I made it to the 4 pm Sunday vigil Mass at St. Pio. It happened to be carnival weekend at the parish. Driving into the parking lot was hard, and while the music, foods, and laughter of the fairgrounds drifted through the summer air, something even more joyful stirred inside the church: the Holy Mass. It was one of those Saturday evening Masses that quietly wrap themselves around your soul, powerfully nourishing you with more than just words. It fills you with Truth.
The Gospel reading was from (Luke 11:1–13).
It begins with the disciples asking Jesus to teach them how to pray. He responds not with a list of duties but with a relationship. He says, “When you pray, say: Father.” Just that one word-Father- changes everything. It is not a distant all knowing deity we approach, but the One who loves us with the tenderness of a parent and the power of a Creator. Just like no crime can keep us from the love of our earthly parents, no amount of our shortfall can change how God relates to us as His children.
Jesus goes on to share a parable about a friend who knocks at midnight, asking for bread. But the friend is reluctant. He is already tucked in comfortably in his bed one can imagine. The door is locked. It is late. He says, “Do not bother me” (Luke 11:7). How many of us have known that feeling, needing someone and being turned away just when we needed them the most?
And yet, Jesus makes a contrast. God is not like this friend. God does not say, “Do not bother me.” There is no bad hour with Him. No door that is too heavy to open. “Ask and you will receive; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you” (Luke 11:9).
Psalm 138 echoes this promise:
“Lord, on the day I called for help, you answered me” (Psalm 138:3).
That is reliability. That is love. And is that not what every good parent strives to be, present, listening, and dependable?
In reflection, the first reading was from (Genesis 18), and it tells us of Abraham’s bold and persistent intercession for the people of Sodom. We had a reflection recently about this. Again and again he asks, “What if there are fifty righteous? Forty five? Forty?” Down to ten. And each time, God listens. Each time, He stays engaged with Abraham's intervention. What kind of love is this? It is the love of a Father who never grows tired of our voices, even when our faith is small or our requests are great. It's so wonderful to know that God is always listening to us.
Our earthly parents are meant to be reflections of this love. They feed us, teach us, protect us, and forgive us. But even the best earthly parent is still human and can walk away when the going gets tough. They grow weary. They make mistakes. They fall short. And this is why the name of God is unlike any other. His is the ultimate name. There is no parallel. No competition.
“You have received a Spirit of adoption, through which we cry, Abba, Father” (Romans 8:15). Abba, the word spoken by a child, full of trust and intimacy.
In (Colossians 2:12–14), St. Paul also added that we were buried with Christ in baptism and raised with Him through faith. Our sins, our debts, our failings, all nailed to the cross. What parent on earth could love this deeply, this completely, this eternally?
When we say “Our Father” in prayer, we are not reciting a formula. We are entering into the mystery of a God whose love is so profound that He sent His only Son to draw us near. When we cry out Father, He does not hesitate. He does not ignore. He answers. And imagine uttering the same name as Jesus did. That is power, and we sometimes do not even know it.
So today, I am comforted. Not just by the beauty of the liturgy or the Scriptures read aloud, but by the reality that we belong to a God whose name is above all names. The One who never sleeps, never turns us away, never locks the door.
When the world gets loud and uncertain, and even our dearest loved ones cannot always carry our burdens, He remains.
Abba, Father. Reliable. Holy. Always near.
Back to the carnival.
Pal Ronnie
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