Lunes ti Dala-papat-naan a Dala-papat-naan

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Beloved brothers and sisters in Christ, may the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all.

Today, as we gather in the name of Jesus, we are called to listen to His Word, to allow it to penetrate our hearts and minds. The readings today speak of a profound encounter with God, an encounter that challenges our human understanding and invites us into a deeper faith.

In the First Reading, Saint Paul addresses the community in Corinth. He says, “When I came to you, brothers and sisters, proclaiming the mystery of God, I did not come with sublimity of words or of wisdom. For I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.”

Paul’s approach was not one of human eloquence or intellectual prowess. He didn’t try to impress them with clever arguments or grand theories. Instead, he presented himself in “weakness and fear and much trembling.” His message was not “with persuasive words of wisdom, but with a demonstration of spirit and power, so that your faith might rest not on human wisdom but on the power of God.”

This is a powerful image, isn't it? The Apostle Paul, the great theologian, the missionary who traveled the known world, standing before a community, feeling weak, fearful, trembling. He doesn’t hide it. He embraces it. He understands that true faith isn't built on a foundation of human cleverness, but on the raw, undeniable power of God working through a humble vessel.

And then, in the Gospel, we see Jesus Himself returning to His hometown, Nazareth. He goes into the synagogue, as was His custom, and is handed the scroll of the prophet Isaiah. He unrolls it and finds a passage that resonates with His very being: “The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to bring glad tidings to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim liberty to captives and recovery of sight to the blind, to let the oppressed go free, and to proclaim a year acceptable to the Lord.”

Jesus reads these words, rolls up the scroll, and then, with profound authority, declares, “Today this Scripture passage is fulfilled in your hearing.” He is not just reading words; He is embodying them. He is the Anointed One, sent to bring good news, to set people free, to bring light into darkness.

But how do the people of Nazareth react? They are amazed at His gracious words. They speak highly of Him. And then, the familiar human reaction sets in. They ask, “Is this not the son of Joseph?” They want the familiar, the predictable. They want Jesus to perform miracles *for them*, in their hometown, just as they heard He did in Capernaum. They want to see the “power of God” demonstrated in a way that fits their expectations, their human wisdom.

Jesus, knowing their hearts, tells them a proverb: “Physician, cure yourself.” He then reminds them of the prophets Elijah and Elisha, who were sent not to their own people, but to outsiders – a widow in Zarephath and Naaman the Syrian. He’s telling them, in essence, that God’s power and mercy are not limited by human expectations or national boundaries. They are universal.

And how do the people of Nazareth respond to this truth? They are filled with fury. They drive Him out of the town, intending to hurl Him down. They reject the very One who came to set them free, because He didn’t conform to their understanding.

This contrast between Paul’s humble proclamation and Jesus’ rejection in His own hometown is striking. It highlights a fundamental truth about faith: it often defies human logic and expectation. It is not about impressive words or dazzling displays of power that satisfy our ego; it is about the transformative power of God’s love, often revealed in unexpected ways.

And this brings us to the gentle spirit of our dear Benjamin.

Benjamin… Ben. Two years ago, on June 13th, 2026, Ben’s earthly journey came to a close. For his parents, Alan and Thao, and his brother Ryan, the silence in their home is still a heavy presence. The empty chair at the table, the quietness where laughter used to be – these are not small things. They are profound reminders of the love that was shared, and the void that remains.

Ben was a boy of extraordinary intellect and boundless curiosity. His father, Alan, shared a dream he had recently. In the dream, Alan and Ben were waiting in line for ice cream. It was Ben who paid. Ben, who was already at the front of the line, ready to give the gift, ready to share the sweetness. This dream, so simple, so ordinary, yet so profound, speaks volumes about Ben. He was not one to be held back by the lines of this world. He was already moving forward, already in the place of generosity and joy.

This image of Ben paying for ice cream, of him being at the front of the line, resonates deeply with today’s readings. Paul resolved to know nothing but Jesus Christ crucified. He didn’t come with impressive words, but with God’s power. Jesus, in the synagogue, declared the Scripture fulfilled in Him – He was the Good News, the Liberator. And yet, He was rejected by those who expected something different.

Ben, in his own unique way, embodied this spirit. His brilliance in mathematics, his early explorations into AI and cloud infrastructure – these were not about boasting or seeking human acclaim. They were expressions of his God-given gifts, used with a quiet humility. He was like Paul, not seeking sublimity of words, but the truth of Christ. He was like Jesus, fulfilling the mission of bringing good news, not through grand pronouncements, but through a gentle, loving presence.

Think about this: At just 15 years old, Ben offered his entire piggy bank to help his uncle William, who was suffering from strokes. He didn't even break the bank open; it wasn't needed. But the offer itself – that unprompted desire to give everything he had – speaks volumes. This wasn't about human wisdom or calculation. This was about the pure, unadulterated power of God’s love flowing through him. It was a demonstration of spirit and power, as Paul describes, so that faith might rest not on human wisdom, but on God’s grace.

This act of generosity, this willingness to give all, is a profound testament to the spirit that animated Ben. It’s a spirit that echoes the very heart of the Gospel. Jesus, in His own hometown, offered Himself completely, and was rejected. Ben, in his own life, offered his gifts and his love, and continues to inspire.

Alan and Thao, your grief is a heavy cross. Two months have passed, and the world continues to move, but for you, time has a different weight. The temptation in grief is to think that because Benjamin's life was short, it was incomplete. But Paul reminds us today that God's wisdom is different from human wisdom. In the eyes of the world, a life of 15 years might seem incomplete, like a game cut short. But in God's eyes, Ben's life was fully complete because it was filled with the only thing that lasts: love. His generosity, his brilliance, his gentle spirit – these were his offerings to God. And God has accepted those offerings.

When Jesus declared the Scripture fulfilled in His hearing, He was announcing a new era of God’s reign. He was proclaiming liberty to captives, recovery of sight to the blind, freedom to the oppressed. Ben, through his life and his spirit, embodied this liberation. He brought light and joy to those around him. His love for his family, his profound empathy, his quiet offering of his piggy bank – these were acts of liberation, acts that pointed to the freedom found in Christ.

And Ryan, his beloved brother, his best friend. Ryan, Benjamin loved you so deeply. You stood together at the overlook high above San Francisco Bay, with your arms around each other under the soft pink sky. Ben’s love for you is not gone. It is a foundation you can stand on. Ryan, you must carry Ben’s spirit in your heart. Continue to live, to study, to play, and to laugh – not just for yourself, but for Ben. When you feel the weight of the world, remember Ben’s quiet generosity, his brilliant mind, and his gentle smile. Know that Ben is watching over you from the best seat in the house, cheering you on with that radiant smile.

To everyone tuning in from afar, to other children who are suffering, and to every family carrying a heavy cross: You are not alone. Sometimes, the path of faith is not easy. We may feel like Paul, fearful and trembling, or like the people of Nazareth, filled with fury when God’s truth challenges our assumptions. But God’s power is not diminished by our weakness or our rejection. His love is constant. His mercy is boundless.

Benjamin’s legacy of love continues to flow, like the clean water of the “Giếng Gioan Baotixita” well dedicated in his name in Cà Mau, Vietnam. Just as that well brings life-sustaining water to those in need, Ben’s memory brings hope and love to our hearts. His life, though short, was a profound demonstration of God’s power working through a humble and loving heart.

What can we carry out the door today?

Today, when you find yourself facing a challenge, when you feel weak or afraid, remember Paul’s resolve: “I resolved to know nothing while I was with you except Jesus Christ, and him crucified.” Let your faith rest not on human wisdom, but on the power of God. And when you are called to give, to serve, to love, remember Benjamin’s unprompted offer of his piggy bank. Let that generosity inspire you. Look up, and say a quiet prayer:

“Lord Jesus, help us to follow Your example, to live with humble hearts like Paul’s, and generous spirits like Benjamin’s. Strengthen our faith in Your power, comfort Alan, Thao, and Ryan in their sorrow, and keep us firm in hope until we join Benjamin at Your eternal banquet.”

Benjamin Vo, may you rest in the unending light of the Lord. Amen.