Memorial of Saint Gregory the Great, Pope and Doctor of the Church

There is a particular kind of silence that settles over a boat when the day is done. The fishermen have been out all night. They have cast their nets into the dark, churning water of the Gennesaret, over and over again, until their arms ached and their hands were raw. They have pulled up nothing but empty mesh and the weight of their own exhaustion. And then, there is the washing of the nets. It is a rhythmic, weary work. You stand there in the shallows, the water lapping at your feet, and you scrub the salt and the silt from the twine, preparing for a tomorrow that feels exactly like today. It is the work of people who have tried their best, and who have come up short.

Have you ever been there? Not necessarily on a boat, but in that place in your own life where you have given everything you have to a task, a hope, or a prayer, and the result is silence? You have worked the night shift of your own heart, pouring out your love, your attention, your plans, and your prayers, only to find the nets empty in the morning. It is a heavy place to stand. It is a place where we are tempted to believe that our labor was in vain, or that we were foolish to hope for a catch in the first place.

In our first reading today, Saint Paul speaks to this exact vulnerability. He warns the Corinthians, 'Let no one deceive himself. If anyone among you considers himself wise in this age, let him become a fool, so as to become wise.' This is the great reversal of the Kingdom of God. The world tells us that wisdom is found in control, in calculating the odds, in ensuring that we never waste our time or our resources on something that isn't guaranteed to succeed. But God? God catches the wise in their own ruses. God invites us into a different kind of logic—a logic of surrender.

Think of Simon Peter. He is a professional. He knows the lake. He knows that when the fish aren't biting, they aren't biting. And yet, when this carpenter from Nazareth tells him to go back out into the deep water, he does something that looks like foolishness to the world. He says, 'Master, we have worked hard all night and have caught nothing, but at your command I will lower the nets.'

'At your command.'

That is the hinge upon which the whole of the Christian life turns. It is not about the catch. It is not about the result. It is about the obedience of love. It is about the willingness to go back out into the deep, even when we are exhausted, simply because the Master asked us to.

Benjamin Vo knew something of this deep, quiet obedience. He was a boy who lived with a profound sense of wonder, a boy who looked at the world—the vast, complex, beautiful world of aviation, of technology, of family travel—not as a puzzle to be solved for his own gain, but as a gift to be explored with joy. I think of the way he would talk about his dream of 'con chim airlines.' He would giggle, he would smile, and he would let his imagination take flight. He wasn't trying to calculate the profit of his dreams; he was simply living in the delight of them. He was a young man who understood that life is not a series of tasks to be completed, but a series of invitations to be accepted.

There is a beautiful, piercing honesty in the way Benjamin lived. He didn't hold back his heart. Remember the offer of his piggy bank for his uncle? It wasn't about the money. It wasn't about the transaction. It was about the impulse of a heart that wanted to give everything it had to someone in need. That is the wisdom of the fool that Saint Paul describes. The world would say, 'Keep your savings, Ben. You might need them. Don't be reckless.' But Ben’s heart knew the truth: that everything belongs to us—Paul, Apollos, Cephas, the world, life, death, the present, the future—because we belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God.

To you, Alan and Thao, I know that the nets feel empty today. I know the ache of the morning when the 'work' of being a parent to such a brilliant, gentle boy continues in the silence of his absence. You feel that the boat is empty. But I want you to look closely at the Gospel. The miracle of the catch was so great that it threatened to sink the boats. It was a blessing so abundant that it required help to contain it.

Your love for Benjamin is that kind of blessing. It is not a burden; it is an abundance. It is a love that has expanded your hearts to the size of the Kingdom. When you feel the weight of his absence, remember that you are not just missing a boy; you are carrying the weight of a love that is eternal. That love is the net that God has cast into the deep for you. It is holding you, even when you cannot feel the bottom.

And to you, Ryan: you are the keeper of the shared stories. You know the way Ben looked when he was ready for an adventure, the way he laughed when he was dreaming of his airline, the way he sat beside you in the quiet of the church. You are the one who knows that the laughter doesn't die. It echoes in the heart of God. Keep being that curious, kind boy. Keep exploring. When you reach for your own dreams, know that your big brother is cheering you on, pushing you toward the deep water, and promising you that the catch is coming.

We are all, in some way, standing on the shore, washing our nets. We are all feeling the fatigue of a world that asks us to be wise, to be careful, to be self-sufficient. But the Lord is calling us to be fools for His sake. He is calling us to go back out into the deep. He is calling us to trust Him with our emptiness, to trust Him with our grief, and to trust Him with our joy.

There is a deep, holy peace in knowing that we do not have to be in control. We do not have to know why the nets are empty today. We only have to know that the One who sits in the boat with us is the Lord of the sea, the Lord of the sky, and the Lord of every life.

Benjamin is not in the 'empty' place. He is in the deep water of God’s own heart. He is where the catch is always full, where the light is always bright, and where the giggles are never silenced. He is safe in the arms of the One who said, 'Do not be afraid; from now on you will be catching men.' Ben is part of that mission now. He is part of the great gathering of souls in the Kingdom.

So, what do you carry out the door today?

It is a small thing, but a real thing. When you feel the weight of the silence, when you feel the exhaustion of the 'night' you have been through, I want you to simply lower your nets one more time. Do not try to force the catch. Just offer your day to the Lord. Say, 'At your command, I will try again.'

Be kind to yourself today. Be patient with your tears. And remember that the same God who filled the boats of Simon Peter is the God who is filling your life with a grace that you cannot yet see, but that is as real as the air you breathe.

Benjamin is smiling. He is whole. He is home. And he is waiting for you at the shore, where the nets are full and the laughter never ends.

Go in peace, and do not be afraid. The deep water is where the life is found.