Memorial of Saint Teresa of Jesus, Virgin and Doctor of the Church

We often think of wisdom as a collection of facts—a library of information we can store away, a set of blueprints for how a life should be built. We imagine that if we just hold the right keys, if we just unlock the right doors, we can master the mystery of our days. But in today’s Gospel, Jesus offers a sharper, more piercing vision. He speaks to those who hold the keys of knowledge and warns them that they have not only failed to enter themselves, but have stood in the way of others. It is a sobering image: a door meant to be an entrance, now acting as a barrier.

Think of a key. A key is a small, unassuming piece of metal, yet it holds the power to change everything. It can open a home, a gate, or a cockpit. It is meant to be used, to be turned, to be given away. But a key that is hoarded, a key that is kept in a pocket and never put into the lock, becomes nothing more than a weight. It becomes a burden that clutters the heart. Jesus is calling us to a different kind of wisdom—one that doesn't just know the way, but walks it. He is calling us to stop trying to control the mystery of our lives and start living within the grace of it.

St. Paul, in his letter to the Ephesians, gives us the antidote to that hoarding. He speaks of a plan for the fullness of times, a plan where God 'has lavished upon us' every spiritual blessing. Notice that word: lavished. It is not a measured, careful distribution. It is an abundance that overflows. It is the kind of love that doesn't count the cost, but simply pours itself out. Paul reminds us that we were chosen 'before the foundation of the world, to be holy and without blemish.' This is not a goal we reach by our own effort; it is a gift we receive by our adoption into the family of God. We are not builders of our own salvation; we are children of the One who has already built a home for us.

Benjamin Vo lived as if he understood this mystery of the 'lavished' gift. He was a boy who knew that the most important things in life were not the things you could lock away in a safe, but the things you could share. Think of that moment when he offered his entire piggy bank to help his uncle. He didn't need to break it, he didn't need to empty it, he didn't need to tell the world. The offer itself was the truth of his heart. It was a secret, interior movement of love. It was a sign that Benjamin understood, better than most adults, that our value is not in what we keep, but in what we are willing to offer. He was a boy whose heart was not a vault, but a well—a well that kept giving, a well that kept flowing.

Alan and Thao, I know that for these four months, the silence of your home has been a heavy companion. 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 'fullness of times' 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. You are not being asked to carry the weight of the past; you are being asked to walk into the future with the promise of the Resurrection as your light.

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.

Ryan, you are a brother who knows the secret language of that love. You know that Ben is not gone; he has simply gone ahead to the place where all the 'con chim airlines' finally take flight. You are the one who carries the legacy of his curiosity, his kindness, and his smile. When you sit down to code, or when you look up at the clouds, know that you are not doing it alone. You are a family of four, and that bond is stronger than death. 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 witness to the fact that love is the only thing that actually lasts.

Look at the Gospel again. Jesus speaks of the 'key of knowledge' that has been taken away. He is warning us against the pride of thinking we have the final word on God’s plan. The scribes and Pharisees were so busy protecting their own understanding of the law that they missed the Lawgiver standing right in front of them. We do that, too. We try to understand the 'why' of our suffering, we try to map out the 'how' of our future, and we get so tangled in our own questions that we stop seeing the Presence. But the Presence is here. It is in the quiet of this room. It is in the ache of your heart. It is in the memory of a son who loved you with his whole life.

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.