Wednesday of the Twenty-second Week in Ordinary Time

We often think of our lives as a series of projects, a collection of tasks to be completed, or a building to be constructed. We pour our energy into the plans, we lay the foundation, and we watch with anticipation as the walls go up, hoping that the structure will be sturdy, beautiful, and lasting. In our first reading today, Saint Paul speaks to the Corinthians about this very thing. He uses the image of a field and a building. He says, 'I planted, Apollos watered, but God caused the growth.' He reminds us that while we may be co-workers in the vineyard of the Lord, the ultimate reality—the growth, the life, the meaning—belongs to God alone.

Think of the work of a gardener. A gardener can till the soil, can pull the weeds, can provide the water and the sunlight, but the gardener cannot force the seed to sprout. There is a mystery in the growth. There is a moment when the life within the seed responds to the life of the Creator, and something new, something vibrant, something that was not there before, begins to reach toward the sky. That growth is a gift. It is a sign of God’s constant, creative, and sustaining love.

Benjamin Vo was a boy who understood that life is a gift to be cultivated with joy and curiosity. He was a boy who looked at the world with the eyes of an explorer. Whether he was diving into the intricate logic of a computer program, gazing up at the sky to track the path of a Boeing 737, or sharing a warm, quiet meal with his family, Ben lived with a heart that was always reaching for something more. He was a boy who loved the 'architecture' of things—the way a game was coded, the way an airplane flew, the way a family bond was built. He had a brilliant, analytical mind, yes, but it was his gentle, sweet spirit that truly defined him. He was a 'photocopy' of his father’s kindness, a young man who knew that the most important things in life are not the things we build for ourselves, but the love we share with those around us.

It has been two months since Benjamin went home to the Banquet of Heaven. Two months is a time when the world often expects us to have 'moved on,' but those who have loved and lost know that grief is not a project to be finished. It is a landscape we walk through, and sometimes, the terrain is steep. You, Alan, Thao, and Ryan, are walking that terrain. You are living in the quiet of a house that feels different, in the silence where a bright, inquisitive voice used to be. You are feeling the weight of that empty chair, the ache that arrives in the morning light, and the questions that no human logic can fully answer.

But look at the Gospel today. Jesus enters the house of Simon. He finds a home in distress. He finds a family dealing with a fever, a sickness, a disruption that has brought everything to a standstill. And what does Jesus do? He does not offer a lecture. He does not offer a list of reasons. He stands over the one who is suffering, He rebukes the fever, and He restores the peace of the home. And what is the very first thing that happens? 'She got up immediately and waited on them.'

There is a profound, holy mystery in that response. Service is the language of love. Even in the midst of her own healing, she returns to the work of love, to the simple, beautiful act of caring for those around her. This is the heart of the Christian life. We are called to be 'God’s building,' and the mortar that holds that building together is the love we pour into one another, even when our own hearts are heavy.

To you, Alan and Thao, I know the weight you carry. I know the nights when the memory of Ben’s smile, his giggle, or his quiet presence feels like a fire in your bones. You have done so much to build a life of love for your boys. You have traveled the world, you have shared the beauty of the faith, you have taught them what it means to be curious and kind. You have been the ones who planted and watered. And now, you are being asked to trust that God is the one who causes the growth. You are being asked to trust that the life of your son, while brief in our eyes, has blossomed into something eternal in the eyes of the Lord.

And to you, Ryan: you are the keeper of the memories. You know the way Ben looked when he was excited about a new project. You know the sound of his laughter. You are the one who carries his legacy forward in your own life. Do not be afraid to be happy. Do not be afraid to pursue your own dreams with the same intensity and the same kindness that Ben showed to the world. When you are kind to others, when you work hard, when you love your parents, you are letting Ben’s light shine through you. You are not alone. Your brother is cheering for you from the very heart of the Father.

There is a beautiful, quiet sign of this love in the world today. In a village in Cà Mau, there is a well. It is a 'Well of Love,' drilled in Ben’s name, bringing clean, life-sustaining water to those who were thirsty. It is a sign that Ben’s life is not a closed book. It is a fountain. His love is still at work, still flowing, still bringing life to the least of these. Every drop of water that is drawn from that well is a testament to the fact that his spirit, his kindness, and his gentle heart are still touching the world in ways we cannot fully see, but which God knows and treasures.

If you are carrying a heavy cross today—if you are a parent who has lost a child, a brother who misses his best friend, or a stranger who feels the weight of the world’s silence—know that you are not forgotten. The Lord looks down from His fixed throne. He beholds all who dwell on the earth. He fashioned your heart, and He knows every work you have done, every tear you have shed, and every silent prayer you have offered. He is the help and the shield of our souls.

Do not try to carry this weight by your own strength. You are not the architect of the universe; you are the field, and you are the building. Let God be the One who sustains you. When the morning feels too dark, when the silence feels too loud, simply breathe. Say the name of Jesus. Remember that He is the One who stood over the fever and brought peace. He is the One who stands over your life today, offering you the same grace.

We cannot go back and change the past, and we cannot leap forward into a future where the pain is gone. We can only live in this moment, in this day, with the love that we have been given. So, here is what I want you to carry out the door today: one small, concrete act of love. It doesn't have to be grand. It could be a kind word to a neighbor, a moment of patience with a friend, or simply a prayer of thanksgiving for the gift of Ben’s life. Do one thing that makes the world a little brighter, a little more like the home that Ben is currently enjoying in the presence of God.

Ben is not far from you. He is in the light. He is whole, he is brilliant, and he is waiting for you with that wide, radiant smile. He is home, and he is watching over his 'perfect four,' knowing that the love you shared is the only thing that truly lasts. May the Lord, who causes the growth, tend to the fields of your hearts today. May He bring peace to your home, strength to your journey, and the quiet, certain hope that one day, all of us will be gathered together at the Banquet of Heaven, where every tear will be wiped away and every longing will be satisfied in Him.

Amen.