“When will I have control of my life?”

That was the question of seven-year-old Govino to his grandfather, the longtime CFO of the Archdiocese of Los Angeles which he shared with us at the annual ADLA regional presentation.

I often think it—but Govino says it out loud. But when Leland asks the same question (especially with the attitude he inherited from his father)—woah, that’s a fast track to getting grounded.

So, when reflecting on the gospel for this Sunday, I revisited this captivating scene from season one of The Chosen. We know the scripture far too well, but what’s magical about being on screen is that we get to see the unspoken disdain and skepticism on the face of Simon when Jesus makes a suggestion. It’s the same face of disdain and skepticism I receive when I—ahem—suggest that Leland repeat his teeth brushing and find the spots he may have missed.

How many times have we put in our nets, only out of spite, to prove Jesus wrong? And how many times in his gracious mercy has he filled those nets? When we try to prove someone wrong, we’re the ones left with egg on our faces.

This week, I am reminded to walk into our church in AWE, just like Isaiah did. I’m reminded that Paul, who spent his 20s persecuting—even to execution—early Christians, ended up authoring nearly half of the New Testament. In those moments, it couldn’t have made sense to either of them. They raised their eyebrows like Leland and scoffed just as Simon did. But for some reason, they had the courage and faith to say still, “Here I am.”

It’s rough right now—no one needs to point that out. Even those untouched by hardship may ask, ‘Why was I spared?’ That is where faith fills in the gaps—not with answers, but consolation. Seek that balm: through prayer, song, conversation, tears, or even taking your anger out at a batting cage. Bring those sorrows, joys, hopes, and works to Mass and present them at the offertory. Make the sign of the cross and say, “Here I am.” You are not alone in that proclamation, especially at St. Monica.