Tallimanngurniq, 24-nik Sapatiup-akuni-atuqtuq

Imagine a moment of quiet, a scene as simple as a table set for a meal. The air is warm, the scent of bread is in the room, and there is a hush that falls when a guest arrives who changes everything. In our Gospel today, we see such a moment. Jesus is at the home of a Pharisee. And then, a woman enters—a woman known for her sins, a woman who brings nothing but an alabaster flask and the weight of her own heart. She does not speak. She does not offer a defense. She simply moves to the feet of Jesus and begins to weep. Her tears fall upon his feet, and she wipes them with her hair. It is a scene of raw, unvarnished honesty. She is not performing; she is pouring out.

There is a profound truth here, one that we often try to avoid: we are all, in some way, kneeling at those feet. We all carry debts we cannot pay. We all have moments where the weight of our lives, our hopes, and our griefs becomes too much to hold alone. Simon the Pharisee looked at this woman and saw only her past, only her labels, only the 'sinner' he had categorized in his mind. But Jesus looked at her and saw her love. He saw the truth of her heart. He saw not what she had done, but who she was becoming in the light of his mercy.

Benjamin was a boy who understood this kind of unreserved, open-hearted love. You remember the way he would talk about his 'Con Chim Airlines'? There was no calculation in that joy. It was a pure, soaring enthusiasm. It was the same spirit that led him, at fifteen, to offer his entire piggy bank to help his uncle. He didn't ask if it was enough, or if it made sense, or if it would solve the problem. He simply offered what he had because his heart was full of love. That is the kind of love that Jesus praises in the woman today. It is the love that gives everything, even when the world tells us it is foolish or unnecessary.

I want to speak to the ache that many of you carry, especially you, Alan and Thao, and you, Ryan. I know there are days when the silence of the house feels like a weight you cannot lift. I know there are moments when you look at the chair where he sat, or think of the way he would giggle when he talked about his future plans, and the grief ambushes you. Do not be afraid of those tears. They are like the tears of the woman in the Gospel. They are not a sign of failure; they are a sign of a love that is so deep, so profound, that it refuses to be contained. Your love for Benjamin is a holy thing. It is the very thing that connects you to him, and it is the very thing that connects you to the heart of God.

Sometimes, we think we need to be 'strong' in the way the world defines it—unmoved, stoic, keeping it all together. But look at Jesus. He did not ask the woman to stop crying. He did not ask her to hide her pain. He let her be exactly who she was. He received her offering. He honored her love. And then, he spoke the words that changed everything: 'Your sins are forgiven. Your faith has saved you; go in peace.'

This is the hinge of our faith. We are not defined by our debts, by our mistakes, or even by our losses. We are defined by the love that God has poured into us. When you feel that heavy stone of sadness, when you wonder if you have done enough or if you are enough, hear the voice of Jesus saying to you, 'You are mine. You are forgiven. You are held.' You have loved your son with a grace that is beautiful to behold. That love is not a memory; it is a living, breathing reality that continues to work in the world. Think of the well in Cà Mau, the clean water that flows in his name. That is Benjamin’s love, still reaching out, still bringing life to those who are thirsty.

Ryan, you are his brother. You know the rhythm of his laughter, the way he looked at the world with such brilliant, curious eyes. Carry that with you. When you study, when you dream, when you look at the sky and see a plane ascending, know that you are carrying the best of him. You are not walking this path alone. You are part of a family that is knit together by a love that is stronger than death.

To all who are listening, especially those who feel the weight of a cross that seems too heavy to bear: you are seen. You are known. You are loved. God does not stand far off from your suffering; he is right there, at your feet, receiving your tears, holding your heart in his hands. You do not need to be perfect. You do not need to have all the answers. You only need to be as honest as the woman with the alabaster flask. Bring your heart to him—the broken pieces, the beautiful memories, the questions that have no answers—and let him wash it in his peace.

What can you carry out the door today? It is a small, quiet thing. The next time you feel overwhelmed by the silence or the sadness, stop. Breathe. Remember that you are standing in the presence of the One who forgives all debts and who loves with an everlasting love. Whisper Benjamin’s name, not with a heavy heart, but as a prayer of gratitude. And then, trust that he is safe. He is resting in the light, he is soaring in the freedom of the Father’s house, and he is waiting for the day when all of us will be gathered together at the great Banquet of Heaven. Go in peace. You are held, you are loved, and you are never alone.