Saturday of the Twenty-Third Week in Ordinary Time

We often think of a foundation as something invisible. When we look at a house, we see the walls, the windows, the way the light hits the paint, the life that happens within those rooms. We rarely think about what lies beneath the dirt—the deep, hard, unyielding stone that holds the weight of everything else. We assume the ground will hold, until the day the river rises and the earth begins to shift. It is only then that we realize the difference between a house built on the surface and a house built on the rock.

In the Gospel today, Jesus gives us this image of the two builders. It is a striking, honest picture of our own lives. He tells us that the one who listens to His words and acts on them is like a man who dug deeply. He didn't just build on the topsoil; he went down, past the loose earth, until he hit something that would not move. He built on the rock. And when the flood came, when the river burst against that house, it stood firm. It did not collapse. It was shaken, yes, but it remained.

I want you to think about that word 'dug.' It implies labor. It implies getting your hands dirty. It implies a willingness to go deeper than the world expects. We live in a culture that loves the surface. We love the quick fix, the easy answer, the polished exterior. We spend so much time decorating the house, making sure it looks right to the neighbors, that we sometimes forget to check the foundation. But life—the real, raw, beautiful, and sometimes agonizing life we all live—eventually brings the flood. The river rises. And in those moments, the only thing that matters is the depth of the foundation.

Benjamin Vo understood this, didn't he? Think of the way he approached the world. He was a boy who didn't just skim the surface of things. Whether he was diving into the intricate logic of a complex computer program, or studying the aerodynamics of the Boeing 737s he loved so much, Ben was a boy who dug deep. He wasn't satisfied with 'good enough.' He wanted to know the 'how' and the 'why.' He had a brilliant, analytical mind that sought the truth of things. But more than that, he had a gentle, steady heart that was anchored in love. He was a boy who built his life on the solid rock of kindness and family.

I think of that image of Ben, standing at the top step of the podium at K1 Speed, his brother Ryan right there beside him on the second-place spot. Think of the joy in that moment—the shared triumph, the brotherly bond, the simple, bright reality of two boys living their lives with enthusiasm. That wasn't a moment built on sand. That was a moment built on the foundation of a family that loved one another, a family that traveled the world together, from the vast plaza of Tiananmen Square to the sacred grottoes of Europe. That joy was real because it was built on the deep, enduring rock of love.

To you, Alan and Thao, I know that for these past two months, the river has felt as though it is bursting against everything you hold dear. The silence in the house is a flood. The empty chair is a flood. The sudden, sharp memories that catch you off guard in the grocery store or the quiet of the morning—these are the rising waters. And I know there are days when you feel as though the house might not hold. You wonder how you are supposed to keep standing when the ground feels so unsteady beneath your feet.

But hear the words of Saint Paul in our first reading today. He speaks of the cup of blessing, of the bread that we break, and he says, 'Because the loaf of bread is one, we, though many, are one Body, for we all partake of the one loaf.' You are not building your house alone. You are part of the Body of Christ. When you feel weak, you are held by the strength of the Church. When you feel like you are sinking, you are held by the prayers of those who love you, and most importantly, you are held by the very hand of the One who is the Rock of Ages.

Jesus says, 'A good person out of the store of goodness in his heart produces good.' Benjamin was that store of goodness. Think of the way he lived. He wasn't just a boy of intellect; he was a boy of heart. Remember that moment when, unprompted, he wanted to offer his entire piggy bank to help his uncle William? He didn't break it open; he didn't make a display of it. He simply offered. That is the mark of a soul that has been built on the rock. He understood that his resources—his time, his money, his energy—were not his own to hoard, but were gifts to be shared. That is the fruit of a good tree. That is the life that stands firm when the storms come.

Ryan, my dear brother, you are the one who knows that heart best. You walked the same paths, you shared the same dreams, you built the same memories. When the world feels too quiet, when you miss your brother’s laughter or the way he would talk about his 'con chim airlines' with that infectious giggle, remember that you are built on the same foundation. You are a brother, and that is a bond that no flood can wash away. Ben is cheering for you. He is with you in the quiet, in the dreams, in the laughter that still bubbles up. Keep building. Keep dreaming. Keep being the kind, curious, brilliant soul that you are.

There is a temptation, when we are hurting, to think that if we just had more faith, or if we were somehow 'better' at being holy, the river wouldn't rise so high. We think that if we were truly on the rock, we wouldn't feel the flood at all. But that is not what Jesus says. He says the river *will* burst against the house. It will hit. It will shake. The difference is not that the storm stays away; the difference is that the house does not collapse. You are allowed to be shaken. You are allowed to be sad. You are allowed to feel the weight of the water. But you are not allowed to doubt that your foundation is secure. You are held. You are loved. And you are a family of four, forever.

Let the truth of the Gospel settle into your hearts today. Jesus is not asking you to build a perfect, storm-proof life on your own. He is asking you to build your life on Him. He is the Rock. When the waves of grief rise, turn to Him. When the questions come, whisper them to Him. When you feel like you cannot take another step, remember that you are not walking on the surface—you are standing on the very foundation of His love, which is deep, and wide, and eternal.

What do you carry out the door today? It is a small thing, but a real thing. When you feel the flood rising—when the grief feels like it might overwhelm you—do not try to fight it alone. Take a breath, close your eyes, and imagine yourself standing on that solid rock. Whisper the name of Jesus, and then whisper the name of your son, Benjamin. Let those two names be the anchor that holds you in place. You are not lost. You are not abandoned. You are a family, held in the hands of the One who knows every stone of your foundation, and who will never, ever let you go. Amen.