John 15:9-17, Sixth Sunday of Easter

Have you ever heard of people who, months, even years after the death of their loved ones, have not been able to resume with their normal lives and regular routines?

They leave the rooms of their dearly departed unchanged, put a space on the dining table complete with the favorite plates and utensils, and even address them as if they are sitting next to them.

And many people are quick to say, “Just move on,” or “Snap out of it,” like grief is some sort of emotional hiccup you can shake off, or a favorite TV series that ended too soon.

But that’s the problem with insensitive advice: it ignores the fact that deep personal loss shatters our world. Nothing is ever “normal” again. Everyone grieves differently. And no one — no one — truly knows your grief just because something similar happened to them.

Sometimes, we don’t “move on” — we simply try to survive.

Pop culture understands this better than we think.

In WandaVision, after Wanda Maximoff loses Vision — the love of her life — she uses her powers to create a false world. A TV-perfect town. Laugh tracks. Neat hair and happier days. A world where nothing hurts, and no one dies.

For a while, she’s content. It’s a beautiful lie.
But grief is a stubborn, sacred thing. It demands to be faced.
The cracks in her illusion begin to show. Her perfect world crumbles. She lashes out. And the love that once made her tender becomes twisted into destruction.

Why? Because unprocessed grief, when ignored, doesn’t disappear.
It metastasizes.

And the breakthrough doesn’t come through force. It comes through love.
Vision — or rather her memory of him — speaks softly to her:

Wanda:
“It’s just like this wave washing over me again and again.
It knocks me down, and when I try to stand up, it just comes for me again.
And I can’t… it’s gonna drown me.”

Vision (gently, with a tenderness only love can give):
“No. No, Wanda.”

Wanda:
“How do you know?”

Vision:
“Because it can’t be all sorrow, can it?
I’ve always been alone, so I don’t feel the lack.
It’s all I’ve ever known.
I’ve never experienced loss because I’ve never had a loved one to lose.
What is grief, if not love persevering?”

It’s a line that broke the internet because it spoke truth.
Grief is not weakness. It’s not dysfunction.
It’s love that refuses to die.

MARY OF THE WAY – LOVE THAT WALKS WITH US

And this brings us to the heart of today’s feast: Our Lady of the Della Strada, Our Lady of the Way.

She is not the Lady of answers. She is not the Lady of quick fixes.

She is the Mother of accompaniment. The one who walks with us inch by inch through the wreckage, when we can barely crawl. She doesn’t yank us forward. She walks beside us. Like she once walked the road to Egypt. Like she once stood beneath a cross.

And like any mother who’s buried a child, she does not offer platitudes.
She offers presence.

She is love — persevering.

4. GOSPEL CONNECTION –

Jesus tells us in today’s Gospel:

“Remain in my love.”

Not remain in your strength.
Not remain in your explanations.
But in His love — a love that is crucified, risen, and enduring.

“I have called you friends,” He says. Not strangers. Not servants. Friends.

And if Christ walks with us in love, then Mary walks with us too, as the one who first learned how to “remain” even when the road leads to Calvary.

5. ACTS 10 – THE CHURCH PUSHED FORWARD

We hear in Acts 10 how Peter’s entire worldview was turned upside down when the Spirit fell on Cornelius and the Gentiles. He had to let go of the past, of categories, of safe borders. He had to move forward into something unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and new.

That’s exactly what grief demands of us: to let go of our illusion of control, and to walk into an uncertain future with only faith and love as our compass.

Mary does not take away the sorrow — she shares the journey.
She is Our Lady of the Way. And the way is always forward.

6. WALKING TOGETHER

Our parish bears her name. That means something profound.

We are not a community of the triumphant. We are a community of the walking wounded — people who limp forward in faith, who hold each other up, who know what it is to hurt and to hope at the same time.

To say we belong to Our Lady of the Della Strada is to commit to being a Church that walks with the grieving, the broken, the lost.

We do not build false utopias. We don’t deny reality.
But we do believe in resurrection — that love can endure even in the ruins.

7. CONCRETE INVITATION – TAKE ONE STEP

So let me ask you:
What false world are you clinging to today?
What wound are you pretending doesn’t exist?
What grief have you kept locked away?

Mary is not asking you to “move on.”
She’s inviting you to move forward — even just one small step.

Open your heart. Light a candle. Say the name of your pain.
And then let her walk with you.

8. CLOSING – A MOTHER WHO PERSEVERES

Because that’s what mothers do.
They don’t fix everything.
They don’t explain everything.

They show up. They stand by.
They persevere.

And what is love, really,
but our Mother persevering?