Friday in the Octave of Easter

Jesus said to them,
“Come, have breakfast.”

No thunder.
No sermon.
No grand declaration.

Just—
breakfast.

After the Resurrection,
after the empty tomb,
after the fear and the running and the wondering—

He cooks.

Fish on a charcoal fire.
Bread already prepared.

And He invites them
not to understand—
but to eat.

A person using a spatula to flip slices of golden-brown French toast on a large griddle.

And here at The Glenn,
the most celebrated meal of the week
is Sunday morning breakfast.

Or brunch, if we are feeling refined—
which we usually are not.

Instead of fish on a charcoal fire,
we have bacon on the griddle,
and French toast sizzling in butter.

Coffee poured generously.
Plates filled quickly.
Conversation even quicker.

And yet—
the Lord is present all the same.

There is something about breakfast
that disarms the soul.

It is not formal.
It is not demanding.

It meets you
where you are—

often half-awake,
slightly disheveled,
and not yet pretending
to be anything impressive.

And I begin to see
why the Risen Christ chose this moment.

Because after failure—
after Peter’s denial,
after the disciples’ confusion—

what they needed most
was not explanation.

It was restoration.

And restoration, it seems,
begins not with a lecture—
but with a meal.

I find it no coincidence
that one of the most effective ministries
in the Church
is donuts and coffee.

Or breakfast after Mass.

We might pretend
it is a small thing—
a social courtesy,
a minor convenience—

but in truth,
it is profoundly theological.

Because it echoes the beach.

“Come, have breakfast.”

The Last Supper
was solemn,
heavy with meaning,
laden with mystery.

But this—
this is simple.

And perhaps that is the point.

For what could be the proper follow-up
to the Last Supper
but a meal that says:

We expect the Risen Christ
to appear in glory—
and He does.

But He also appears
with a frying pan.

The God who conquered death
is not too grand
to cook breakfast.

And this is the great scandal—
and the great comfort—
of Christianity:

That the divine does not merely descend
into the dramatic,
but into the domestic.

The resurrection does not abolish the ordinary—
it sanctifies it.

So that bacon on a griddle
and fish on a fire
become, in their own way,
sacraments of presence.

And thus,
the holiest invitation in the Gospel
may also be the simplest:

You who meet me
not only in glory
but in the ordinary,

teach me to recognize You.

At the table.
In the meal.
In the quiet moments
I am tempted to overlook.

When I am weary,
feed me.

When I am ashamed,
welcome me.

When I am distracted,
draw me back
with something as simple
as bread
and a place to sit.

Let my home
be a place
where others might hear Your invitation:

“Come, have breakfast.”

Logo of the Laudato Si' Action Platform, featuring a stylized tree design with a gradient of colors, and the text 'LAUDATO SI' Action Platform' in a modern font.
Logo of Pope Francis' encyclical 'Laudato Si' featuring a globe surrounded by smiling children and green leaves.
Laudato si’ §46

Community is built
in shared, simple encounters.

Today, I will:

  • Share a meal or coffee with someone intentionally.
  • Practice hospitality in a small but meaningful way.
  • Walk synodally—recognizing that communion often begins at the table.

For the Church is not only gathered—
it is fed.

A song about finding connection in something simple—
a reminder that even the smallest shared experience
can become the foundation of relationship.
A playful look at the origins of a breakfast staple—
revealing that even the most ordinary things
carry stories of creativity, connection, and culture.
I want to share the latest episode of The Introverted Apostle — a podcast that has helped me revisit my own journey and see things in a different light.
This episode features Deacon Tino Frausto and it hits close to home for anyone who has ever thought:
“This isn’t my ministry… or my personality.” 😅
Deacon Tino’s story is a powerful reminder that God doesn’t wait for us to feel ready — He simply invites us to say yes. From wanting to stay behind the scenes to proclaiming the Gospel, his journey shows how grace often begins just outside our comfort zone.
Need a clean slate? We’ve got mercy for that. 🙏 In this episode, we unpack Divine Mercy Sunday, the life and mission of Saint Faustina, and why God never stops inviting us back…no matter how far we think we’ve gone. It’s a powerful mix of real stories and practical faith. Whether you’re all in or still figuring things out, this conversation brings clarity, encouragement, and a reminder that grace always has the final word — and that confession isn’t something to fear…it’s a gift. Plot twist: God’s mercy is undefeated. 🏆
Kick off your day with 5 minutes of faith! Revised Standard Version (RSV) translation New Testament: • Luke 6:27-36 • Matthew 18:21 Old Testament: • Proverbs 25:21-22 Catechism of the Catholic Church: • Paragraph 1970 • Paragraph 2263 Takeaways: • Saint Jerome taught that responding to someone’s wrongdoing with kindness can soften their heart, burn away their anger, and lead them to repentance. • When someone annoys you…like cutting you off in traffic…try praying for them instead of reacting in anger. • If people insult or mistreat you because of your faith, stay faithful and hopeful. Jesus promises that your reward in heaven will be great.
My Story
A man in a suit riding a white horse along a dirt road in an open field.
Photo used by permission of Douglas Kirkland/Corbis via Getty Images
A stone memorial inscribed with a message honoring the victims of clergy sexual abuse, emphasizing the importance of remembering the lost innocence.
Memorial in the Grotto of St. Mary’s Cathedral. The inscription says:
In memory of the death of innocence of the victims of clergy sexual abuse. When innocence dies…a life stops. It is essential that we never forget.
Portrait of a bishop in ecclesiastical attire, featuring a red vestment and a gold cross, against a soft blue background.
I was one of “the few” Bishop Zurek spoke of in this letter. He first posted it in August of 2019, and in response to my, “calling out all the more“, he kept reposting it atop the diocesan news page until December 11, 2019. There it remains to this day.
Gravestone of Father Edward Graff, with his birth date January 30, 1929, death date November 25, 2002, and ordination date May 19, 1955, featuring a cross and floral design.
Fr. Ed Graff, brought here from Philadelphia by Bishop Matthiesen, was arrested in 2002 for sexually assaulting a minor and died later that year in jail. Despite the harm linked to his ministry, he was buried in an honored section of Llano Cemetery among our pioneering clergy — a decision that continues to wound survivors and raise hard questions for our diocese.
Sign for Bishop Matthiesen Religious Education Center, established in 2001, in front of a stone building covered in snow.
A tribute to Bishop Matthiesen—now a complex symbol in our diocesan history, erected by former priest John Salazar, whose later abuse conviction reminds us how painful chapters of the Church’s past must be faced honestly as we seek healing and communion.
A smiling bishop wearing a pink ceremonial robe and a cross necklace, posed against a neutral background.

While we recognize your thoughtful suggestion for a renewed dialogue on Bishop Matthiesen, the present circumstances do not present an opportunity for it. I think it would foster division not dialogue. We remain confident in God’s providence and hopeful for what the future may bring.

from a letter dated March 5, 2026

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