What's in your Memory Box?
Breath as hope
The following is based on a homily that was delivered to the faculty and staff of Sacred Heart Cathedral Prep in San Francisco on October 17th, 2025. It is a reflection on “hope,” the theme of the school’s 2025-26 academic year.
I have this box that follows me everywhere I go. It’s not particularly special—just a container filled with mementos, gifts from students, an old cassette tape I don’t even have a player for anymore. But it matters. Every time I move to a new address, that box comes with me. And I’ve made it a practice: the box is only so big, so I regularly go through it and ask myself, What can I let go of now? What can be replaced?
It’s become a small spiritual exercise in the midst of all the transitions.
The Question of Being Saved
I chose today’s gospel reading specifically because of our theme on hope. In it, someone asks Jesus, “Lord, will many be saved?” It’s a loaded question—one that in certain Christian circles gets used as a litmus test. Have you professed faith? Do you have it all together?
But I want to think about “saved” differently. What if we think about it the way we think about saving things? What do we want to hold on to? Usually, we hold on to things because we have some attachment to them, because we believe we need them or might use them again in the future.
My mom saved all my baby stuff for years, convinced she’d have another child. That never happened, but she held onto my stroller and crib anyway. We all do this—we save things in anticipation of what might come.
The Narrow Gate
Jesus responds with that image of the narrow gate, and again, it’s easy to interpret this as only a few people have it together enough to make it to heaven. But I don’t think that’s what it means.
I think the narrow gate is an image that keeps us mindful: the best way to journey through life is with the least amount of baggage. The narrow gate reminds us that at any one time, you will have what you need to do what you need to do.
How many times have we forgotten the lesson plan, or our computer didn’t work, or the projector failed? But we made it through the class. It might have been difficult, but we made it through. I’m sure we have had many moments like that.
And I think that’s what hope really is. Hope isn’t just crossing your fingers and wishing things work out the way you want them to. Hope is moving forward with full confidence that you have within you what you need to approach any challenge, any difficulty, anything—but only if you let go of all the stuff you think you need.
The Weight of Digital Hoarding
I was talking with students last night, and one said, “I’m very environmentally friendly. I don’t have many hard copy books—I’m using everything digitally.”
So I looked at my own Google Drive. I’m currently at 19 gigabytes of storage. Files, documents, things I’ve held onto. I did some research: storing 19 gigs of data uses approximately one hour’s worth of electricity from a dishwasher.
Now think about this: if all of us here have something similar—say, 19 gigs of storage on our Google Drive—that would equal about 200 dishwashers running for an hour. That’s roughly one month’s worth of electricity for a household.
I’m not trying to guilt anyone about their carbon footprint. I’m simply saying that everything we hold onto has a cost. What if we practiced not holding on to every single document, every file, every digital artifact? What if part of the process is realizing, I will have what I need when I need it?
It’s a small practice, but it matters.
Standing in Awe, Not in Judgment
Here’s what really got me thinking about this. As I was walking to school, I noticed the people on the street who only have what they own with them all day long. And many times, they have to let go of even that because they get kicked out of a place and all their stuff gets thrown away.
But they’re still here. They’re still breathing the same air we breathe.
This reminded me of something powerful that Greg Boyle wrote—some of us may have read his book Cherished Belonging over summer break. He says this:
“Here is what we seek: the compassion that can stand in awe of what the poor have to carry, rather than stand in judgment on how they carry it.”
What if we could do that with ourselves? What if we realized that we have what we need, that we don’t always need to be thinking we don’t have enough? Or maybe even stop criticizing others for holding or not holding onto something?
Quite simply the most profound way to be a person of hope is to simply breathe.
If you’re breathing, you have what you need. It means you’re meant to be here. The narrow gate is not something that awaits us, but is how we can enter each moment of our lives.
Let’s take a deep breath in.
And breathe out.
Your breath is your hope:
Lord, help me now to unclutter my life, to organize myself in the direction of simplicity.
Lord, teach me to listen to my heart; teach me to welcome change, instead of fearing it.
Lord, I give you these stirrings inside me.
I give you my discontent.
I give you my restlessness.
I give you my doubt.
I give you my despair.
I give you all the longings I hold inside.
Help me to listen to these signs of change, of growth; help me to listen seriously and follow where they lead through the breathtaking empty space of an open door.
From Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals
This reflection is inspired by the Gospel of Luke 13:22-30.