—but she always found a way to share what little she had. One day, a new family moved in next door. They barely spoke Italian and looked lost. Maria, with barely enough for herself, welcomed them, sharing food, kindness, and even helping the children learn the language. Over time, the new family found their footing. Years later, Signora Rossi passed away, and the new neighbors, now fluent and settled, became the ones who welcomed others in need. Because of Maria’s simple acts, a whole neighborhood became more welcoming. Her kindness was contagious—it changed lives.

The Question that Matters Most

Today’s Gospel, set in Caesarea Philippi, is one of those moments that echoes through the centuries. Jesus asks his disciples, “Who do you say that I am?” Simon Peter, moved not by rumor or gossip, but by the revelation of the Father, answers: “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God.” With this confession, Jesus gives Peter the keys to the kingdom of heaven—an unimaginable trust and responsibility. “Whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven; and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven.”

What does it mean to be given the keys to the kingdom? Is it a power reserved only for Peter, or is it something that touches all of us? The answer is both. Peter’s unique role as the rock upon which Jesus builds His Church is foundational. But in a mystical, spiritual sense, every one of us receives a key—a way to open doors for others, to help them draw closer to Christ.

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Guest Post by: David Tonaszuck

A reflection on the Gospel of Matthew 15:21-28

Dear Friends in Christ,

There’s a story of a young father named Michael who, late one night, drove through a red light. He was tired, distracted, and simply didn’t see it. A police officer pulled him over and, seeing Michael’s anxiety and the sleeping baby in the backseat, asked what was wrong. Michael, exhausted and ashamed, confessed he’d lost his job that week, and was taking his feverish daughter to the hospital. He expected a ticket, maybe even harsh words. Instead, the officer paused, then quietly said, “I’ve been there. Let’s get you to the hospital safely.” He gave no ticket. He gave Michael mercy. That moment, Michael later said, felt like God’s love breaking into his darkest hour—unexpected, undeserved, but exactly what he needed.

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