Fr. Brian Soliven Sermons

Brothers and sisters, heed the wisdom of Pope St. John Paul II, who boldly proclaimed, “The future of humanity passes through the family.” In his profound “Letter to Families,” he emphasized that the family is not merely an institution; it is the very foundation upon which our society is built. The family stands as the first and most crucial sanctuary of love, where each individual can find their true self through the sincere gift of self. It is a divine arrangement that cannot, should not, and must not be replaced. The family is indeed the ‘sanctuary of life,’ and the Church, in her sacred mission, recognizes that serving the family is one of her most essential duties.

Consider this, my friends: the family is the very bedrock of our civilization. It is here that we encounter love for the first time, that we understand our worth through the embrace of our parents, and it is within this sacred unit that we learn to love one another. However, let us not overlook the stark reality: when trauma befalls our families during these formative years, the effects can haunt us for a lifetime. We must recognize the importance of nurturing and protecting this heavenly institution.

Reflect on the life of Pope John Paul II, who witnessed the devastation of World War II and the dark shadows of authoritarian regimes that sought to eradicate Polish identity and the Catholic faith. The cruelty of both the Nazis and the Communists aimed to elevate the state above the family, above the very fabric of our humanity. Yet, when John Paul II ascended to the papacy in 1978, he lifted high the banner of the family. He founded the first Pontifical Institute for Studies on Marriage and Family, calling the Church and the world to action: rebuild the family!

And let us bask in the glorious truth revealed at Christmas. Can we fathom the depth of God’s choice to enter our world? He, in His infinite wisdom, chose to be born into a human family. God became a baby. He experienced our joys and sorrows—He cried, cooed, and giggled just as we do. This was His divine declaration: “I created you in my image and likeness” (Genesis 1:27). How easily we forget this glorious truth! To awaken us to our true identity, He was born among us, reminding us that the journey of salvation begins within the family.

So let us take to heart the words of St. Mother Teresa: “If you want to bring peace to the world, go home and love your family.” It is a call to action, a divine mandate! Let us strive, with all our might, to cherish and nurture our families, for in doing so, we are not just building our homes—we are building a brighter future for all of humanity! Amen!

If you’re searching for peace of mind, consider stepping away from the constant barrage of news. It seems that every time we open an article, watch a broadcast, or glance at a headline, we are faced with a new crisis to fear. Whether it’s the turmoil of politics, the uncertainty of the economy, or the pain of global conflicts like Ukraine and Gaza, the weight can feel unbearable. And on top of all that, we each carry our own personal struggles—sickness, strained relationships, the everyday challenges of life. Our emotional bandwidth is limited, and it can often feel like we're drowning in a sea of despair.

In the midst of all this, many of us are left grappling with the deepest questions of life. What is the point of it all? What is the meaning behind the suffering we endure?

When Pope Benedict XVI was elected to the papacy in 2005, he embarked on a profound journey that had been simmering in his heart for decades. He longed to write a book that would return the world to the central, life-changing truth of Christianity: the person of Jesus Christ. As a brilliant theologian, he saw how modern biblical scholarship had often lost touch with the core message of the Gospel. Pope Benedict sought to recenter our faith on the life of Jesus—a life that speaks not just to history, but to our heavy hearts.

In the opening of his book, he posed a thought-provoking question: “What did Jesus truly bring, if he didn’t bring peace to the world, well-being for all, and a better world?”

It's a question that many of us, in our deepest moments of doubt and pain, ask ourselves. Look at the chaos around us. Witness the suffering in our own lives. How can an all-powerful, all-loving God allow wars to rage on, allow our loved ones to suffer from illness, or allow the pain that seems so pervasive in this world? Pope Benedict cuts to the heart of this struggle with his honest question: “What did Jesus truly bring…?”

Our own experiences remind us that, even with faith, pain doesn't disappear. We still feel the ache of loss, the weight of sorrow. So, the logical question arises: What, then, is the point of being Christian? What difference does it make if we still face suffering?

Pope Benedict, in his calm, profound wisdom, answers with striking clarity: “The answer is very simple: God. He brought God.”

The scandal, the mystery, and the beauty of Christianity is this: God Himself entered into our brokenness. In the person of Jesus, He united His divinity with our frailty, our suffering, our pain. We call this the Incarnation—the moment when the Creator of the universe chose to dwell among us in all of our mess and confusion. He didn’t stay distant or aloof. He stepped into our world and became one with us.

Now, I know that answer doesn’t always soothe our aching hearts. It doesn’t erase the pain we feel in the face of personal tragedy or global despair. But it offers us something far greater: hope. It calls us to trust in a divine plan that we might not fully understand. It invites us to surrender to the mystery that, though we may not see it now, God has a purpose for our lives, even in the midst of suffering.

This is not an easy truth. But it is a profound one. It challenges us to place our faith not in the absence of pain, but in the presence of God within it. It calls us to trust that He knows what is best, even when we cannot see the path ahead.

In the end, the peace we seek isn't found in the absence of hardship, but in the presence of God—Emmanuel, God with us. That is why as we heard in this Sunday’s Gospel, the baby in Elizabeth’s womb could not help but “leap” when he heard Mary’s greeting. 

If you’re searching for peace of mind, consider stepping away from the constant barrage of news. It seems that every time we open an article, watch a broadcast, or glance at a headline, we are faced with a new crisis to fear. Whether it’s the turmoil of politics, the uncertainty of the economy, or the pain of global conflicts like Ukraine and Gaza, the weight can feel unbearable. And on top of all that, we each carry our own personal struggles—sickness, strained relationships, the everyday challenges of life. Our emotional bandwidth is limited, and it can often feel like we're drowning in a sea of despair. In the midst of all this, many of us are left grappling with the deepest questions of life. What is the point of it all? What is the meaning behind the suffering we endure?

When Pope Benedict XVI was elected to the papacy in 2005, he embarked on a profound journey that had been simmering in his heart for decades. He longed to write a book that would return the world to the central, life-changing truth of Christianity: the person of Jesus Christ. As a brilliant theologian, he saw how modern biblical scholarship had often lost touch with the core message of the Gospel. Pope Benedict sought to recenter our faith on the life of Jesus—a life that speaks not just to history, but to our heavy hearts. In the opening of his book, he posed a thought-provoking question: “What did Jesus truly bring, if he didn’t bring peace to the world, well-being for all, and a better world?”

It's a question that many of us, in our deepest moments of doubt and pain, ask ourselves. Look at the chaos around us. Witness the suffering in our own lives. How can an all-powerful, all-loving God allow wars to rage on, allow our loved ones to suffer from illness, or allow the pain that seems so pervasive in this world? Pope Benedict cuts to the heart of this struggle with his honest question: “What did Jesus truly bring…?” Our own experiences remind us that, even with faith, pain doesn't disappear. We still feel the ache of loss, the weight of sorrow. So, the logical question arises: What, then, is the point of being Christian? What difference does it make if we still face suffering?

Pope Benedict, in his calm, profound wisdom, answers with striking clarity: “The answer is very simple: God. He brought God.” The scandal, the mystery, and the beauty of Christianity is this: God Himself entered into our brokenness. In the person of Jesus, He united His divinity with our frailty, our suffering, our pain. We call this the Incarnation—the moment when the Creator of the universe chose to dwell among us in all of our mess and confusion. He didn’t stay distant or aloof. He stepped into our world and became one with us.

Now, I know that answer doesn’t always soothe our aching hearts. It doesn’t erase the pain we feel in the face of personal tragedy or global despair. But it offers us something far greater: hope. It calls us to trust in a divine plan that we might not fully understand. It invites us to surrender to the mystery that, though we may not see it now, God has a purpose for our lives, even in the midst of suffering. This is not an easy truth. But it is a profound one. It challenges us to place our faith not in the absence of pain, but in the presence of God within it. It calls us to trust that He knows what is best, even when we cannot see the path ahead.

In the end, the peace we seek isn't found in the absence of hardship, but in the presence of God—Emmanuel, God with us. That is why as we heard in this Sunday’s Gospel, the baby in Elizabeth’s womb could not help but “leap” when he heard Mary’s greeting. 

Let me ask you this: what would your life look like without God? Would you feel fulfilled, valued, and at peace? Imagine, for a moment, a life without the presence of the Divine. Without God to guide you, your worth would come from fleeting things—external markers of success that never seem to be enough. The constant comparison game begins: Who has the better job? The bigger house? The flashier car? The "perfect" body? The most beautiful family?

This endless race, always trying to outrun the next person, offers no true rest. No matter how much we accumulate, there will always be someone else with more, someone else who seems to have it all together. The truth is, without God, we are left to define our value by what’s around us—by things that fade, that rust, that lose their shine. The pursuit of more becomes an obsession, but no matter how much we gain, the feeling of emptiness persists.

Without God, we are left to find our own purpose. Every day we wake up, searching for meaning, yearning for something deeper, something real. We might try to fill the void by chasing new experiences, or by hopping from one thrill to the next, hoping that the hollowness in our hearts will somehow be filled. But deep down, we know that none of it can satisfy. The pain, the ache—it always returns. And with it, the temptation to seek comfort in fleeting addictions, whatever form they may take. The brief escape never lasts, no matter how many bottles of wine I drink. The hole in our soul is too vast for anything in this world to fill.

Without God, we are the arbiters of right and wrong. We become our own moral compass, deciding what is good based on personal experience or fleeting emotions. For a time, this might feel freeing—like indulging in the sugar rush of a guilty pleasure. But just as the sugar crash follows the rush, so too does the realization that our hearts are fickle, our judgments unreliable, and the consequences of our choices inevitably painful.

A life without God, I dare say, is like a dry, barren desert. There is no rain to refresh, no fertile soil to cultivate hope, no oasis to rest in. We wander aimlessly, searching for something that always seems just out of reach. But here’s the incredible news: God has not left us in the desert.

In the words of the prophet Isaiah, “The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom. They will bloom with abundant flowers, and rejoice with joyful song” (Isaiah 35:1-2). Even the driest, most desolate parts of our lives will bloom again—when God enters the picture. He promised He would send someone to transform our deserts into gardens. And that promise was fulfilled in the person of Jesus Christ, God made flesh.

Jesus is the One who brings new meaning to our lives, who restores what we thought was lost forever. He reveals our true worth—not in the things we acquire, but in the fact that we are made in His image and likeness. That is the message of hope we celebrate today. It is in Him that we find our true value and purpose.

Look at the miraculous image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, who carries Jesus within her in the most tender and humble way. Her gaze downwards reflects not only humility but a recognition of the immensity of the grace she carries. She knows that the Savior of the world is inside her, and she, like us, is awed by this truth.

Friends, stop searching. The meaning of life is not elusive. You have found Him. He is here. He is with you. You are loved beyond measure, not because of anything you’ve done, but because of who you are in His eyes.

Rejoice today, for the desert is blooming, and the fullness of life is available to you in Christ. Let Him be the one who quenches your thirst and fills your heart with joy. This is the life we are called to live—a life not marked by what we lack, but by the richness of His love.

Throughout history, when two distinct civilizations have collided, the outcome has often been devastating—marked by bloodshed, destruction, and war. When Europeans first arrived in the Americas during the 15th and 16th centuries, the same tragic pattern seemed inevitable. The clash of cultures and the turmoil that followed were all too familiar. But then, something extraordinary happened—something that defied all expectations.

In December of 1531, in what is now Mexico, a miraculous image appeared on a humble tilma, a simple cloth made from cactus fibers. This image, known as Our Lady of Guadalupe, would forever alter the course of history, uniting two warring worlds into one family—a family bound not by blood, but by faith.

Just a decade earlier, Hernán Cortés had conquered the mighty Aztec Empire, and tensions between the native people and the Spanish colonizers were high. Yet, in the most unexpected way, Our Lady of Guadalupe revealed herself as a woman of mixed heritage—neither fully Aztec nor fully Spanish, but embodying both cultures. Her presence, in all its profound beauty, transcended the divisions of the time.

To the Aztec people who gazed upon her image, she spoke directly to their hearts. Her eyes, gently cast downward, and her hands, clasped in prayer, portrayed a woman of deep humility. A belt tied high on her waist signified that she was with child—bearing the promise of new life. Standing before the rays of the sun, she declared that the child she carried was greater than Huitzilopochtli, the pagan god of the sun and war, whom the Aztecs had worshiped through bloody human sacrifice for centuries.

In that moment, the Blessed Mother brought a vision of hope and unity that transcended decades of conflict and division. She called forth a new people—a people united in Jesus Christ. Within just a few years of her apparition, nearly ten million Aztecs would embrace the Catholic faith. The priests at the time noted that the demand for baptisms was so overwhelming, they could barely keep up, their arms aching from pouring water over thousands of heads every day.

What happened in Mexico in 1531 is a living testimony to the power of God's love and grace to transform even the most broken, divided world. It’s a message that still resonates deeply. The Prophet Isaiah proclaims, “Comfort, give comfort to my people, says your God… Here comes with power, the Lord God.” St. John the Baptist echoes this, declaring, “One mightier than I is coming after me. I have baptized you with water; he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

Jesus Christ comes to bring healing and peace to a fractured humanity. He comes to unite us, not in the frailty of our divisions, but in the strength of His Kingdom. He comes to bring us home—not just to this earth, but to Heaven itself. In a world still torn by conflict, the message of Our Lady of Guadalupe reminds us that no division is too great, no conflict too deep, for the power of God's love to bring healing and transformation.

Let us remember that this season of Advent is not only about waiting for Christ’s coming—it’s about preparing ourselves to be instruments of peace, unity, and love in the world. May the spirit of Our Lady of Guadalupe inspire us to open our hearts to the message of the Gospel, and to be agents of reconciliation in a world that so desperately needs it.

When we build our lives on Christ, we're building on solid foundations. Everything in the world is but sand. Christ words will never fade away. 

Jesus gives us strength in our weakness. 

Is prayer a waste of time? At times, it can certainly feel that way, especially when we pray fervently for a particular outcome, only to face silence in return. We cry out in our deepest need, yet hear nothing but the echoes of our own voices. In those moments, many of us have wondered, in desperation, “God, are you even listening?” It's only human to feel disheartened, even the most devoted believer may struggle with doubt and discouragement. Yet, despite those feelings, the truth remains: prayer is never wasted. In today’s Gospel, Jesus gives us a powerful reminder of this enduring truth. He commands us, not just to pray, but to be vigilant—to stay steadfast in prayer, even when the path feels uncertain. His words are clear and compelling: “Be vigilant at all times and pray that you have the strength to escape the tribulations that are imminent and to stand before the Son of Man.”

This is not a call to give up when challenges arise, but an invitation to press on with unwavering faith. The journey of a Christian toward heaven is a path that unfolds through faith alone—it is not a choice but a necessity. On this path, darkness will sometimes loom, and doubt may whisper in our hearts. This echoes the words of St. Paul to the Corinthians: “We know that while we are at home in the body we are away from the Lord, for we walk by faith, not by sight.” The experience of spiritual dryness, that feeling of distance from God, has been felt by saints throughout history, from the great mystics like St. John of the Cross to more recent witnesses like Mother Teresa. St. Thérèse of Lisieux, too, followed this same arduous yet transformative journey.

In the opening of her Autobiography, The Story of a Soul, St. Thérèse reveals the profound inner desolation she faced: “I should have spoken to you about the retreat preceding my Profession, dear Mother, before speaking about the trial I have mentioned; it was far from bringing me any consolations, since the most absolute aridity and almost total abandonment were my lot.” In those moments, any sense of God’s closeness had vanished. The comfort that her faith once offered seemed distant, a mere memory.

Yet, in the depths of this darkness, St. Thérèse was not abandoned. Her journey was not shaped by the fleeting emotions we so often rely on but by a deeper, unshakable truth: God’s presence is not defined by our feelings. The intimate relationship she had once felt with the Heavenly Father, the tender love revealed in Jesus, seemed to fade, but in truth, God was calling her to something more profound. This was a new stage of spirituality, one that saints before her had walked. It was the invitation to live by pure faith, to trust in God not because of what we feel, but because of who He is.

St. Thérèse’s experience reminds us all that faith is not always about comfort or consolation—it is about the courage to press forward, even when we cannot see the way. It is in these moments, when the path is unclear, that we are called to walk not by sight, but by faith alone. And in this, we find a deeper connection with God, a stronger, more resilient faith that cannot be shaken by the shifting sands of our emotions. This is the true strength of the Christian journey.

 The great saint writes: “God permitted my soul to be invaded by the thickest darkness, and that the thought of heaven, up until then so sweet to me, be no longer anything but the cause of struggle and torment. This trial was to last not a few days or a few weeks, it was not be extinguished until the hour set by God Himself and this hour has not yet come. I saw very clearly the beacon that was announcing to me heaven’s port; but now I no longer see anything. It’s as if my eyes were blindfolded. That day I saw the Thief; at present I no longer see anything at all. What anyone says to me about death no longer penetrates; it slides over me as it would over smooth glass. It’s finished! The hope of death is all used up…. God wills that I abandon myself like a very little child who is not disturbed by what others will do to him.”  

"Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; his love endures forever." -1 Chronicles 16:34

There are few things more terrifying than the thought of the end of the world. The great day of reckoning has many names—the Apocalypse, the Rapture, Armageddon, the Day of Judgement, and for us Catholics, the most solemn of all, the Second Coming of Christ. No matter the name, it speaks to one undeniable reality: this world, in all its fleeting glory, will come to an end. And make no mistake, beloved, that end is near. The Lord Himself has warned us, “The Son of Man will come at an hour when you do not expect him.” (Matthew 24:44). We may try to ignore it, or even wish it away, but the day is coming.

In the early Church, the faithful expected Christ’s return in their own lifetimes. Indeed, for centuries, as calamity and chaos have swept across the world, countless Christians have cried out, “The End Times are upon us!” And yet, time marches on. We live our lives, go about our routines, and let the years slip by. But this is precisely the complacency that our Lord cautioned against! The day of His return will come like a thief in the night, and we are called to be ready—always ready—whether that day comes today or in the distant future. We know neither the day nor the hour, but we must be prepared at all times, with vigilant hearts and spirits that are awake.

This is where the wisdom of the Church shines through, guiding us in the ways of readiness and devotion. We cannot, after all, spend every moment looking to the sky, waiting for the Apocalypse to unfold. Our lives are busy. We are parents, workers, children, caretakers. We have mouths to feed, bills to pay, duties to fulfill. But beloved, God knows this. He understands our concerns, our distractions, and our struggles. And this is why, in His infinite mercy, He has given us a season—a sacred time of preparation—Advent.

The word “Advent” comes from the Latin Adventus, meaning “coming” or “arrival.” And it is this very coming that we prepare for during these holy weeks. As the days grow shorter and the world darkens, we, the faithful, are called to open our hearts and souls to the light of Christ, who has already come among us and will come again in glory. Each scripture reading we hear during Advent carries with it a profound urgency. These are not words of the past; they are words for today. They challenge us: Are we ready to meet the Lord? Are we prepared to stand before the King of Kings, when He returns in all His majesty?

To help guide us in this holy preparation, I invite you all to join us for our Advent Day of Recollection on Saturday, November 23rd. This will be a day of grace and renewal, where we, as one parish family, will turn our eyes and hearts toward heaven, looking to Christ’s glorious return not with fear, but with eager anticipation. As your pastor, I am calling you to this moment of spiritual reflection, of personal renewal, to rediscover the hope and joy that come from knowing that the End of the World is not the end of our lives, but the fulfillment of all our hopes—the triumphant return of our Lord and Savior.

This Advent Day of Recollection will feature activities for families in both English and Spanish, so that all can partake in this holy preparation. Together, we will reflect on what it truly means to be ready for the Second Coming, how to live our lives in such a way that when He arrives, we will meet Him not with fear or shame, but with open arms, hearts full of love, and souls purified by grace.

I, along with the Sisters of Pro Ecclesia Sancta, will offer spiritual reflections and insights on how we can eagerly prepare our lives for the coming of the Son of Man. It will be a day of prayer, of reflection, and of renewal—a time to look inward and ask ourselves, Am I living in readiness for Christ’s return?

Let us not wait. Let us not delay. The hour is drawing near. The King is coming. And when He comes, let it be with joy, with faith, and with hearts prepared in love. I look forward to seeing you there, as we all prepare ourselves to meet Him face to face.

God bless you all, and may the peace of Christ reign in your hearts this Advent season.