Tuesday of the Twenty-fifth Week in Ordinary Time

There is a quiet, steady rhythm to the way the heart learns to trust. It is not a loud, sudden realization that changes everything in a flash of light. Rather, it is like watching a stream find its way over rocks. The first reading today from Proverbs gives us this image: 'Like a stream is the king’s heart in the hand of the LORD; wherever it pleases him, he directs it.'

Think of the way a stream moves. It does not fight the terrain; it yields to it. It follows the path laid out by the earth, carving its way through the landscape, always moving, always flowing toward the sea. We often want our lives to be like a paved road—straight, predictable, and within our control. We want to know exactly where the path leads and how long the journey will take. But the life of faith is more like that stream. It is a movement of the heart, directed by the hand of God, often through places we would not have chosen for ourselves.

Benjamin Vo knew something about paths and journeys. He was a boy who looked at the world as a vast, interconnected map. Whether he was exploring the streets of Tokyo, the grottoes of Lourdes, or simply sitting with his father, mapping out the logistics of a future flight, he had a mind that loved to see how things were connected. He had a natural, intuitive curiosity that made him want to understand the 'why' and the 'how' of the world around him. He was a boy who loved to dream, and that dream of 'con chim airlines'—that little, hopeful name for a company that would one day take flight—was a testament to a spirit that was always looking toward the horizon.

But today, the Gospel of Luke brings us to a different kind of boundary. The mother of Jesus and his brothers are standing outside, unable to reach him because of the crowd. They want to see him. They want to connect. And Jesus, in a moment that seems startling at first, says: 'My mother and my brothers are those who hear the word of God and act on it.'

He is not pushing his family away. He is expanding the definition of family. He is saying that the deepest, most enduring bond is not found in blood or in proximity, but in the shared life of the Word. To hear the Word and to act on it—that is the stream that leads us home. That is the path that connects us, even when we are separated by the greatest distances.

Alan and Thao, I know that for these past three months, your hearts have been tracing the path of a stream that has led you into a valley of profound, quiet sorrow. You look at the photos—perhaps that one of Ben standing in his Lakers jersey in front of the temple tower, flashing that peaceful, two-finger sign, with a smile that seemed to hold the secret of a quiet joy—and you feel the ache of the distance. You wonder where the stream is leading. You wonder how to keep walking when the path seems to have disappeared into the mist. But hear the promise of the Gospel today. You are not standing outside. You are already part of the family of God. You are already in the circle of those who hear the Word and act on it. Your love for Benjamin, and the way you continue to honor his life—that is your way of acting on the Word. That is your way of keeping the stream moving.

Ryan, my dear brother, you know this better than anyone. You are the one who shared the adventures, the laughter, and the quiet moments of growing up. When you feel the weight of his absence, remember that the bond between you is not a memory. It is a living, breathing reality in the heart of God. You carry his spirit in your own, and every time you choose to be curious, every time you choose to be kind, every time you look at the world with the same wonder that he did, you are carrying his legacy forward. You are the brother who knows that love is the only thing that truly lasts. Keep dreaming, Ryan. Keep being the boy who knows that the world is a big, beautiful place, and that you are never walking through it alone.

I want to speak to those of you who might be carrying a hidden, heavy stone of self-reproach. Maybe you find yourself replaying the past, wondering if you missed a sign, or if you could have done more. Please, hear this truth today: God does not send these seasons of sorrow as a punishment, and He does not hold you responsible for the mysteries of life that are beyond human control. You were the parents Benjamin needed. You were the family he loved. You did not miss anything. You are not being accused by God, and you must not accuse yourselves. Let that stone fall. You are free to grieve, you are free to miss him, but you are not required to carry the burden of 'what if.' That is a weight that belongs to the past, and Christ has already stepped into the future to welcome Benjamin home. You are loved without limit, and you are being held by the same hands that hold him.

There is a profound, healing truth in the Psalm we prayed today: 'The way of truth I have chosen; I have set your ordinances before me.' Benjamin chose the way of kindness. He chose the way of curiosity. He chose the way of love. And that choice is not lost. It is woven into the very fabric of the Kingdom. When you see the 'Well of Love' in Vietnam, when you see the way his kindness continues to flow into the lives of those who have never met him, you are seeing the truth of the Gospel. His life is still bearing fruit. It is still feeding the hungry. It is still quenching the thirst of those who have nothing. His love is not a memory; it is an action. It is a sign that the Kingdom is already here, and that the love we share is never lost.

Do you remember how he was always the first to greet his father? How he would never forget a 'Good morning, Dad'? That was not just a habit; it was a way of honoring the people he loved. It was a way of saying, 'I am here, and I am present to you.' That is what Jesus is asking of us today. He is asking us to be present to Him, to be present to one another, and to be present to the love that he has planted in our hearts.

So, what do you carry out the door today? It is a small thing, but a real thing. When the world feels too quiet, when the grief feels like it is choking the joy out of the day, do not try to fix it. Do not try to solve the mystery. Just be like the stream. Let yourself be directed by the hand of the Lord. When you feel the ache, whisper his name, and then whisper the name of Jesus. Let those two names be your prayer. You are a family of four, and you are being led, step by step, through the darkness and into the light. The reunion is certain. And in the meantime, keep walking in the presence of God, in the light of the living. He is there, he is waiting, and he is watching over you with that same sweet, gentle smile. You are not walking alone. You are walking toward the Banquet, where all the laborers are gathered, where all the tears are wiped away, and where the love you shared will bloom forever. Amen.