Memorial of Saint Pius of Pietrelcina, Priest

We often think of power as something that must be accumulated, something we gather in our hands like gold or silver, or perhaps like the technical knowledge we use to build a system. We think that if we have enough of it—enough intelligence, enough resources, enough influence—we can protect ourselves and those we love from the storms of this life. We want to be the architects of our own security, building walls high enough and systems robust enough that nothing can breach them. But today, in the Gospel, Jesus gives his disciples a mandate that flies in the face of everything the world tells us about security. He calls the Twelve, gives them authority over demons and diseases, and then tells them: 'Take nothing for the journey.' No walking stick, no sack, no food, no money. Not even a second tunic.

Imagine the vulnerability of that. To walk out into the world with nothing but the clothes on your back and the word of God on your lips. It is the opposite of the way we usually live. It is the opposite of the way we try to prepare for the future. We want to be ready for every contingency. We want to have the backup plan, the extra layer, the insurance. But Jesus is stripping away the illusion of control. He is inviting his followers into a radical, terrifying, and beautiful dependence on God alone. He is saying that the only thing that truly sustains the mission is not what we bring with us, but who we are walking with.

I think of Benjamin Vo today. I think of a boy who lived in a world of complex systems, a boy who loved the precision of mathematics, the elegance of code, and the vast, interconnected networks of cloud infrastructure. Ben was a boy who understood that if you build a system well, it works. He loved the logic of a well-constructed environment, the way a Boeing 737 is a masterpiece of engineering that relies on thousands of moving parts working in perfect harmony. He had that brilliant, sharp mind that could see the structure of things, the 'how' and the 'why' of the world. And yet, for all his brilliance, for all his ability to grasp the complex, Ben was defined by something much simpler: a gentle, trusting heart. He was a boy who knew that the most important things in life are not the things we build, but the love we share.

Alan and Thao, I know that for these past three months, you have been navigating a journey that you never asked for, a journey for which no amount of preparation could have braced you. You look at the photos—perhaps that one of Ben standing in his white NASA sweatshirt, that look of quiet, focused contentment on his face—and you feel the ache of the distance. You wonder how to walk forward when the map you had drawn for your family has been so suddenly and irrevocably changed. You wonder about the 'what-ifs.' You wonder if there was something more you could have done, some extra layer of protection you could have provided. But hear the word of God today: 'He is a shield to those who take refuge in him.' You were not the ones in control of the storm, but you were the ones who provided the sanctuary. You were the ones who loved him with a love that mirrors the Father’s own. You did not miss anything. You are not to blame for the mysteries that are beyond human reach. God does not hold you responsible for the path that led Ben home; He holds you in the palm of His hand, and He holds Ben there, too.

Ryan, my dear brother, you know this better than anyone. You are the one who shared the everyday, messy, beautiful life of being a brother. You know the laughter, the shared treats, the moments of silliness that make a home a home. When the house feels too quiet, when the absence of his presence feels like a weight, remember that the bond you have is not a thing of the past. It is a living, breathing reality in the heart of God. You carry his spirit in your own. Every time you are curious, every time you choose kindness, every time you look at the world with the same wonder that Ben 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.

There is a profound, healing truth in the first reading today from Proverbs: 'Two things I ask of you, deny them not to me before I die: Put falsehood and lying far from me, give me neither poverty nor riches; provide me only with the food I need.' This is a prayer for simplicity, for the essential. It is a prayer that asks God to strip away the distractions so that we can see what is real. Ben lived this. Think of his heart, the way he offered his entire piggy bank to help his uncle. He didn't break it, he didn't empty it, he didn't make a show of it. He simply offered. It was a heart that already knew that the things we possess are not our true treasure. His treasure was his family, his curiosity, his kindness. That is the wealth he carried with him into the Banquet of Heaven. That is the wealth that remains with you, flowing through the 'Well of Love' in Vietnam, a living sign that his life was not a closed system, but an open, generous, and eternal gift.

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.

The Gospel tells us that when the disciples were sent out, they went from village to village, curing diseases and proclaiming the Good News. They were not powerful in the way the world understands power. They had no money, no extra clothes, no security. They were simply present. They were simply witnesses. And that is what you are called to be today. You are witnesses to the life of a boy who taught you more about love than you could have ever taught him. You are witnesses to the fact that even when the journey is hard, even when the road is dark, the Word of God is a lamp for your feet. It is enough. It is the only thing that sustains the mission.

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 disciples. Take nothing with you but the trust that you are being sent. 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.