Sometimes my father would say to me, “Don’t move. I’ll be right there,” and he’d directly intervene to save me from some situation. But other times, he would say to me, “Figure it out on your own.”

For instance, when I broke my arm in the 6th grade he rushed me to the hospital, acting powerfully and swiftly on my behalf. But not long after that, when I told him that I was being bullied on the bus, he said, “Well, if it happens again, hit the guy in the nose.”

I guess being a father isn’t one or the other. As much as it is sometimes stepping in to save the child, it also means permitting the child the freedom to try and to learn on his own. “I’ll always be here,” a father can say, “but I can’t live your life for you.”

I mentioned Game 4 of the NBA Finals, when, after the Knicks had gone up by one point (after being down by 29) the Spurs inbounded the ball with 1.9 seconds left on the clock. The prayer at that point was, “Just don’t foul them.”

And I feel like there’s something similar happening in our Christianity: Christ has won the victory for us, conquering the Evil One on the cross, and His parting prayer for us is, “Just don’t foul one another; Love one another as I have loved you.”

Many people today are reaching out for God in a proud and ambitious way, like Icarus, and end up only hurting themselves, as we once did before beginning to love Jesus in the Eucharist. This weekend's Feast of Corpus Christi raises the question: Can man really know God? Can man really approach the Son without getting hurt? I say he can. Good News, Icarus.

What if God were to begin imparting to us some of His divine life now, in this life, little by little, all along the way, until He finally takes us to Himself. Then - even if we were to have a bad day, or someone were to betray us, or we were to get sick - then, we would be able to call life good because of where it’s ultimately going.

If remaining with people requires forgiving them all the time, and forgiving people all the time will make us more like Christ, then perhaps it's good for us that we challenge one another. Good for us, personally. Good for our loved ones. And good for our country.

I grew up golfing. I still golf. Sometimes I think I should quit. But something tells me that God wants me to keep playing because of what it teaches me about life.

Many people promise us an escape from failures, mistakes and losses. But what if there were something for us to be gained from those as well by offering them to God too?

It's never easy to be "in between," but it is possible with the Church.

The natural communion of marriage and motherhood remains the basis of all society in this world, but the Holy Communion of the Church, which is a holy marriage and holy motherhood, is the new and eternal basis for life in the world to come.

Saints emerge from the times in which they live, and Saint Louis de Montfort lived in a time not all that different than our own. It was a matter of belonging to Christ through a kind of holy slavery in order to be free.

I grew up “looking in” at the Church. I felt that way even when I was in the Seminary studying for the priesthood, like I didn’t really belong there. And I feel that way now that I’m ordained. It’s not the virtue of humility; it’s just what it is for me, but it shapes the way I preach to people (and speak to you hear). I’m always like Thomas in that way: the other guys see it first before me, and then I get let in to the thing later. I’ve come to understand about myself that I am a man completely dependent on second chances. My only hope for holiness (or heaven) is in second chances. And when I preach I tend to consider of first importance those in the church who may feel like they’re looking in at something from the outside and need a second chance.