by Father Patrick Longalong
This weekend’s readings invite us to reflect on the theme of peace — not simply the absence of conflict, but a deeper peace that is rooted in connection. True peace is not passive or empty silence. It’s a sense of wholeness that flows from being in right relationship with ourselves, with others, and with God.
There is, undeniably, a deep longing in the human heart, regardless of culture, age, or background. It’s a yearning that stretches across time and place. Sometimes we can’t even describe it clearly, but we feel it: the desire to be truly seen, genuinely known, and deeply valued.
And yet, despite the endless “connections” technology promises us, many people still feel unseen, unknown, and unloved — adrift in a world of surface-level interactions, quietly craving something real.
This longing, however, is not just emotional — it’s spiritual. In the Gospel today, Jesus says, “Whoever loves me will keep my word, and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our dwelling with him.” It’s one of the most intimate promises in all of Scripture. What our hearts ultimately long for is not just human closeness — it’s divine communion. The peace Jesus offers isn’t temporary relief. It’s his very presence, his Spirit, dwelling within us. It’s the kind of peace that anchors us in the storm, that stays with us when things fall apart.
We see that peace come to life in the second reading from Revelation. John describes the new Jerusalem coming down from heaven — radiant, glorious, and unlike anything we know. There is no temple, no sun or moon. Why? Because God Himself is the light, and the Lamb is the temple. That vision isn’t only about heaven someday — it’s a glimpse of what becomes possible even now when God makes his home in us. When we let him dwell within, we become places where light shines, where peace begins to take root.
But peace, especially within a community, is not always easy. In the first reading from Acts, the early Church is facing real tension. Some believers argued that Gentile converts had to follow the Mosaic law. This disagreement could have torn the Church apart. But instead of allowing division, the apostles and elders came together. They listened. They discerned. And they didn’t rely solely on their own opinions — they invoked the guidance of the Holy Spirit: “It is the decision of the Holy Spirit, and of us…” That’s how the Church found peace — not by avoiding conflict, but by seeking truth together in God.
That kind of discernment is something I’ve come to understand in a personal way. As someone who is adopted, I often explain why I introduce two different sets of people as my family. But what most don’t see is the deeper struggle — the quiet, ongoing journey of identity and belonging. I remember reading The Primal Wound by Nancy Verrier, who describes the trauma many adoptees carry as emotional, psychological, and spiritual. I understood that. And yet, I’ve also experienced the healing that comes when God truly dwells in the heart. The scars don’t vanish, but they become signs of growth, of survival, and of transformation. God’s peace doesn’t erase our past — it renews it.
Jesus says, “Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you.” It’s not the world’s peace — it’s something deeper, lasting, rooted in love. When we let him dwell in us, we don’t just find peace — we carry it. We become signs of it. We become a glimpse of that holy city where God is at home, and where peace endures.
Father Patrick Longalong is the pastor of Our Lady of Lourdes, Queens Village, and associate vicar for Migrant and Ethnic Apostolates in the diocese.