Saintly Sips
with Deacon Ken

There is something ethereal about fog. It rolls in quietly, wrapping the world in a soft, gray hush. Familiar streets look unfamiliar. Trees become looming silhouettes. The steeple you pass every day fades into a faint outline. Fog creates a strange unknowingness . . . not total darkness, but a blurring. Shapes remain, yet their edges are uncertain. It can feel ominous, as though something is hidden just beyond sight. And yet, at times, it also feels almost magical, as if the world has been draped in mystery.

 

In fog, we slow down. We squint. We guess at what lies ahead. Distances are distorted; what seems far may be near, and what seems near may be farther than we thought. The landscape has not changed, but our perception of it has. We move cautiously because we cannot see clearly.

 

Then the sun rises!

 

Its light does not argue with the fog. It simply shines. Gradually, almost imperceptibly at first, the mist begins to thin. The curtain of unknowing is drawn back. The steeple stands sharp against the sky. The trees regain their texture and color. The guesswork disappears. Reality, which was always there, is revealed in clarity and warmth. The fog was never stronger than the sun; it only seemed so while the light was veiled.

 

Sin works in much the same way within our souls.

 

Rarely does it plunge us into total darkness all at once. More often, it drifts in quietly. It softens the sharp lines between right and wrong. It clouds our judgment. We begin to justify what once troubled our conscience. Spiritual distances become distorted . . . God feels farther away, yet we tell ourselves nothing has really changed. We move through life unsure, restless, sensing that something is off but unable to see clearly why.

 

Sin does not destroy reality; it obscures it. It blocks the warm, steady flow of grace, not because God ceases to shine, but because we have allowed a veil to settle over our vision.

 

Then the Son rises!

 

In the Sacrament of Reconciliation, the light of Christ shines into the fog of our hearts. He does not shame or overwhelm us. He simply shines. In His merciful presence, the haze begins to lift. We see our sins not as excuses or abstractions, but for what they truly are. And yet, we also see something more powerful: His mercy.

 

The shroud is removed. The confusion fades. Grace flows again. What once seemed ominous loses its power in the warmth of divine love. And in the clear light of the Son, we can finally see, and begin to heal.

 

God Bless you all,

Deacon Ken