“But now we must celebrate and rejoice, because your brother was dead and has come to life again; he was lost and has been found.” – Luke 15:32
The fourth Sunday of Lent reminds us that grace is not earned—it’s offered. In this well-known moment from the parable of the Prodigal Son, Jesus reminds his listeners (and us) that God’s mercy doesn’t play by our rules.
We tend to focus on who deserves what. We want fairness, balance sheets, checks and consequences. But in this story, the son who wasted everything is embraced—not because he proved himself worthy, but because he came home.
To those immersed in liberation theology, this parable is not about blind acceptance—it’s about revolutionary grace. It’s about the God who disrupts hierarchy, forgives radically, and throws a party for the outcast.
And in today’s social climate, where punishment is glorified and forgiveness is seen as weakness, this parable pushes us to rethink what justice looks like.
Justice doesn’t always look like retribution. Sometimes, justice is restoration.
When we talk about the criminal justice system, immigration policy, housing access, or community harm—we must ask: who have we exiled? Who have we written off as too far gone? Who is still waiting to be welcomed home?
It’s easy to identify with the older brother in the story. The one who stayed. The one who did the “right” things. But Lent invites us to soften our hearts—to understand that sometimes healing comes from the messy return, not the perfect record.
Liberation means no one is disposable. No one is beyond redemption.
We are invited to celebrate not because someone followed the rules, but because they found their way back to life.
Lenten Reflection: Grace That Defies Logic
🔹 Who have I written off as lost—without considering the possibility of return?
🔹 What parts of myself have I deemed unworthy of grace?
🔹 Can I make room for celebration instead of resentment when healing finally comes?
Luke 15:32 invites us to move beyond fairness into joy. To rejoice not in perfection, but in return. Not in punishment, but in peace.
May this week remind us that resurrection is always possible—and the most radical thing we can do is welcome each other back with open arms.
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Updated: Mar 30
“The best way to look back at life fondly is to meet it—and those along your journey—warmly, kindly and mindfully.” — Rasheed Ogunlaru
Living mindfully isn’t easy. But what does it really mean? The best way I’ve found to explain it is through something simple: washing a dish. When you're washing a dish mindfully, you're focused solely on that act—the feel of the soap, the water, the texture of the dish in your hand. You’re in the moment. Nothing else exists.
Researchers have shown that multitasking actually reduces productivity. Our brains can only fully focus on one complex task at a time. Think about trying to write an email while on a call. You’re either focused on what you’re typing or what the other person is saying—not both. That can lead to mistakes, like sending the wrong message or missing key information. We know this, yet we multitask constantly.
I’ve always had intense focus. At work, I’d often ask for a few minutes to finish what I was doing before giving someone my full attention. Our time and presence are the most valuable things we can offer others. That’s something law school reinforces every day. Most of my time is spent reading, briefing cases, memorizing principles, and working through complex hypotheticals. It’s demanding, but it's the perfect environment for me to lean into that focus—and to learn how to better manage my time and energy. It’s daunting, but I hope all this effort leads to a fulfilling career… and not just a mountain of student debt.
Meanwhile, three months into this new administration, we're already seeing harmful impacts—especially on federal workers and those relying on social services. The chaos, censorship, and calculated distractions are deliberate. Policies that criminalize dissent are increasing. State secrets are being leaked on group chats while lawmakers focus on controlling who uses which bathroom. And let’s be honest: Pete Hegseth has a Yahtzee tattoo. It's not a metaphor. We are witnessing echoes of pre-Civil War America, Jim Crow, The Handmaid’s Tale, and 1930s Germany all wrapped up in red, white, and blue.
In the face of all this, we must be kind—to ourselves and to each other. Because no, we are not fine. And that’s okay to admit. There is no playbook for surviving a time like this. But I’m doing the best I can. When I look back on this moment in history, I want to feel proud of how I showed up.
As someone who has spent their life underestimated, marginalized, and dismissed, my advice to those waking up to this reality is simple: Keep pushing. Don’t stop until we win. They’re hoping we’ll give up. Let’s not be the ones who tire first.
Keep resisting. Keep existing. Keep pushing toward justice. When we look back, may we all feel good about our part in this fight. Because protecting democracy is one of the most American things we can do.
Lenten Reflection: Showing Up with Presence and Purpose 🕊️
"Carry each other’s burdens, and in this way you will fulfill the law of Christ." — Galatians 6:2
This Lent, ask yourself:
🔹Am I meeting others along my journey with warmth, kindness, and presence?
🔹Where am I distracted, and how can I return to the moment?
🔹Who can I offer my undivided attention to today?
🔹How can I show up for others and for justice in ways that matter?
Being mindful isn’t just about stillness—it’s about showing up fully in the present, ready to act with love. Let us meet this world with courage, kindness, and conviction. That is our resistance. That is our offering. That is how we will look back and feel proud.
Take care of yourselves. And take care of each other.
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“New beginnings are often disguised as painful endings.” – Lao Tzu
We’ve passed the halfway mark of Lent. And I’ve done pretty well avoiding soda pop (minus that one time—but it might’ve been a Sunday, and we know Sundays don’t count). So here I am again, trying to make sense of life through the lens of Lent.
But I keep asking: do we really need to give something up to feel close to God—or to the Divine Spirit?
After a lifetime of disappointment with religious institutions, I’ve come to accept that I’ll probably never be part of a church again. Too much judgment. Too much hypocrisy. Too many people calling themselves “children of God” while behaving in ways that dishonor Christ’s message.
If you claim to be Christian but don’t know what Ash Wednesday or Lent is—and say it’s just “a Catholic thing”—you’re only Christian in name, not in practice. Lent is central to the Christian story. It’s the sacred lead-up to the Crucifixion and Resurrection—the arc that turns Jesus from a wise teacher into the Christ. Without the rising, Jesus is just another storyteller. But with it? Magical Jesus. Zombie Jesus. That’s the foundation of the Christian faith.
And yet, some of the loudest voices claiming Christianity are the furthest from living Christ-like lives.
Performative Christianity is a plague.
If you go to church every Sunday, tithe regularly, serve on committees—but ignore your neighbor in need, judge others harshly, or hoard power and privilege—you’ve missed the point entirely. Jesus didn’t climb social ladders or seek power. He turned over tables in temples. He broke bread with outsiders. He healed and fed and loved relentlessly.
If you’re not walking that talk, St. Peter might be a little judgy when you show up at the gates. Just saying. And no, you can’t bribe your way in. That’s in the Bible—if you’ve actually read it.
I may be blunt. I may not do pleasantries well. But I live my life with integrity, compassion, and a passion for justice. That’s how I practice my faith—not in performance, but in presence.
I don’t need a church to affirm I’m a good person. I know I’m a good person because of how I show up—for myself, for others, for the world. I honor the eight billion ways people believe, as long as those beliefs don’t cause harm.
We’re too busy trying to be liked while others are literally dying from a lack of love, food, shelter, and justice. We don’t need more polite smiles—we need more people who give a damn.
So I’ll keep walking this Lenten path, not because I need religion to tell me who I am—but because I believe transformation begins with truth. And truth begins with action.
Lenten Reflection: Faith in Practice, Not Performance
James 2:17 – “Faith by itself, if it is not accompanied by action, is dead.”
This season is not about impressing others. It’s about drawing closer to what is sacred—through honesty, through humility, and through justice.
🔹 Where am I performing instead of transforming?
🔹 Who needs my action more than my words?
🔹 What would it look like to live out my beliefs in every part of my life?
Faith is not found in appearances. It’s found in how we love, how we serve, and how we show up when it matters most.
Take care of yourselves. And take care of each other.
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