Saint Charles Borromeo, Bishop

We often think of the Christian life as a steady, predictable climb. We imagine that if we follow the right path and hold onto the right truths, the road will become smoother, the horizon clearer, and the weight on our shoulders lighter. But today, the Gospel pulls us up short. Jesus looks at the crowds—at you, at me, at the families gathered here—and He speaks with a startling, uncompromising honesty: 'Whoever does not carry his own cross and come after me cannot be my disciple.'

Think of the image of a foundation. Jesus speaks of a man building a tower, sitting down to calculate the cost, checking if he has the resources to finish. It is a practical, almost architectural image. When we think of Benjamin, we think of a young man who understood structures. He was a boy who looked at the world—at cloud infrastructure, at the complex mechanics of a Boeing 737, at the logic of code—and he sought to understand how things held together. He was a builder. He had that brilliant, curious mind that wanted to see the architecture of reality. And yet, the cross he was asked to carry was not a project he could map out or a system he could debug. It was a mystery that defies all human calculation.

I know the ache that sits in this room. It has been four months since Benjamin went to the Lord. For you, Alan and Thao, and for you, Ryan, the world feels like it has lost its center. You have walked through the valley of the shadow, and there are days when the silence of the house is louder than any noise. You wonder about the 'why.' You wonder if there was a stone left unturned, a prayer that might have been prayed differently, a moment where you could have intervened. Let me say this plainly, with the authority of the Gospel: Jesus, when faced with the suffering of the innocent, did not point to the parents. He did not point to the child. He looked toward the glory of God. This illness was not a failure of your love. It was not a lapse in your vigilance. You were the most faithful of guardians, the most tender of hearts. You did everything that human love could do, and then you did more. Do not let the enemy whisper lies of guilt into your ears. You are not to blame. You are held by a God who knows exactly what it is to watch a son suffer, and who knows exactly what it is to hold a child in the palm of His hand.

Look at how Saint Paul writes to the Philippians: 'Work out your salvation with fear and trembling. For God is the one who, for his good purpose, works in you both to desire and to work.' This is the turn. We do not carry the cross alone. We are not expected to have the resources to finish the tower on our own. If we were, we would all be left in the middle of a half-finished, crumbling structure, laughed at by the world. But the Christian life is not a solo project. It is a collaboration with the Creator. When Benjamin was here, he was a boy of such radiant, gentle spirit. I think of the time he offered his entire piggy bank to help his uncle William. He didn't have to break it, he didn't have to empty it—he simply offered it. That was his heart. That was the architecture of his soul: a willingness to give everything he had, even when he didn't know if it would be enough. That is the very definition of a disciple. He had already learned the secret that we are still struggling to master: that to be a child of God is to be a person who gives freely, because we know we are held by the One who gives everything.

Benjamin is not a memory of the past. He is a living member of the Body of Christ. When you feel that sudden, sharp ambush of grief, when you wake up at 3 a.m. and the house feels too empty, remember the dream. Remember the feeling of the embrace. Remember the voice that said, 'It’s okay, I will watch over you.' That is not just a dream; that is a reflection of the reality of the Communion of Saints. Ben is not distant. He is closer to the heart of God than we are, and from that vantage point, he is interceding for you. He is cheering for you. He is waiting for you.

Ryan, my dear brother, you are the one who continues the journey here on earth. You shared sushi cakes, you sat on train rides watching the world go by, you stood together before the image of Our Lady. You know his smile better than anyone. When you go to school, when you look at the sky and see a plane, do not think of Ben as absent. Think of him as the one who has already reached the destination, the one who is waiting at the gate to welcome you home. You carry his legacy in your own kindness, in your own brilliant, curious mind. Live for him, yes, but live for yourself, too—live with the joy that he would want you to have. He wouldn't want you to be weighed down by the cross; he would want you to walk with him, even if you cannot see him.

We are invited today to be 'lights in the world.' That is what Ben was. He was a light that didn't just shine for himself; he shone for his family, for his friends, for the community in Cà Mau where a well now flows with clean, life-giving water in his name. That water is a symbol of his life—a life that continues to nourish others, a life that does not stop at the grave. Every drop of water that sustains a child in that village is a testament to the fact that Benjamin Vo’s life was not in vain. It was a life poured out as a libation, just as Paul describes. And in that pouring out, there is a strange, holy joy. We rejoice, not because the pain is gone, but because the love is eternal.

So, what do you carry out that door today? Do not try to carry the whole tower. Do not try to calculate the cost of the next ten years. Just carry the cross of this single day. If you can only manage to breathe, then breathe. If you can only manage to say his name, then say it. If you can only manage to look at a photo and smile, then do that. God does not ask for the whole project at once. He asks for the foundation—the simple, daily act of trusting Him when the sky is dark. You are the light. You are the ones who hold the word of life. And because of that, you will never, ever be left alone in the ruins. The One who began this good work in Benjamin, the One who is working in you right now to desire and to work, He is the one who will bring it to completion. And in that completion, you will see him again. You will see that smile, you will see that brilliant, curious face, and you will know that it was all worth it. Wait for the Lord with courage. Be stouthearted. And wait for the Lord. He is your light. He is your salvation. He is the One who holds Benjamin, and He is the One who holds you.