by fr. JLucas, Aug 4, on the feast day of St. John Vianney

Travelling to an unknown place can be frightening. There is the packing and unpacking, wondering what you may need and what you may forget. The mind becomes a battlefield where the expected and the unexpected wrestle for control, while anxiety and excitement compete for the trophy. You may be wondering how I reached this point. This year, I took my first-ever vacation to a place I had never visited before. I had an idea of what to expect, and the internet gave me a blurry picture, but there was still that lingering “What if?” No amount of planning could completely remove the uncertainty of stepping into the unknown.

St. Stephen Catholic Church in Nashville

I packed my bag late, as usual, but during the two nights before I travelled, I woke up several times just to repack it. My friends have always encouraged me to travel light, but that has never been my style. I dislike asking for things or depending on others for what I could have prepared myself. I like being self-sufficient. That is simply who I am. Yet, standing there with an overstuffed suitcase, I began to wonder whether I was carrying things because I truly needed them—or simply because I feared not having enough. Perhaps many of us do the same, not only with luggage but with life itself.

As I sit overlooking St. Stephen Catholic Church ⛪️, my thoughts drift beyond airports and passports to something much greater: the journey home to God. Death is the one destination none of us can avoid, yet most of us spend far more time preparing for a week’s vacation than we do for eternity. God never intended this earthly life to last forever. Still, it is remarkably easy to live as though it will. We postpone forgiveness, delay reconciliation, neglect prayer, and convince ourselves there will always be another opportunity. Heaven remains unknown to my eyes, but not entirely unknown to my heart. Scripture has given us glimpses—not so much of what it looks like, but of how to get there.

Like every traveller, I also carry baggage. Mine is not only packed in a suitcase but hidden within my heart. Every sin, every unresolved hurt, every selfish decision adds another weight to the load I carry. The Sacrament of Reconciliation graciously helps me unpack those burdens, leaving me lighter than before. Yet, returning to ordinary life, I often find myself filling those same bags again. The cycle repeats itself. Perhaps the Christian life is not about pretending our baggage does not exist, but about continually allowing Christ to help us unpack it before it becomes too heavy to carry.

Before leaving for my trip, I cannot remember how many times I checked my passport. Again and again, I opened my bag just to reassure myself that it was still there. Without it, I would not be allowed to enter my destination. That simple habit made me pause. I may not need a passport or a visa for heaven, for Christ has already paid the price I could never pay. Through His death and resurrection, He has offered me what I might call a “free visa” into eternal life. But I still have to ask myself: Am I living as someone who treasures that gift? Or have I carelessly tampered with it through the choices I make each day?

One day, I will arrive at the final immigration desk of my life. My luggage will no longer matter. My achievements, titles, and possessions will remain behind. Only my relationship with Christ will speak for me. My deepest prayer is not simply to hear, “Welcome.” It is to hear those beautiful words of Jesus: “Well done, good and faithful servant… Come and share your Master’s happiness” (Matthew 25:21). Until then, perhaps the wisest thing any of us can do is to keep travelling a little lighter, love a little deeper, forgive a little sooner, and remember that every journey on earth is quietly preparing us for the journey home.