October 11, 2026 — Twenty-Eighth Sunday in Ordinary Time
As another week draws to a close, I find myself reflecting on the many ways life continues to unfold, sometimes quietly, sometimes unexpectedly, and sometimes at a pace that leaves me wondering where the days have gone.
This has been a particularly full week.
There has been writing, music, creating, revisiting old thoughts, and discovering new ones. Conversations have led me down unexpected paths of reflection—about faith, humanity, technology, art, and the changing world in which we live.
What began as a simple observation sometimes became an entire chapter. A passing thought opened into deeper questions. And somewhere between creating and reflecting, I found myself reminded that becoming is not something we accomplish in a single moment.
It is the work of a lifetime.
There were also moments when I simply had to stop.
Not because everything was finished, but because I had reached the limits of what I could give that day.
Perhaps that, too, is part of learning to live in God’s grace.
We are not called to accomplish everything. We are called to remain faithful in what has been entrusted to us, remembering that even our unfinished work rests within God’s providence.
A Sunday of Glorious Mysteries
Today, as I turn to the Glorious Mysteries of the Rosary, I am reminded that the Christian story does not end at the Cross.
It continues with the Resurrection.
After the sorrow of Good Friday and the silence of Holy Saturday comes the extraordinary joy of Easter morning.
Christ is risen.
And in His Resurrection, we are reminded that suffering does not have the final word. Neither does disappointment, weariness, uncertainty, or even death.
There is always the possibility of renewal through God’s grace.
The Glorious Mysteries invite us to contemplate this unfolding hope: the Resurrection of Jesus, His Ascension into Heaven, the Descent of the Holy Spirit, the Assumption of Mary, and her Coronation as Queen of Heaven and Earth.
Each mystery draws our attention beyond the limitations of our present circumstances toward the promises of God.
And yet, before entering the first decade of these mysteries, there is a small but meaningful moment in the Rosary that I have been reflecting upon.
Three Hail Marys: Faith, Hope, and Charity
After making the Sign of the Cross and praying the Apostles’ Creed, we pray the Our Father, followed by three Hail Marys for an increase in faith, hope, and charity, and then the Glory Be.
It is such a familiar part of the Rosary that we can sometimes pass through it without giving much thought to what we are asking.
But consider these three gifts.
Faith.
Not simply believing when life makes sense, but trusting God when the path ahead remains uncertain.
Faith does not promise that we will understand everything. It invites us into a relationship with the One who sees beyond what we can see.
Looking back over this week, I recognize how often my questions have returned to faith. Whether I am contemplating the changing world, reflecting on human behaviour, or examining my own responses, I am continually reminded that faith is not the absence of questions.
Sometimes faith is what allows us to remain with those questions without losing our trust in God.
Hope.
Hope is not pretending that everything will turn out exactly as we wish.
Christian hope is rooted in the Resurrection.
It is the confidence that God’s grace continues to work even when we cannot yet see its fruit.
Some things in life remain unfinished. Some relationships remain difficult. Some prayers seem unanswered.
Yet hope reminds us that the story is still unfolding.
And perhaps that is what I find so comforting about the Resurrection. What appeared to be an ending became the beginning of something beyond human imagination.
Charity.
Of these three virtues, charity—or love—may be the one that challenges me most in the ordinary circumstances of life.
It is relatively easy to speak about love.
It is another matter to practise it when we are tired, irritated, misunderstood, or confronted by people whose words and actions trouble us.
This week, I found myself returning to a prayer that has become deeply personal:
Lord, help me love the unlovable.
Not because I have mastered this kind of love, but precisely because I have not.
I am still learning to pause before reacting, to recognize the dignity of another person even when I disagree, and to allow God’s grace to soften the sharp edges of my own responses.
Charity asks something of us that goes beyond affection or agreement.
It asks us to love as Christ loves.
And that is not something I can accomplish by determination alone.
I need grace.
Giving Thanks for What Has Been Given
As Canadians prepare to celebrate Thanksgiving tomorrow, I find myself thinking about gratitude in a slightly different way.
Certainly, I am thankful for family, for the food on our table, for the warmth of home, and for the many blessings that are so easily taken for granted.
But I am also thankful for the less obvious gifts.
For the questions that challenge me to think more deeply.
For the creative opportunities that continue to open before me.
For the people whose lives intersect with mine, sometimes briefly, yet leave something meaningful behind.
For the ability to continue learning, creating, and discovering at this stage of my life.
And even for the moments of exhaustion that remind me I am human, not an endless source of productivity.
There is grace in recognizing our limitations.
There is gratitude in knowing that we do not have to carry everything ourselves.
And there is a quiet freedom in accepting that the work of becoming belongs not only to our efforts, but to God’s patient and enduring love.
Beginning Again
Sunday is often described as the end of the week, but in the Christian tradition it is also the first day—the day of the Resurrection, the Lord’s Day.
A day of new beginnings.
I love that thought.
We arrive carrying everything the past week has held: our accomplishments and disappointments, our joys and frustrations, our moments of generosity and our failures to love.
And we are invited to begin again.
Not by erasing what has happened, but by allowing God’s grace to transform what we carry forward.
As I pray the Glorious Mysteries today, I want to linger a little longer over those three Hail Marys.
For faith, that I may continue to trust.
For hope, that I may continue to see beyond the difficulties of the present.
For charity, that I may learn to love more generously, especially when love requires something of me.
Perhaps these three simple petitions are also a beautiful way to close one week and enter another.
Not with a list of everything I must accomplish, but with an open heart.
A heart that gives thanks.
A heart that continues to learn.
A heart that remains willing to be transformed.
Because the joy of the Resurrection is not confined to Easter Sunday.
It is a living hope that accompanies us through the ordinary days of our lives.
And in that hope, we begin again.
Happy Thanksgiving.
May we enter this new week with grateful hearts, renewed faith, steadfast hope, and a charity that grows through the grace of God.
Lord, increase my faith, strengthen my hope, and teach me to love as You love.
Amen.
— Linda Lok
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