Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica

Fr. Joonbin Lim

Preached: Nov. 9, 2025

A few days ago, I returned from a pilgrimage to Rome, a journey that deeply moved me and revealed the mystery of God’s providence in my life. Throughout those days, I experienced encounters that could only be understood as signs of His presence and care. They were not coincidences, but moments that helped me realize that every time, every place, and every meeting is held within God’s loving plan.

On the second day of my pilgrimage, I visited the Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls. While waiting in line to use the restroom, I unexpectedly met a priest friend who had once served with me in the Diocese of Hamilton. It was such a brief and ordinary moment, yet it became an extraordinary encounter filled with joy and gratitude.

On the third day, I went to St. Peter’s Basilica. Because I had a museum tour scheduled later that day, I had only about ten minutes to pray inside the basilica. As I was leaving, I suddenly met my pastor and parishioners from my home parish in Korea. We were completely astonished and embraced one another with tears of joy. Later that day, we celebrated Mass together at the Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore, where Pope Francis is buried.

On the fourth day, I visited a church that houses one of Caravaggio’s masterpieces, since I have always loved his paintings. There, to my amazement, I met a parishioner from the Korean Catholic community in Hamilton. These encounters, one after another, could not possibly have been random. They were all part of something greater — moments gently arranged by the hand of God.

From that point on, I came to a deeper conviction: there is no randomness in God’s plan. Every time, every place, and every encounter is guided by His providence. Even my life and my death are within His loving plan, and therefore, I have nothing to fear. In prayer, I felt the Holy Spirit whisper softly to my heart:

“I am the wind, and you are a small boat. Surrender everything to Me, and let Me carry you.”

These experiences gave me a new way to understand today’s feast and the message of the Gospel. Among all the sacred places I visited in Rome, none touched me more deeply than the Basilica of St. John Lateran. At the main entrance of the basilica, there is an inscription that reads:

“Omnium urbis et orbis ecclesiarum mater et caput” —
“The Mother and Head of all the Churches of the City and of the World.”

The Lateran Basilica is indeed the Mother Church of the entire world. It was Emperor Constantine who, in the year 313, gave the Lateran Palace to the Church and built next to it this great basilica, which was consecrated in 324. It stands as the oldest and most venerable basilica of Christianity, the mother and head of all churches.

What touched me most, however, was not only the majesty of the basilica but also the small sanctuary across the street — the Sanctuary of the Holy Stairs. According to tradition, Saint Helena, the mother of Constantine, brought to Rome the twenty-eight steps of Pilate’s palace in Jerusalem — the very steps that Jesus ascended when He was questioned before His Passion. Even today, pilgrims climb these steps on their knees, praying in silence and uniting themselves with the suffering of Christ.

I, too, climbed those steps on my knees. Halfway up, I was suddenly overcome with emotion. As I imagined Jesus climbing those same steps, tears began to stream down my face. At the top stands a small chapel called the Sancta Sanctorum, “the Holy of Holies,” once the private chapel of the Popes. Above its altar are the words:

“Non est in toto sanctior orbe locus” —
“There is no holier place in all the world.”

In today’s Gospel, Jesus says, “Do not make my Father’s house a marketplace.” He drives out the sellers of oxen, sheep, and doves from the temple (cf. John 2:14–15). Each of these animals carried deep symbolic meaning: the ox represents sacrifice, the sheep symbolizes God’s people, and the dove signifies the Holy Spirit. All these belong in the temple, yet Jesus casts out those who sell them.

The problem was not their presence but the abuse of what was sacred. Those who were meant to serve the temple had turned it into a place of profit. They no longer came to worship but to trade. Throughout history, even within the Church, there have been moments when people tried to sell what could never be sold — grace, the sacraments, even the priesthood itself. But Jesus makes it clear: the holy temple must never again belong to those who sell the sacred.

My dear brothers and sisters, you are the living temples of God. What fills your temple? What fills our Church? When you come to Mass, I hope you can set aside your phones and, for a little while, lay down the worries and distractions of the world. I do not ask you to crawl into the church on your knees, but I do ask that, during this sacred celebration, you give your heart completely to the Lord.

The Church must not be filled with money or ambition but with hearts that truly seek the Father’s house. On this Feast of the Dedication of the Lateran Basilica, let us each reflect:

“With what am I filling the Church of God?”

May the Holy Spirit, who is like the wind, guide our small and fragile boats safely across the waters of life, reminding us always that every encounter, every journey, and every breath is already embraced by God’s loving plan.

Photo – By NikonZ7II – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=101762109