Monday of the Twenty-eighth Week in Ordinary Time

We often think of freedom as the ability to choose between this path or that, or perhaps as the absence of any obstacle in our way. We imagine a life where the road is smooth, where the sky is clear, and where we can simply move forward without interruption. But St. Paul, in his letter to the Galatians today, speaks of a different kind of freedom. He speaks of the 'Jerusalem above' which is 'freeborn.' He tells us that we are children of the promise, not of the slave woman. This is a profound shift in how we understand our own existence. It suggests that our true home is not defined by the limitations of the earth, but by the expansive, eternal reality of God’s own heart.

Think about the way a bird takes to the air. It does not struggle against the wind; it learns to use the currents. It does not fight the gravity that pulls it toward the earth; it trusts in the strength of its wings to lift it into the vast, open space above. Benjamin Vo lived with that kind of spirit. He was a boy who looked at the horizon not as a boundary, but as an invitation. He was a boy who loved the mechanics of flight, who found joy in the way a Boeing 737 could pierce through the cloud layer to reach the brilliant, unblemished blue above. He was a boy who understood, perhaps better than most, that there is something more to this life than the ground beneath our feet.

Alan and Thao, I know the weight of these past months. I know how the silence in your home can feel like a heavy, unmoving thing. You remember the way Ben would come to you with his ideas, his plans, his gentle smile. You remember the way he would listen—truly listen—to the stories his dad would tell, finding joy in the simple, quiet connection of a father and son. That bond is not a thing of the past. It is a living, breathing reality. It is the 'Jerusalem above' that Paul speaks of. It is the place where all of our loves are gathered and kept safe, beyond the reach of time or change. You are a family of four, and that is a truth that death cannot touch, because it is anchored in the promise of the One who is the Resurrection and the Life.

In the Gospel today, Jesus speaks to a generation that is constantly looking for a sign. They want proof. They want a guarantee. They want to see the future written in the stars or in the clouds before they are willing to believe. But Jesus tells them that no sign will be given except the sign of Jonah. And what is the sign of Jonah? It is the sign of a life that has been swallowed by the depths and yet, by the power of God, is brought back to the light. It is the sign of total surrender to the will of the Father. It is the sign of a love that is willing to be poured out, even when the path is not clear.

Sometimes, we find ourselves in that same place. We look for a sign that everything is going to be okay. We look for a reason for the things we cannot change. We look for a way to make sense of the heavy, quiet moments when the ache rises up in our chests. We want to know why the road turned the way it did. But Jesus is inviting us to stop looking for a sign and start looking for the Presence. He is telling us that 'something greater than Solomon' and 'something greater than Jonah' is right here, right now, in the middle of your grief, in the middle of your longing, in the middle of your love.

Ryan, you are a brother who carries the light of that presence. You know the language of Ben’s heart. You know the joy of those summer trips, the laughter shared in the car, the quiet moments of brotherhood that defined your life together. When you look up at the sky, or when you sit down to create something new, remember that you are not just remembering a past; you are carrying a future. You are the one who keeps the 'con chim airlines' flying in the spirit. You are the one who knows that the love you shared is not a memory, but a foundation. Keep being the boy who reaches out. Keep being the brother who knows that the most important things in life are not the things we possess, but the love we share. You are a family, and that bond is stronger than any distance.

I want to speak very gently to the ache that visits you in the quiet of the night. There is a weight that parents often carry, a stone of wondering if they missed something, if they could have done more, if they could have changed the outcome. I want to lift that stone from you today. You were the parents Benjamin needed. You were his sanctuary. You were the ones who nurtured that brilliant, curious, gentle spirit. You did not miss anything. God does not look at your son’s life and find it lacking, and He does not look at your care for him and find it wanting. You are not being accused. You are being held. 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 self-reproach. That is a weight that has no place in the kingdom of God. You are loved without limit, and you are being held by the same hands that hold him.

Think of the 'Well of Love' in Vietnam. That well is a perfect image of what you are doing. You are taking the love that was poured into Ben, and you are letting it flow into the lives of others. You are ensuring that his life is not a closed chapter, but a living, breathing, life-sustaining force. Every time you are kind, every time you choose to hope in the face of despair, you are allowing his legacy to refresh the world. You are turning the soil of the earth so that the Kingdom can grow. You are the ones who are keeping his light burning in a world that so often forgets to look up.

There is a profound freedom in realizing that we do not have to hold it all together. We do not have to be the ones who provide the answers. We are children of the freeborn woman. We are heirs to a kingdom that is not built by human hands, but by the grace of God. That grace is the 'bread' we need for the journey. It is the strength that comes when our own strength is gone. It is the peace that settles over us when we finally stop fighting the silence and start listening to the voice of the Father.

So today, carry this away with you: you are never alone. You are a family that is being held by the same hands that hold the universe. When you see a bird in flight, or a plane climbing into the clouds, don't just see a machine or a creature; see a sign of the freedom that Benjamin now knows. See a sign of the promise that you are walking toward. Keep your eyes on the horizon. The journey is not over; it is simply continuing in a new, more glorious way. And one day, when the long road reaches the end, you will look up and see him waiting for you, and the joy will be beyond all reckoning.

Take this with you: you are a family of four, and that will never change. The geography of your life has shifted, but the bond of your love is eternal. Keep the 'Well of Love' flowing in his name. Keep the kindness moving. Keep the dream alive. And when you walk out those doors, look up at the sky. Remember that he is not in the dust. He is in the light. He is waiting for you, and he is watching over you with that same sweet, gentle smile that you remember so vividly. That smile is a sign. It is a sign that the harvest is coming, and that the One who started this good work in you will surely bring it to completion. You are loved without limit, and you are being held by the same hands that hold him. Amen.