Category: Sermon
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!
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.
The Humble Triumph~The Very Rev Lady Sherwood,OPI
My dearest Brothers and sisters in Christ,
As we stand at the threshold of Holy Week in 2026, the image of Jesus entering Jerusalem on a donkey remains a radical subversion of power. While the crowds expected a conqueror draped in the traditional finery of a Roman triumph, they were met with the “Prince of Peace” riding a beast of burden. This deliberate choice reminds us that the Kingdom of God does not operate on the currency of worldly status or military might, but through the transformative power of humility and sacrificial love.
The palm branches laid on the dusty road were symbols of victory, yet the victory Christ sought was not over a political regime, but over the internal darkness of the human heart. We often find ourselves caught in the same “Hosannas,” cheering for the divine when it aligns with our desires, only to grow silent when the path leads toward the cross. Palm Sunday challenges us to look beyond the momentary excitement and ask if we are prepared to follow the Lord into the quiet, difficult spaces of service and surrender that define the days to follow.
As we carry our own palms today, let them be more than decorative keepsakes. Let them be signs of a renewed commitment to walk the Way of the Cross with integrity. In a world often obsessed with loud proclamations and fleeting fame, the silent dignity of Christ’s entry calls us to a deeper, more enduring faithfulness. May we have the courage to welcome Him not just as a king of history, but as the living Lord of our present lives.
As we transition from the shouts of “Hosanna” to the quiet of the Garden, let us bring our petitions before the Lord.
For the Universal Church: That we may follow Christ with courage, laying down our pride as he laid down his life.
For Global Leaders: That they may seek the peace of the Heavenly Kingdom rather than the power of earthly ones.
For the Marginalized: That those stripped of dignity may find strength in the One who was stripped for our sake.
For This Congregation: That this Holy Week may not be a mere memory, but a transformative journey of faith.
Lord, in your mercy, hear our prayer.
Almighty and ever-living God,
We thank You for the witness of Your Son, Jesus Christ, who entered the holy city with humility to fulfill Your will. Grant us the grace to follow His example of patient suffering and selfless love. As we hold these branches, may our hearts be open to His reign, and may our lives reflect the peace He brings. Strengthen us for the journey ahead, that we may remain steadfast at the foot of the cross and rejoice in the glory of the resurrection.
Amen.
Truth in the Tomb~The Rev Frank Bellino,OPI
How many times have we heard the story of Lazarus? For many of us, the number is likely in the hundreds. We know the characters: the grieving sisters, the confused disciples, and the Jesus who weeps before he works. But if we treat this as a 2,000-year-old “magic trick,” we lose the Veritas—the Truth—that this Gospel is trying to breathe into us today. If it is just a miracle from the past, it’s a museum piece. If it’s just a “fortune-telling” of the Resurrection, it’s a trailer for a movie we’ve already seen. Through Dominican eyes, we must ask: What is the Truth of this story for a man or woman living in 2026?
Let’s look at this through a lens we rarely consider: the perspective of Lazarus himself. We often think of this as a “happily ever after” for him but think about that for a moment. Lazarus was on the doorstep of the Kingdom. He had passed through the veil; he was at rest. And yet, he is called back. He is made to “turn around” and re-enter a world of dust, pain, and eventually, a second death.
Why? Because the Truth is that our life is not our own. Lazarus was not raised for his own comfort; he was raised for the Mission. He became a living, breathing sermon—a walking protest against the finality of death. His very existence from that day forward forced everyone who looked at him to confront a reality they weren’t prepared for: that the stones we roll in front of our hearts are not permanent. Sometimes, God calls us back into difficult situations—into “stinky” circumstances—not to punish us, but because our presence there is the only way others will believe that light can penetrate the darkness.
Martha warns Jesus, “Lord, by now there will be a stench.” This is perhaps the most honest line in the New Testament. It acknowledges that some situations have gone on too long to be fixed by human hands. We all have “stinky” parts of our lives—addictions we can’t shake, bitterness we’ve nursed for decades, or a paralyzing fear of the future. The world tells us to leave those things behind the stone. The world tells us that once something starts to decay, it’s over.
But Christ stands at the mouth of our personal tombs and demands that the stone be rolled away. He isn’t afraid of the stench. The Dominican Truth is that God meets us exactly where we are “rotting.” He does not wait for us to get cleaned up before He calls us out. He calls us while we are still bound.
Perhaps the most profound Truth for us as a parish and an Order is what happens after the miracle. Jesus says the words that give life, but then He turns to the community and gives a command: “Untie him and let him go.” Notice that Jesus did not wave a hand and make the burial cloths vanish. He required the community to get their hands dirty. This is the mandate for St. Michael’s Catholic Parish/Unified Old Catholic Church. Christ provides the life-giving grace, but we are the ones called to the “Ministry of Unbinding.”
There are people sitting in these pews, or living in our neighborhoods, who have been “raised”—they have heard the call of God—but they are still walking around in burial cloths. They are bound by the labels the world has put on them, bound by the shame of their past, or bound by a lack of hope. As Dominicans and as followers of Christ, our job is to reach out and help peel back those bandages. We are called to be the hands that untie the knots of despair so that our brothers and sisters can truly walk in freedom.
As we move into Passiontide, we realize that the raising of Lazarus was the final catalyst for the death of Jesus. By giving Lazarus life, Jesus sealed His own earthly end. He traded His life for ours.
Today, let us ask ourselves: What stone are we keeping firmly in place? What “tomb” are we hiding in? The Voice that called Lazarus is calling you today. Not just to “live,” but to join the mission. To be a witness to the Truth that in Christ, nothing is ever truly “over.”
The Feast of St Joseph, Spouse of the Virgin Mary~The Very Rev Lady Sherwood, OPI
My dearest Brothers and sisters in Christ,
Today, we come together as the Church to commemorate St. Joseph, the Spouse of The Blessed Virgin Mary, and the foster Father of our Lord and Saviour,Jesus, when he became one of us here upon the Earth.
In the same way in which God, our Heavenly Father, who gives each of us as his children, unconditional love, care, stability and who sets us the standard with which we should strive to live our lives with his holy word in the scriptures, a true Father to each and every single one of us, who only ever wants the very best for all his children. St. Joseph follows our Father’s example, as both husband and foster father. He gives us examples which men should follow in their lives. Joseph cared for and provided for the Holy Household. There are many qualities that Joseph had which we could use to be the role model for Christian husbands and fathers. Joseph was a very compassionate man. We can see an example of this when he suspected his wife of infidelity; he planned to divorce her quietly rather than denounce her publicly and expose her to public shame and penalty.
Joseph was always obedient to God and did what he knew was God’s will without thought or hesitation. Examples of this are that he kept Mary as his wife; he protected and provided for his family when they had to flee to foreign lands to protect them from danger.
Joseph led a life of deep prayer and was in communion with God, and would always seek out that which was God’s will. God often told Joseph his will using dreams.
Joseph was a provider of care, When Jesus’s life was threatened, Joseph would take them out of danger. He took his family to Egypt and only returned when it was safe to do so, and when Jesus went missing at aged twelve, Joseph went searching for him because obviously, both parents were obviously extremely worried about Jesus’s safety.
Joseph also brought much more to Jesus’s life, he taught him his trade which Jesus worked in for about twenty years, he gave Jesus the love and stability he as any child needs, and was his earthly male role model, which was and still is vitally important for a good father to give any child.
He was a man with a firm faith in God coupled with a resilient personality, who did not complain and was not appalled nor distressed in the midst of trials and tribulations, St. Joseph knew how to face, carry and solve the burden of his vocation, of life’s difficulties and responsibilities with serenity, with complete faith and love, entrusting himself totally and unconditionally to God’s plans.
Sadly not all children are brought up in such a way today, but husbands and fathers truly should seek to follow this sincere man of God in the way they run their lives. Are you married? Do you give all the love, trust and respect to your spouse? Or with stresses and strains do you always argue or not truly make time for each other? If you have children, do you know where they are and if they are safe, or who they might be talking to online? Do you give emotional stability, patience and unconditional love? Do your children see you as the role model they need in a Father? We should always strive to be as our heavenly Father is to each of us, whether that be to our spouses, to our children, and in fact to all as our brothers and sisters.
While the Gospels do not shed much light on St. Joseph’s life, it is believed that he died before Jesus’ public ministry.
St. Joseph is the patron of fathers, spouses, priests and seminarians. But also, St. Joseph teaches us so much by his silent example of his life, and just how we should love God faithfully and obediently.
Let us pray:
Blessed St. Joseph, husband of Mary,
be with us this day.
You protected and cherished the Virgin;
loving the Child Jesus as your Son,
you rescued Him from the danger of death.
Defend the Church,
the household of God,
purchased by the Blood of Christ.
Guardian of the Holy Family,
be with us in our trials.
May your prayers obtain for us
the strength to flee from error
and wrestle with the powers of corruption
so that in life we may grow in holiness
and in death rejoice in the crown of victory.
Amen.
Mountains, Valleys, and Light~The Rev Frank Bellino,OPI
As we ascend the spiritual slopes of this Second Sunday of Lent, we encounter the Transfiguration—a moment where the Veritas we seek in our Dominican study ceases to be an abstract concept and becomes a visible, blinding reality. We immediately face the striking selectivity of this event: why did Jesus leave the nine at the base of the mountain and bring only Peter, James, and his brother John? In a modern culture obsessed with a hollow version of “inclusion” that demands everyone get a participation trophy, the economy of Grace works with a more rugged logic. Jesus chose these three not for their comfort, but for their coming trials. He brought this “Inner Circle” to the summit because they were the leaders destined to carry the heaviest burdens of the infant Church; they were being given a “preventative grace,” a spiritual anchor to hold them steady when the sky would eventually turn black over Calvary. To those of you today who feel you are being tested more than your neighbor—who feel the weight of leadership in your families, your careers, or your community—we must realize that the Lord often allows a deeper “Tabor moment” precisely for those He knows must endure the greatest weight of the Cross. This vision was not a reward for their status, but a necessary foundation for their survival in a world that was about to try and break them.
This encounter with the Divine, however, was not one of easy consolation, as evidenced by the disciples falling prostrate in terror. This is the Timor Domini—the Fear of the Lord—which serves as a vital correction to a 21st-century world that tries to domesticate the Divine, reducing God to a “life coach,” a cosmic vending machine, or a convenient political ally. They were afraid because the “Raw Truth” of our Dominican tradition is naturally overwhelming to the human ego; to stand in the presence of the Transfigured Christ is to realize with jarring clarity that we are not the center of the universe. In an age where the “self” is marketed as the ultimate authority, this fear is a healthy reality check. Yet it is in this very moment of holy dread that we see the essence of the Gospel: Jesus reaches out to touch them, saying, “Rise, and do not be afraid.” At St. Michael’s, we do not worship a distant, cold light, but a Majesty that reaches into the dust of our human frailty to lift us up. This balance of awe and intimacy is exactly what our modern world lacks—we have replaced the awe of God with the anxiety of the world. We must rediscover the scale of God so that we can truly appreciate the radical humility of His touch in our daily lives.
This depth of experience leads to the often-confusing command of the “Messianic Secret,” where Jesus instructs them to remain silent until after the Resurrection. In our age of “instant sharing,” where we are tempted to post every spiritual impulse on social media before it has had ten minutes to settle in our hearts, Jesus’s command is a radical call to discipline. He understands that glory without the Cross is a dangerous delusion. If the disciples had descended the mountain preaching only of glowing garments and ancient prophets, they would have been peddling a “cheap grace” that skips the sacrifice of Friday, the kind of “feel-good” spirituality that collapses the moment real life gets hard. As Dominicans, we are bound by the principle of Contemplata Aliis Tradere—to contemplate and then hand on the fruits of that contemplation—and that requires the discipline of silence. We cannot truly speak of the Transfiguration until we have stood at the foot of the Cross, for the silence Jesus demands is the time required for Truth to mature in the soul. Our world is saturated with noise, yet our calling within the Unified Old Catholic Church is to a deeper, more disciplined quiet—one where the Word is digested before it is proclaimed to a world starving for something substantial.
Ultimately, the Transfiguration offers a blueprint for our lives between the mountain and the valley. We do not gather at the Altar to escape the world’s problems or to hide in a “religious bubble.” We come to the mountain of the Eucharist to be “re-visioned” by the light of Christ so that we may have the eyes to recognize His hidden, suffering presence in the poor, the marginalized, and the broken whom we encounter in the plain below. The mountain is for the vision, but the valley is for the mission. Like Abraham in our first reading, who was told to leave everything he knew and “Go forth,” we are called to move. we leave this sacred space today not merely with a memory of a miraculous light, but with the fortitude to face our own personal Fridays. We rise, we cast off our fear, and we walk back into our neighborhoods and our workplaces, certain that the light we witnessed on the mountain is a glory that the darkness of this 21st-century world can never, and will never, overcome.
The Urgency of the Desert~The Rev Frank Bellino,OPI
When we look at Matthew 4:1-11, we aren’t just reading a historical account of Jesus in the wilderness; we are looking at a roadmap for our own survival. As your Priest, I don’t talk about the “desert” or the discipline of Lent because I want to fill your calendar with more “church work.” I talk about it because I have stood at enough bedsides and seen enough of life’s fragility to know one absolute truth: Life is short, and eternity is forever. My deepest desire—the very reason I wear this collar—is to ensure that when your earthly pilgrimage ends, you are counted among the saints, reunited with your loved ones in the presence of God.
The devil didn’t tempt Jesus with obvious “evil”; he tempted him with shortcuts. He offered bread to the hungry, protection from pain, and power without sacrifice. Today, he does the same to us. He tells us we have “plenty of time” to get right with God, or that the Sacraments aren’t necessary if we are “good people.” But as a Dominican, I am bound to the Truth (Veritas), and the truth is that we are in a spiritual battle for our very souls. If Jesus—the Sinless One—was targeted by the tempter, what makes us think we can navigate this life safely without the armor of the Church?
We have the Sacraments and prayer not as “tasks,” but as medicine for a terminal condition. Confession isn’t about shame; it’s about clearing the wreckage so you can walk through the gates of Heaven. The Eucharist isn’t just a ritual; it is the “food for the journey” that sustains your soul when the world tries to starve it. We use these tools now because we do not know if we have tomorrow.
Our call to action this Lent is to live with a “Holy Urgency.” I challenge you to look at your life through the lens of eternity. Stop delaying the reconciliation you know you need—whether it is with God in the Confessional or with a family member you haven’t spoken to in years. Make the Sacraments the non-negotiable anchor of your week, recognizing that every time you receive the Eucharist, you are practicing for the Heavenly Banquet. Let us use these forty days to strip away the distractions that convince us we are immortal, and instead, cling to the Cross. Our goal is simple but infinite: to finish this race well so that we may see each other again in the Kingdom where there are no more departures, only the joy of being home with Jesus. Amen
The Discipline of Dust~The Rev Frank Bellino,OPI
For over a thousand years, the Church has gathered on this day to perform a ritual that
the modern world often finds jarring. We take the remains of last year’s victory—the
palms of Palm Sunday—and we burn them into a gray, lifeless powder. In the ancient
world, to “sit in sackcloth and ashes” was the ultimate sign of a soul stripped bare; it
was the mark of the exile and the public penitent. As we begin this holy season,
we must realize that the Prophet Joel’s ancient call to “blow the trumpet in
Zion” is not a call to celebration, but a declaration of a spiritual emergency. These ashes
are the “uniform” of those who recognize that the world is broken, and more importantly,
that we are part of that brokenness.
The theological heart of this day lies in the uncompromising command: Memento
Mori—”Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” This is the “Law of
the Garden” from the Book of Genesis. It serves as a stark reminder that despite our
ranks, our titles, or our years of service, we are contingent beings who do not own our
next breath. Ash Wednesday is the Great Equalizer of the liturgical year. Whether you
are a student, a retiree, a first responder, or a priest, we all receive the same smudge of
dust. It is a necessary confrontation with our mortality, intended to strip away the illusion
that we are the masters of our own destiny. We are creatures in desperate need of a
Creator, and we have forty days to re-align our lives with that reality.
The Prophet Joel challenges us to “rend your hearts, not your garments.” In the Hebrew
tradition, tearing one’s clothes was a sign of extreme grief, but God sees through the
theater of outward signs. He is looking for a strategic rupture in the soul—a deep,
internal surrender. A “strong” Lent is not defined by the quantity of our sacrifices, but by
the quality of our conversion. We fast to prove to our bodies that our souls are in
charge; we pray to prove to our egos that God is in charge; and we give alms to prove
to our hearts that we do not own the world. This is why we commit to forty days—the
biblical timeframe required for the “old man” to die so that the “new man” can be born.
As we embark on this campaign of Christian service, let us not wear these ashes as a
badge of holiness, but as a confession of our need. History teaches us that those who
forget they are dust eventually attempt to act like gods, a path that always leads to ruin.
I invite the community of the Unified Old Catholic Church to enter this season with
discipline and clear eyes. The orders for the journey ahead are simple yet profound:
Repent, believe in the Gospel, and remember who you truly are in the eyes of God. The
campaign has begun.
The Order of Preachers, Independent 
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