Bishop John P. Luft, stsa

03/29/2026

The False Majesty of Stone and Law
A Palm Sunday Homily

In the Passion narrative of Matthew, we witness two distinct types of "power." There is the power of the palms—the grassroots, vulnerable hope of the marginalized—and the power of the palace, where religious and state institutions conspire. Matthew 26 shows us that when government (Pilate) and institution (the Sanhedrin) prioritize their own preservation over the life of a single "least of these," their authority loses its divine merit. They didn't just execute a man; they attempted to execute the dignity of the person.

Modern Echoes
Today, we see these same structures under strain. In our own nation, we often witness a "faith dialogue" that becomes a weapon of exclusion rather than a bridge of dignity. We see institutional power used to:

- Discount the Immigrant: When borders become more sacred than the bodies of those seeking refuge.

- Silence the Poor: When economic systems value the "Temple treasury" (the bottom line) over the "widow’s mite" (the survival of the vulnerable).

- Erode Community: When we forget that our worth is not granted by a decree or a census, but by our shared identity as children of God.

The merit of any institution is measured by how it treats the person it is most tempted to ignore. If our laws do not protect the most marginalized, they are merely "clanging cymbals." This Holy Week, as we walk with Jesus from the palms to the cross, we must ask ourselves: Do we stand with the institutions that demand order at the cost of justice, or do we stand with the Man on the donkey who chose the cross to prove the infinite worth of every soul?

Let us reclaim a faith that values human dignity above all else. True power is not found in the seat of the Governor or the High Priest, but in the radical, humble service of the one who was "counted among the lawless" to save us all.

02/18/2026

"The Path Less Traveled"
an occasional devotional reflection with Bishop John

Today we enter the holy season of Lent marked by ashes and truth. We hear the words spoken quietly but firmly: “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” Ash Wednesday strips away illusion—not to shame us, but to free us.

In today’s Gospel (Matthew 6:1–6, 16–18), Jesus warns against performative righteousness. He rejects public displays of piety that mask hardened hearts. Prayer, fasting, and almsgiving are not tools for reputation or control; they are disciplines meant to re-order the soul toward God and neighbor. What matters is not what is seen, but what is transformed.

This Gospel confronts our national life with uncomfortable clarity.

A society can loudly claim moral authority while quietly neglecting the poor. It can celebrate faith publicly while permitting policies that wound the vulnerable privately. Jesus exposes this contradiction. Righteousness that does not lead to justice is hollow. Repentance that does not change how power is exercised is incomplete.

Ash Wednesday calls both individuals and nations to conversion.

True reform is not cosmetic. It requires honesty about how fear, greed, exclusion, and indifference have shaped our laws, institutions, and public priorities. It demands renewed commitment to protect those most easily discarded: the poor, migrants, the elderly, the disabled, the incarcerated, families living one crisis away from collapse, and communities burdened by historic injustice.

The ashes on our foreheads should disturb us. They remind us that no system, ideology, or nation is eternal—only God’s justice endures. Lent invites us to choose humility over performance, mercy over punishment, and solidarity over silence.

May this season form in us hearts that seek not to appear righteous, but to become just.

✠ Episcopal Blessing

May the Lord who calls you to repentance grant you a humble and contrite heart.
May Christ purify your intentions and strengthen your love for the least among us.
And may Almighty God bless you, the Father ✠ and the Son ✠ and the Holy Spirit ✠, now and throughout this holy season. Amen.

02/10/2026

"The Path Less Traveled"
an occasional devotional reflection with Bishop John

Today the Church honors Saint Scholastica, sister of Saint Benedict and mother of a spirituality rooted not in power, but in faithful love. Her life reminds us that holiness is not loud, rigid, or performative—it is patient, attentive, and deeply responsive to God.

In today’s Gospel (Mark 7:1–13), Jesus confronts religious leaders who cling to tradition while neglecting justice. They honor God with their lips, but their hearts remain far away. Christ exposes a dangerous temptation: using rules, customs, or legal technicalities to excuse ourselves from the deeper demands of mercy, responsibility, and love.

Saint Scholastica lived the opposite way.

Her holiness was not about appearances or control, but about relationship—with God and with others. When human systems failed to serve love, she trusted God enough to let grace intervene. Her witness challenges every age, including our own.

In the life of our nation, we are confronted with a similar question: do our laws and policies protect human dignity, or do they hide behind procedure while allowing harm to persist? When tradition, bureaucracy, or political loyalty becomes more important than the lives of the poor, the immigrant, the disabled, the elderly, the incarcerated, or the working poor, the Gospel is being silenced.

Jesus makes it clear: no tradition, no ideology, no system is sacred if it crushes the vulnerable.

True reform—political and social—begins when conscience is formed by compassion, not convenience. It requires the courage to name injustice even when it is legal, popular, or longstanding. Saint Scholastica teaches us that fidelity to God always bears fruit in mercy toward others.

May we resist hollow piety and instead choose a faith that protects, heals, and restores.

✠ Episcopal Blessing

May Christ, who searches the heart and desires mercy, draw you ever closer to His truth.
May the intercession of Saint Scholastica deepen your love for God and neighbor.
And may Almighty God bless you, the Father ✠ and the Son ✠ and the Holy Spirit ✠, now and forever. Amen.

02/05/2026

"The Path Less Traveled"
an occasional devotional reflection with Bishop John

Today the Church honors Saint Agatha, a young woman whose faith could not be coerced, silenced, or broken. In a world that sought to dominate her body and conscience, she stood firm—choosing fidelity to Christ over safety, comfort, or approval. Her martyrdom is not a story of weakness, but of moral courage rooted in love and truth.

In today’s Gospel (Mark 6:7–13), Jesus sends His disciples out two by two, with no excess, no weapons, and no guarantees. They are instructed to rely on hospitality, to speak truth plainly, and to walk away from systems that refuse conversion. The mission of the Gospel is never enforced by power—it is carried by witness, vulnerability, and integrity.

Saint Agatha embodies this mission perfectly.

Her life confronts us with urgent questions in our own national moment. What does it mean to protect human dignity when systems—political, economic, or cultural—continue to exploit, silence, or discard the vulnerable? Who is believed, who is protected, and who is told to endure suffering quietly for the sake of order or convenience?

A society that claims freedom while permitting the abuse of women, the marginalization of the poor, the criminalization of migrants, or the neglect of the sick and elderly has lost sight of the Gospel it professes. Reform worthy of the name begins when we refuse to normalize injustice and instead insist that laws and policies safeguard those most at risk of being harmed or ignored.

Like the disciples, and like Saint Agatha, we are sent—not armed with domination, but clothed in truth. We are called to reject systems that thrive on fear and control, and to build a public life that honors conscience, protects the vulnerable, and holds power accountable.

Faithful witness is costly. Silence is more so.

May Saint Agatha teach us that courage rooted in Christ can transform even the most brutal realities into signs of hope.

✠ Episcopal Blessing

May Christ, who sends His Church forth in truth and mercy, strengthen you in courage and compassion.
May the intercession of Saint Agatha guard all who suffer injustice and inspire your witness to human dignity.
And may Almighty God bless you, the Father ✠ and the Son ✠ and the Holy Spirit ✠, now and forever. Amen.

02/02/2026

"The Path Less Traveled"
an occasional devotional reflection with Bishop John

Today the Church celebrates the Presentation of the Lord—the moment when Mary and Joseph bring the infant Jesus into the Temple, offering Him to God in obedience, humility, and trust (Luke 2:22–40). What appears ordinary becomes revolutionary: God enters the public, religious life of the people not in power or spectacle, but as a poor child carried by faithful parents.

In the Temple, two elders recognize what others overlook. Simeon takes the Child into his arms and proclaims Him “a light for revelation to the Gentiles and glory for your people Israel.” Anna, widowed and forgotten by the world, speaks of Him to all who are waiting for redemption. The Messiah is revealed first not to the powerful, but to the patient, the marginalized, and the faithful poor.

This Gospel confronts us directly today.

A nation that claims light yet ignores those who wait in shadows has misunderstood the Child it professes to honor. The Presentation reminds us that God’s salvation enters history through vulnerable bodies: infants, migrants, the elderly, the poor, and those whose voices are too easily dismissed. Any political or social order that fails to protect them fails the test of the Temple.

True national renewal is not achieved by fear or exclusion, but by justice rooted in human dignity. A society that welcomes the Christ Child must also welcome the immigrant child, protect families from violence and poverty, care for the elderly, defend the disabled, and refuse to sacrifice the marginalized for economic or political gain.

Simeon’s prophecy still stands: Christ is a sign of contradiction. He exposes systems built on indifference and calls forth reform shaped by mercy, truth, and courage. To carry the Light today means insisting that our laws and policies reflect the God we claim to present to the world.

May we not leave the Temple unchanged.

✠ Episcopal Blessing

May Christ, the Light revealed to the nations, illumine your conscience and strengthen your hope.
May the prayers of Mary, Joseph, Simeon, and Anna guide you in faithful witness.
And may Almighty God bless you, the Father ✠ and the Son ✠ and the Holy Spirit ✠, now and forever. Amen.

01/31/2026

"The Path Less Traveled"
an occasional devotional reflection with Bishop John

Today the Church honors Saint John Bosco, father to the poor, teacher of the forgotten, and tireless defender of young people pushed to the edges of society. He did not begin with systems or speeches, but with presence—standing beside those the world considered expendable and insisting they were already beloved by God.

In today’s Gospel (Mark 4:35–41), the disciples are overwhelmed by the storm. Waves crash into their boat. Fear takes command. And Jesus seems silent. When they finally cry out, He rises and speaks words that still echo through every age: “Peace! Be still!”

Then He asks the question that pierces every generation: “Why are you afraid? Do you not yet have faith?”

Our nation knows storms well—political turmoil, economic insecurity, racial injustice, broken immigration systems, overwhelmed families, neglected neighborhoods, and young people growing up without protection or hope. The temptation is always the same: retreat into fear, harden our hearts, and protect only what is familiar.

Saint John Bosco chose another way.

He believed that society is judged not by its markets or its power, but by how it treats its children, its poor, its migrants, its prisoners, its elderly, and its struggling families. He would tell us plainly: reform that does not safeguard the vulnerable is not progress—it is abandonment.

To follow Christ in the storm today means demanding public policies shaped by human dignity, not convenience; by compassion, not exclusion; by justice, not indifference. It means refusing to let the cries of the marginalized be drowned out by political noise or partisan loyalty.

Faith does not remove the storm. It teaches us whom we will protect while the storm rages.

May Saint John Bosco teach us to calm fear with love, to confront injustice with courage, and to build a nation where the smallest are never invisible.

✠ Episcopal Blessing:
May Christ, who commands the winds and the sea, speak peace into your heart and courage into your conscience. May Saint John Bosco intercede for you, that you may never grow weary in defending the poor and guiding the young. And may Almighty God bless you, the Father ✠ and the Son ✠ and the Holy Spirit ✠, now and always. Amen.

01/28/2026

"The Path Less Traveled"
an occasional devotional reflection with Bishop John

Today the Church honors Saint Thomas Aquinas, a humble Dominican friar whose great intellect was always placed at the service of faith, truth, and the common good. He reminds us that reason and revelation are not enemies, but companions on the road to God.

In today’s Gospel (Mark 4:1–20), Jesus speaks of the seed scattered on different kinds of soil. The Word is generous—poured out on all—but its fruit depends on what kind of ground receives it. Some hearts are hardened by fear. Some are shallow, shaped by convenience. Some are crowded with thorns: anxiety, wealth, power, and distraction. Yet some become rich soil, bearing fruit thirty-, sixty-, and a hundred-fold.

Saint Thomas would tell us plainly: faith that does not take root in justice is thin soil.

In our own nation, the Gospel confronts us with hard questions. What kind of ground are we cultivating in our laws, our policies, and our public life? Do they protect the poor, the immigrant, the sick, the elderly, the incarcerated, the working family, and those pushed to the margins—or do they leave the seed choked by indifference and political convenience?

Authentic national renewal is not merely economic or partisan. It is moral. It is spiritual. It begins when truth is spoken without fear, when human dignity is defended without exception, and when the vulnerable are no longer treated as expendable.

To receive the Word as “good soil” today means insisting that our social structures reflect what we claim to believe: that every person is made in the image of God, and that no society flourishes by sacrificing its weakest members.

May Saint Thomas teach us to love truth deeply, to think clearly, and to act justly.

✠ Episcopal Blessing:
May Christ, the Eternal Word sown among us, make your heart rich soil for His Kingdom. May the intercession of Saint Thomas Aquinas strengthen your mind in truth and your will in charity. And may Almighty God bless you, the Father ✠ and the Son ✠ and the Holy Spirit ✠, now and always. Amen.

01/26/2026

"The Path Less Traveled"
an occasional devotional reflection with Bishop John

Today we honor the Memorial of Saints Timothy and Titus, Bishops — faithful companions of St. Paul who shepherded the early Church with courage and pastoral care.

In today’s Gospel (Mark 3:22-30), Jesus confronts those who claim His authority is from Beelzebul. Christ reminds us that a divided house cannot stand; He calls us to unity under the Spirit, not division under false accusation. Just as Jesus exposes the futility of division, He invites us to align our hearts with His peace and truth.

In our own moment, the United States witnesses deep political tensions — from the national outrage over the recent fatal shooting of a Minneapolis ICU nurse by federal immigration officers and the polarized debates it has sparked, to calls in Congress over homeland security funding and broader immigration enforcement reforms. These events reflect how easily fear can fracture communities and fuel discord.

Saints Timothy and Titus teach us a different way: pastoral courage marked by patience, fidelity to the Gospel, and the unity of the Church. In Christ’s name, let us pray for leaders and citizens alike to reject the “house divided” mentality and instead work toward justice grounded in compassion, humility, and service — the true fruits of the Spirit.

Episcopal Blessing:
May the peace of Christ that surpasses all understanding guard your hearts and minds. May the intercession of Saints Timothy and Titus strengthen you in fidelity to the Gospel and in humble service to neighbor. And may Almighty God, + Father, + Son, and + Holy Spirit, bless you now and forever. Amen.

01/25/2026

Today's Homily for the 3rd Sunday in Ordinary Time:

When Jesus hears that John has been arrested, He does not move toward safety and power. He withdraws to Galilee—*to the margins*, to “Galilee of the Gentiles,” a place of mixed peoples, suspicion, and poverty. Scripture says it plainly: *the people who sat in darkness saw a great light.*

Christ begins His ministry not in palaces, but in borderlands.

That matters today.

Our world is filled with people who also move because of danger—families fleeing violence, hunger, corruption, and despair. Like Jesus, they cross regions not for advantage, but for survival. They walk into uncertainty, carrying children, grief, and fragile hope. Many of them live now in the shadows, labeled before they are known.

But the Gospel does not speak the language of labels. It speaks the language of light.

Jesus does not ask Peter and Andrew for credentials. He does not inspect James and John for worthiness. He simply calls: *“Come after me.”* And their lives are changed because someone saw them not as labor, not as risk, not as disposable—but as disciples.

The Kingdom of God still breaks in this way: not through fear, but through mercy; not through walls, but through conversion of heart.

“Repent,” Jesus says—*change how you see, how you judge, how you belong to one another.*

To follow Christ today means refusing to grow comfortable with darkness—darkness that reduces human beings to problems, statistics, or threats. It means choosing to be a people who recognize the light of God flickering even in those who arrive with empty hands and unfamiliar names.

Christ still walks our shores. He still calls ordinary people to leave the safety of their nets—their prejudices, their silence, their indifference—and to become fishers of human dignity.

And wherever that call is answered, the light rises again.

01/20/2026

Regarding Immigration, I write:

“We Are Still Here”
We gather in a season when many hearts are tired.
Tired of watching families live with packed bags by the door. Tired of children learning the language of fear before they learn the language of safety. Tired of hearing human beings reduced to case numbers, file folders, or “enforcement priorities.”
We gather while courtrooms decide futures in minutes, while borders stretch like scars across the land, while silence is sometimes easier than courage.

And yet, we are here.

Not because the road is gentle. Not because the answers are simple. But because the dignity of the human person has not expired. Because hope has not been deported. Because conscience has not been canceled.
There are those who say that this struggle is about legality alone. But law without mercy becomes machinery. Power without restraint becomes cruelty. And order without justice becomes a well-polished cage.

We are here to say something older than policy and deeper than politics:

No child is illegal. No mother is disposable. No worker is invisible. No refugee is a mistake.

We are here to say that fear does not get the final word.
The machinery of government is loud. Its uniforms are heavy. Its language is cold and procedural. But history has taught us something the powerful often forget:

Systems can be enforced. Borders can be drawn. Documents can be stamped. But the human spirit cannot be regulated into silence. Across this nation, people are still loving their children into sleep while wondering if tomorrow will tear them apart. They are still building homes in neighborhoods that pretend not to see them.

They are still harvesting food they may never afford to eat. They are still praying in languages that sound like music to God even when they sound like noise to politicians.

And still—they rise each morning.

That is not weakness. That is courage with dirt on its hands.
We are told to be patient. To wait for a better election. To wait for a kinder administration. To wait for the temperature of public opinion to change.

But waiting has always been the advice given to those whose suffering is inconvenient. Justice delayed does not feel like patience to the hungry. It does not feel like wisdom to the detained. It does not feel like prudence to a child whose parent did not come home.

So, we speak—not with hatred, but with clarity. Not with violence, but with stubborn compassion. Not to destroy our country, but to insist that it become worthy of its own promises.

We believe a nation can be secure and humane. We believe laws can exist and mercy can breathe. We believe safety does not require cruelty as its fuel. And to those who feel small beneath the weight of agencies, uniforms, and court orders, hear this:

You are not statistics in someone else’s narrative. You are not shadows. You are not temporary errors in the system of history.

You are authors of tomorrow.

Even now, light is doing its quiet work. It is present when a lawyer stays late to file one more motion. When a teacher refuses to ask questions that would break a child’s trust. When a church opens its doors wider than fear allows. When a neighbor learns your name instead of repeating a label.

This light does not always shout. Often it whispers. But it survives storms that power cannot control. So let us leave this place without surrendering our tenderness.

Let us organize without losing our souls. Resist without becoming what we oppose. Speak with voices steady enough to be heard long after today’s headlines fade.

And let us promise one another this:

That we will not grow numb. That we will not accept cruelty as normal. That we will not teach our children to confuse law with righteousness. We will teach them something braver:

That people are sacred before they are citizens. That justice is stronger than fear. That no government is final, but conscience is stubborn. And that even in the longest night, the smallest light still tells the truth about the morning.

11/23/2025

On this the Solemnity of our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe, before we head into the Advent season we are reminded that it is the Risen Christ who sits at the right hand of God, Creator of the Universe. There is none other either in heaven or earth and, anticipates the coming of Christ to judge the living and the dead.

As Christian Nationalism continues to rise and threaten not just democracy but the very tenets of our faith we are reminded that no powers or principalities separate us from God's love; given that Pope Pius in his encyclical "Quas Primas" established this solemnity when European fascism and exertions of earthly power against humanity served to assert Truth that only Christ has claim of lordship over human life.

Let us be like the criminal who recognized systemic oppression and the wrongs of the state unjustly punishing in gaining better awareness of true primacy in humbly asking Christ to remember us too.

11/23/2025

In his book, George Santayana: "The Life of Reason" (1905), we get the famously misquoted yet relevant quote: "Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it". Our national history has been romanticized by nationalism denying the very acts and reality of denying many of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness. Aggressive deportation of Latinos without due process and disregard for human dignity occurred in the 1930's through deportations via rail road companies (for a profit).

There is a time to pray, to protest and also a time to be proactive through every means possible in correcting the wrong of our government. Laws do not always equate to right, fair or ethical but only an action of the state seeking to regulate some aspect of public life and when government oversteps its sovereign mandate it is for the people to act justly and seek redress and relief.

https://youtu.be/S2fSDGU2agk?si=36VioZOYe2xvYDo4
https://youtu.be/ce3-Lw2ylV8?si=MtUWFPdLhmVWI5s3

During the 1930s, the U.S. government forcibly deported or pressured over a million Mexicans and Mexican Americans to leave the country in response to the Gr...