The Pillar of Truth: Honouring St. Athanasius~

The life of Saint Athanasius of Alexandria stands as an eternal testament to the power of a single soul anchored in the Divine. Known to history as the “Father of Orthodoxy,” his path was defined by a singular, unwavering focus: the preservation of the true nature of Jesus Christ.

In an era where the Arian heresy threatened to unravel the very fabric of the Church by denying the divinity of the Son, Athanasius stood as a solitary bulwark. His lived experience was one of radical sacrifice; he spent over seventeen years of his life in exile, hunted by emperors and misunderstood by peers, yet he famously declared, “If the world is against Athanasius, then Athanasius is against the world.”

This was not a cry of arrogance, but a profound commitment to the reality that the Truth is not subject to the whims of the majority.

​Athanasius understood with perfect clarity that our salvation depends entirely on the Incarnation. He taught that if Christ were merely a created being, He could not bridge the chasm between the Creator and the created. “He became man,” Athanasius wrote, “that we might become divine.” This transformative hope was worth every hardship, every cold night in the Egyptian desert, and every moment of isolation.

His resilience serves as a vital mirror for our own lives today. We often face pressures to dilute our convictions or to blend into the cultural landscape for the sake of comfort.

 Athanasius challenges us to consider what we are building our foundations upon. Are we swayed by the shifting winds of popular opinion, or are we rooted in the ancient, Apostolic faith that has survived empires and outlasted every storm?

​To honour Athanasius is to embrace the “long obedience in the same direction.” It is a call to intellectual rigour, spiritual fervour, and a courage that does not flee when the cost of discipleship rises. Even in his darkest hours of banishment, Athanasius remained a shepherd, writing letters of encouragement and composing treatises that continue to light the way for the faithful centuries later.

 Let us draw strength from his example, remembering that even when we feel outnumbered or overwhelmed, the Word of God remains sovereign. Like the Great Bishop of Alexandria, may we find our peace not in the approval of the world, but in the steadfast confession that Christ is truly God and truly man, our Saviour and our King.

​A Solemn Prayer for Truth and Fortitude:

​Almighty and everlasting God, You raised up Your servant Athanasius to be a valiant champion of the faith and a witness to the glory of Your Son. We yield You hearty thanks for the courage he displayed and the wisdom he bequeathed to Your Church throughout the ages.

​I pray, O Lord, that You would grant us, who are part of the order he inspired, and all the faithful, a portion of his unwavering spirit. In a world of uncertainty and shifting shadows, steady our hearts upon the rock of Your unchanging Truth. When we are tempted to compromise, grant us Your strength; when we are weary from the struggle, grant us Your peace.

Let the light of the Incarnate Word guide our every thought and action, that we may live as faithful stewards of the mysteries You have revealed.

​Strengthen our resolve to contend for the Gospel with both charity and conviction. May our lives reflect the beauty of the Truth we profess, so that in all things, Your holy Name may be glorified.

​Through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, one God, world without end. Amen.

Dignity in the Workshop: St. Joseph’s Blueprint for Faith~The Very Rev Lady Sherwood,OPI

Today we honour St. Joseph not as a silent figure in the background, but as a man of action whose hands shaped the world. In the quiet rhythm of his workshop, Joseph transformed labour into a form of prayer, teaching us that our daily work—no matter how humble—is a primary way we participate in God’s ongoing creation. He reminds us that dignity is found in diligence and that our “everyday” is holy ground.

​St. Joseph did not seek recognition; he sought faithfulness. In our modern world, we are often pressured to define ourselves by our status, our titles, or the size of our paycheck. Yet, Joseph’s life tells a different story. He shows us that there is profound holiness in the mundane—in the sweeping of a floor, the fixing of a door, or the patient tending to a task. He didn’t just work to live; he worked to love, providing for the Holy Family with a heart tethered to the Divine. His workshop was not a place of drudgery, but a sanctuary of service where the Son of God learned the value of a day’s honest toil.

​This feast day invites us to examine our own relationship with our vocations. Do we see our tasks as burdens to be endured, or as opportunities to serve? Joseph’s silence in the Gospels speaks volumes about his character; he didn’t need words to justify his existence because his actions testified to his devotion. He accepted the responsibility of protecting and providing for Mary and Jesus with a steady hand and an unwavering spirit.

​As we reflect on his life, let us find purpose in our own tasks, offering our sweat and skill as a living sacrifice to the Lord. Whether we lead, build, or serve, may we do so with the same quiet strength and integrity that defined the Carpenter of Nazareth. Let us remember that when we work with integrity, we are not just earning a living; we are echoing the creative power of God. May we strive to make our workplaces spaces of justice, kindness, and excellence, mirroring the workshop of Nazareth in our own communities.

​Let us pray:

​Heavenly Father, We thank you for the example of St. Joseph the Worker. Grant us the grace to approach our daily tasks with a spirit of service and love. We pray for those who find no meaning in their labour, that they may discover the hidden dignity within their roles. Support those who are seeking employment and protect those who labour in difficult or dangerous conditions.

​Bless the work of our hands and the intentions of our hearts, that all we do may bring glory to your name and comfort to our neighbours. Through our efforts, may your kingdom come and your will be done on earth as it is in heaven.

​Amen.

No Ifs, Ands, or Buts~The Rt Rev Michael Beckett,OPI

Y’all…….I know that many of you are as appalled, disgusted, mortified, and, dare I say, angry, as I am as a result of a few of the things that have occurred/been posted and said by a few of the “leaders” of our country here in recent months. 

What’s bothered me even more by all of this is the reaction of far too many folks who have spoken out, at worst, in support of all of this, or at best, endeavored to excuse it;  ones who profess to follow the tenants of Christianity and who profess to love our Lord, far too many of whom are clergy. 

Sadly, however, this is nothing new. Think of the “Christians and Clergy” who were in favor of slavery during the Civil War period.  Think of those who supported Hitler.  Think of those who were involved in opposing the Civil Rights Movement. 

Going even further back, Jesus himself commented on these things.  In the gospel reading appointed for today, the Gospel according to St. John, Jesus says:

“Amen, amen, I say to you, whoever does not enter a sheepfold through the gate but climbs over elsewhere is a thief and a robber.  But whoever enters through the gate is the shepherd of the sheep.  The gatekeeper opens it for him, and the sheep hear his voice, as the shepherd calls his own sheep by name and leads them out.  When he has driven out all his own, he walks ahead of them, and the sheep follow him, because they recognize his voice.  But they will not follow a stranger; they will run away from him,  because they do not recognize the voice of strangers.”  Although Jesus used this figure of speech, the Pharisees did not realize what he was trying to tell them. 


So Jesus said again, “Amen, amen, I say to you, I am the gate for the sheep.  All who came before me are thieves and robbers, but the sheep did not listen to them.  I am the gate.
Whoever enters through me will be saved, and will come in and go out and find pasture.  A thief comes only to steal and slaughter and destroy; I came so that they might have life and have it more abundantly.”  John 10:1-10

In a nutshell, public readings of the Bible, well advertised “prayer meetings”, the selling of politically branded Bibles, and religious leaders stumping for and in support of the current political powers have nothing, NOTHING to do with being a Christian or following Jesus.  In fact, Jesus warns us in Matthew 7:15 to “Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous.”

“Ravenous.”  Hungry.  For power.  Money.  Influence. 

As I have said, and will continue to say, if whatever is being preached, whatever is being taught, whatever is being said, does not echo the very teachings of Jesus, then it is anathema, antiCHRISTian, and flat out wrong.  Don’t do it, don’t believe it, don’t live it.

And yes, there will be those who say, “But what about…the exception is…..what if…..”  And I say to you, no, Jesus says to them, “I am the way, the truth, the life.  No one comes to the Father but by me.  No ‘if’s, ands, or buts.”  (OK, so Jesus didn’t say, “No ifs, ands, or buts”—that was my momma talkin’ there, but still…)

Whatever we believe does not reflect the teachings of Jesus, cannot be done in love, i

f one’s politics, beliefs, actions, thoughts, and way of life deny the least, the lost, the forgotten, if one’s religion opposes acceptance and practicing radical love, if one does not welcome the stranger, feed the hungry, and work towards that oft used “and justice for all” thing, then one is not, cannot, will not, be a follower of Jesus.  If

Period.  No ifs, ands, or buts.  Amen.

The Call of the Word: A Homily on St. Mark the Evangelist~The Very Rev Lady Sherwood,OPI

Beloved, we gather today to celebrate the feast of St. Mark, a man whose life reminds us that the greatest stories are often written by those who start in the shadows. Mark was not one of the original twelve, yet his contribution to our faith is foundational. He was a witness to the witnesses, a tireless companion to Paul and Peter, and the first to commit the “Good News” to written form.

​Mark’s Gospel is unique in its urgency. He uses the word “immediately” over and over, painting a portrait of a Christ who is constantly on the move, healing, teaching, and marching toward the Cross. For Mark, the Gospel was not a static philosophy to be debated; it was a fire that had been lit in the world—a fire that required an immediate response. This urgency teaches us that when God moves, the world changes instantly, and our obedience should be just as swift.

​We see in Mark a journey of resilience. Early in his ministry, he faced failure and desertion, causing a rift between Paul and Barnabas. Yet, he did not allow his past stumbles to define his future. He matured, reconciled, and eventually became so vital to the mission that Paul later requested his presence in prison, calling him “profitable for the ministry.” Tradition even suggests he was the young man who fled naked from Gethsemane—the ultimate image of a “messy” beginning transformed into a pillar of the Church.

​The Church symbolizes Mark as a winged lion, representing the “voice crying in the wilderness.” This reminds us that the Gospel is a roar of truth meant to awaken the world. However, Mark also reminds us of the “Messianic Secret,” showing that Christ’s glory is inseparable from his suffering. We do not just follow a miracle worker; we follow a Suffering Servant.

​Mark teaches us that being a disciple doesn’t require perfection; it requires persistence. Whether you are a scholar of the Word or a seeker in the pews, you are called to be an evangelist in your own sphere. Like Mark, we are called to take the raw, often messy experiences of our lives and translate them into a testimony of God’s grace.

The Emmaus Mystery:The Story Behind the Story ~The Rev Frank Bellino, OPI

We have heard the account of the Road to Emmaus thousands of times; it has been immortalized in our hymns, captured in famous paintings, and dramatized on the big screen. It is easy to treat it as a beautiful, pious memory. But if we look at the 3rd Sunday of Easter (Cycle A) with fresh eyes, we must ask: what is the real story behind the story? When we strip away the familiar Sunday School version, we find a narrative that is raw, tense, and deeply relevant to the world we walk in today. Consider the scene: two disciples are walking seven miles away from Jerusalem. In the wake of a state execution and the chaos of an empty tomb, Jerusalem was a powder keg. As followers of a man just crucified as a criminal, these disciples were essentially “wanted” by association. Imagine their internal state. They are talking, processing their grief, and suddenly, a total stranger joins their stride. In a world of Roman informants and religious zealots, wouldn’t you be concerned? Wouldn’t you be looking over your shoulder, wondering if this “stranger” was an undercover guard sent to round up the rest of the group? This wasn’t a casual stroll; it was a walk defined by caution and a heavy sense of defeat. They were walking away from their dreams because, as far as they were concerned, the story was over.

This leads us to a deeper mystery: why did Jesus do it this way? If He wanted to prove He was resurrected, why not appear in a flash of blinding light? Why the secrecy? Why did He “prevent” them from recognizing Him at first? Jesus wasn’t playing a game of hide-and-seek; He was performing spiritual surgery. He kept His identity veiled so that these disciples would have to listen to the Word before they looked at the Wound. He wanted their hearts to burn with the truth of the Scriptures before their eyes were dazzled by His glory. He spent those seven miles teaching them—and us—that He is present even when He is “unrecognizable.” He was training them for an era of faith where we would no longer see Him physically but would find Him in the opening of the Scriptures and the Breaking of the Bread. If at the end He was going to tell them anyway, the “long way around” served to prove that the journey of faith is just as vital as the destination.

So, why does a “secret walk” from 2,000 years ago really matter to us today? It matters because we are all on a seven-mile walk. We all have moments when the world feels dangerous, when our hopes feel shattered, and when we are tempted to close ourselves off from the “strangers” around us. This Gospel is not just a great story to pass on for thousands of years; it is a direct challenge to how we live our lives. We are called to an “Emmaus Shift”—to realize that Jesus often meets us in the unrecognizable, the unexpected person, or the mundane moments of our week. We are called to be a people of the “Burning Heart,” coming to the Word not just for information, but for an encounter that changes our direction. Our ultimate call is to see Christ in the “Breaking of the Bread” on this altar and then to be His presence for others.

The disciples didn’t stay in Emmaus. Once their eyes were opened, they ran back to Jerusalem in the dark to tell the others. When we leave St. Michael’s today, we don’t just go back to our routines; we go out to patrol the faith, looking for the Risen Lord in the faces of our neighbors and the challenges of our city. The “meat” of this Gospel is that the walk isn’t over—the Savior is walking right beside you. The question remains: will you recognize Him?

The Mercy of the Wounded Word: Touching Christ through the Saints~The Rev Frank Bellino,OPI

On this Second Sunday of Easter, the Octave Day of the Resurrection, we stand in a sanctuary illuminated by a singular, breathtaking reality: the victory of Divine Mercy. Today, our celebration carries a unique weight and beauty as we have just blessed the new images of four giants of our faith—Mary Magdalene, Dominic, Catherine, and Rose. These are not merely artistic additions to our walls; they are windows into the very Heart of Christ that we see in the Divine Mercy image itself. To look upon these saints is to see the diverse ways the Mercy of God breaks through the locked doors of the human heart, transforming fear into fortitude and doubt into a “Preaching of Truth.”

In the Gospel today, we find the Apostles huddled in fear behind barred doors. They were men paralyzed by their own failures, by the memory of their desertion in the Garden, and by the terrifying silence of the tomb. Yet, the Risen Christ does not enter that room with a word of condemnation; He enters with the word of Peace ($Shalom$). He shows them His wounds—the indelible marks of His suffering that have now become the fountains of His Mercy. This is the first movement of our Dominican charism: to recognize that Mercy is the only force capable of walking through the walls we build around ourselves. We see this most clearly in St. Mary Magdalene, the first of our new images. She was the one who stood weeping at the tomb, the one from whom seven demons had been cast out, and yet she was the first to hear her name spoken by the Risen Lord. Her life proves that no past is too dark for the light of Easter morning. As a laywoman, she became the “Apostle to the Apostles,” reminding us that the mission of Mercy begins the moment we allow Christ to call us by name.

As we move from the garden of the Resurrection to the mission of the Church, we look to St. Dominic, our holy Father and the clerical heart of our Order. Dominic’s mercy was a “Mercy of the Word.” He looked upon a world wounded by error and confusion, and his heart was moved to pity. He knew that to love someone is to give them the Truth. Like the Apostles in the Upper Room who received the Holy Spirit to forgive sins, Dominic sought to “forgive” the debt of ignorance by preaching the Light of Christ. He reminds us that mercy is not a vague sentiment; it is a rigorous, intellectual, and spiritual commitment to the salvation of souls. In this Parish of St. Michael’s, we follow his lead by being vigilant in our study and joyful in our proclamation, ensuring that the “Bread of the Word” is broken for all who hunger.

But the fire of Dominic’s preaching found its most vibrant expression in the lives of the laity, exemplified by St. Catherine of Siena and St. Rose of Lima. These two women, as Dominican Tertiaries, took the Mercy of the Upper Room into the streets and the hospitals. Catherine stood before popes and kings, a laywoman with the “fire of love” in her soul, demanding that the Church return to its wounded Spouse. Rose, the first flower of the Americas, found Christ in the wounds of the poor and the marginalized, turning her life into a perpetual sacrifice of praise. They show us that Mercy is tangible—it has hands that heal and a voice that speaks for the voiceless. They represent the “Order of Penance,” a life where the red and white rays of Divine Mercy flow through the ordinary actions of a lay life lived in extraordinary union with God.

Therefore, as we gaze upon the Divine Mercy image today—with the pale ray of Water and the red ray of Blood—let us see the lives of these four saints reflected there. The Water of Truth that Dominic preached; the Blood of Sacrifice that Catherine and Rose offered; and the Joy of the Resurrection that Mary Magdalene announced. Like St. Thomas, we are invited today to touch the wounds of Christ—not just in the bread and wine upon this altar, but in the wounds of our neighbors here in San Antonio. We are sent forth from this Mass not merely as observers of Mercy, but as its conduits. “As the Father has sent me, so I send you.” Let us go forth, then, with the courage of Magdalene and the zeal of Dominic, to be the living images of Divine Mercy in a world that so desperately needs to hear: “My Lord and my God!”

In Vigilance and Joy.

Easter Sunday: The Audacity of Love and the Mandate of the Empty Tomb~The Rev Frank Bellino,OPI

Brothers and Sisters, today we do not gaze upon a sanitized or plastic version of the Resurrection. To truly grasp the blinding light of this morning, we must first acknowledge the absolute, “no-shit” brutality of Friday. Our faith is not built on a comfortable fairy tale; it is forged in the grit of a reality where hammers met nails and the air was thick with the scent of blood, sweat, and Calvary’s dust. Divine love did not offer platitudes from a safe distance; it got its hands dirty. It took the hit. Christ did not endure the cross for an abstract concept of “humanity”—He went there for you, specifically, with all your scars, your quiet regrets, and the shames you hope no one ever sees. That is the devastating weight of the love that fueled the Passion, a love that refuses to leave us where it found us.

But here is where the narrative shifts from an earthly tragedy to a cosmic revolution. Sunday morning was not merely a “comeback” or a symbolic gesture; it was the ultimate, divine “mic drop” on the power of death itself. When Christ walked out of that tomb, He didn’t just leave behind linen cloths; He left behind the authority of sin to define your identity. This is the essence of our redemption: your past is no longer a life sentence. The Resurrection proves that the darkest Friday of your life cannot hold a candle to the Sunday morning light of God’s grace. As a people of the Resurrection, we stand on the conviction that nothing—not even the grave—is final when the Creator of Life is involved. The stone was not moved to let Jesus out, but to let us in to see that the debt is paid.

Now, as your Priest, I must strike the hammer down on what this means for us today. What are we actually doing with this miracle? If you walk out of this Mass, enjoy a ham dinner, and return to the same person you were yesterday, you have bypassed the power of the empty tomb. The Dominican charism—to Praise, to Bless, and to Preach—demands that our very lives become the sermon. We must stop playing small. If death is defeated, why do we live in fear? We are called to be the hands and feet of a radical, inconvenient love that seeks out the marginalized and offers mercy to the underserving. Christ did not just “feel” love for us; He acted it out.

Our mandate is not simply to “be good” or to follow a set of rules; our mandate is to be transformed. We are called to be the people who bring an infectious hope into rooms where there is none, refusing to give up on others because Christ refused to give up on us. As we celebrate this Eucharist, let the reality of the Risen Lord burn away your complacency. Do not just look at the empty tomb—become a living witness to it. The stone is rolled away, death has been exposed as a liar, and Love has won the day. Now, let us get to work and live like we actually believe it.

Happy Easter. Alleluia, He is Risen!

Holy Saturday~The Rev Frank Bellino,OPI


Sandwiched between the stark drama of Good Friday and the radiant glory of the Easter Vigil, Holy Saturday is often in danger of being skipped over. For many of us, it is a day of practicalities—perhaps a typical Saturday, or one hectic with preparations for the Vigil. It can feel like a brief gap where we return to “normality” in the heart of the Triduum.

​But as Dominicans, we know that silence is never empty. Holy Saturday is not a gap; it is a profound state of being.

​In our Charism, we are called Laudare, Benedicere, Praedicare (To Praise, To Bless, To Preach). Yet, on this day, the Preacher is silent. The Word that was in the beginning is now silent in the tomb. I love Holy Saturday because it allows us to identify with a specific part of the human condition often overlooked in our haste for the “Alleluia.” It is the part of being human that is about quietly suffering—when you are all cried out, when the energy for resisting or complaining is exhausted, and the pain simply becomes part of the quiet, everyday life.

​Every one of us has experienced something that felt un-liveable—where trauma was so acute you survived on pure adrenaline. Then, you went home, closed the door, and the world went quiet. You had to face the grief. The “event” was over, but the internal suffering was only just beginning.

​I imagine this is exactly how the disciples and Mary felt the day after the Crucifixion. Numb, reeling, the pain rising like a bruise. Holy Saturday invites us to descend into the depths of our own humanity, just as Christ descended into the depths of the earth.

​It is vital to our faith to acknowledge the starkness of this day: God was dead. Christ did not merely faint or fall into a coma. To believe that would be to negate the power of the Resurrection. He was truly dead. In our Dominican study (Studium), we contemplate this “harrowing of hell”—the moment where the Light enters the absolute darkness.

​We all face “Holy Saturdays” in our lives—some born from dramatic tragedy, others from the slow-burning ache of daily existence. These are times when there seems to be no resolution, when we wonder if the “point” of our suffering will ever be revealed.

​Our Lady, the Seat of Wisdom, is our key to navigating these shadows. She trusted God so implicitly that while she did not understand why her Son had to die, she knew He was held in the Father’s hands. This trust didn’t numb her agony; it gave her the strength to lock eyes with Him on the way to Calvary, to stand at the foot of the Cross, and to cradle His broken body. She accepted what she could not fully comprehend.

​So, on this Holy Saturday, I invite you to wait with Our Lady. As Dominicans, we sit in the silence not as those who are lost, but as those who are observant. She knew the story could not end on Friday. She knew that Holy Saturday, though heavy, would not last forever. After the tomb comes the Resurrection.

​Let us not be too hasty to skip to the glory of tomorrow’s celebration; that joy will have its time. Instead, find a moment of stillness today. Accompany Our Lady in her quiet vigil. In doing so, you will find that she is already accompanying you in the Holy Saturdays of your own life.

Love Poured Out: Good Friday~The Very Rev Lady Sherwood,OPI

The world often feels heavy, fractured by our own shortcomings and the weight of collective suffering. Today, we pause to look at the cross—a stark, uncomfortable symbol of ultimate sacrifice. It stands as a reminder that love, in its purest form, is not merely a sentiment but an action that gives everything, even when met with hostility.

​As we sit in the quiet tension of this day, we are forced to confront the darkness within ourselves and the systems we build. The cross exposes our human tendency to choose power over vulnerability and convenience over compassion. Yet, in that same space, it offers a profound, unyielding hope that darkness never gets the final word.

​Let this be a time of deep reflection and active remembrance. Moving forward, let the gravity of this day transform how we interact with the world, pushing us to live with greater empathy and to stand with the broken.

​A Prayer for Good Friday:

​Merciful Creator, we stand before the cross today humbled by the depth of Your sacrificial love. In a world marked by pain and division, remind us of the ultimate price paid for our peace. Forgive our moments of apathy, our failures to love, and the ways we contribute to the brokenness around us.

​As we remember the darkness that fell over the earth, comfort those who are currently walking through their own seasons of suffering, grief, and despair. May the reality of this day anchor our souls, teaching us to lay down our pride and take up the call of grace. Transform our hearts so that we may become instruments of Your healing and reconciliation in a weary world.

​Amen.