Remorse Happens, Forgiveness is an Option

Posted on June 6, 2026 by Deacon Tim Pribula
Brian H. Gill's illustration of the 'Shield of the Trinity'/'Scutum Fidei'. From AnonMoos, based on an illustration by Sumudu Fernando, via Wikipedia, used w/o permission.

Brian H. Gill, Introduction

Last Sunday was Trinity Sunday, the first Sunday after Pentecost. Deacon Tim Pribula let me share his homily — thank you, Deacon!

After reading it, my oldest daughter noted that the paragraph breaks are unconventional. She’s right, but I left them as-is, since besides being a homily, it’s a script for a spoken presentation. And that’s another topic or two.

Solemnity of the Most Holy Trinity: Deacon Tim Pribula’s Homily

(He didn’t explain how the Trinity works. Instead, he talked about Jesus, Judas, Peter, and accepting forgiveness.)

First Scripture reading

Exodus 34:4b-6, 8-9

“Early in the morning Moses went up Mount Sinai
as the LORD had commanded him,
taking along the two stone tablets.

“Having come down in a cloud, the LORD stood with Moses there
and proclaimed his name, ‘LORD.’
Thus the LORD passed before him and cried out,
‘The LORD, the LORD, a merciful and gracious God,
slow to anger and rich in kindness and fidelity.’
Moses at once bowed down to the ground in worship.
Then he said, ‘If I find favor with you, O Lord,
do come along in our company.
This is indeed a stiff-necked people; yet pardon our wickedness and sins,
and receive us as your own.'”

Second Scripture reading.

2 Corinthians 13:11-13

“Brothers and sisters, rejoice. 
Mend your ways, encourage one another,
agree with one another, live in peace,
and the God of love and peace will be with you.
Greet one another with a holy kiss.
All the holy ones greet you.

“The grace of the Lord Jesus Christ
and the love of God
and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit be with all of you.”
 

Gospel reading. 

John 3:16-18

“God so loved the world that he gave his only Son,
so that everyone who believes in him might not perish
but might have eternal life.
For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world,
but that the world might be saved through him.
Whoever believes in him will not be condemned,
but whoever does not believe has already been condemned,
because he has not believed in the name of the only Son of God.”

I. Two Men Failed

Two men. (pause)

Two men failed Jesus at the worst possible moment of His life —

it was a very personal betrayal of a friend. (Matthew 26:47–50; Luke 22:54–62)

One failed out of fear, denying he ever knew Him. (Luke 22:54–62)

One failed out of greed, handing Him over with a kiss,

choosing thirty pieces of silver over loyalty. (Matthew 26:14–16, 47–50)

Both failures happened in darkness —

the darkness of fear, confusion, weakness, and panic. (Luke 22:53; John 13:27–30)

And both men knew immediately what they had done.

They were flooded with regret, shame,

and that terrible awareness we all recognize:

I have failed the One who trusted me. (Psalm 51:3; Luke 22:61–62)

Yet their stories do not end the same way.

And the difference is not that one sin was worse than the other.

The difference is what they believed about Jesus after they failed.

II. Judas and Peter: Remorse, Weeping, and Conclusions

One man decided his failure defined him —

that there was no way back, no mercy left — and he despaired.

Judas: Not a Good Role Model

That man was Judas.

And Scripture is clear: Judas felt remorse.

In Matthew 27:4, Judas goes back, throws the silver down, and says,

“I have sinned in betraying innocent blood.”

He is not indifferent. He is not cold.

He is not unaware of what he has done.

But Judas does something dangerous with that remorse.

He let’s shame speak louder than mercy.

He concludes something about himself: I am beyond repair.

He concludes something about God: there is no mercy left for me.

And he acts alone on that conclusion —

isolated, cut off from hope, and surrendering himself completely to despair.

He stopped believing Jesus would want him back. (Matthew 27:5)

The other man also failed deeply.

Peter’s Response to Failure and Grief

That man was Peter.

After Peter’s denial, the Gospel gives us one haunting line:

“He went out and began to weep bitterly.” (Luke 22:62)

That is not repentance explained — it is repentance felt.

And it’s something we understand, because most of us have wept bitterly over our sin in one way or another. (Psalm 38:18; Psalm 51:17)

Peter’s first response to failure was grief.

He does not run to the others to argue his case.

He does not justify himself or defend himself.

He does not decide what Jesus must think of him.

Peter does something very different from Judas.

He does not draw the final conclusion.

He leaves room for Jesus to speak first.

And when Jesus finally restores him on the shoreline, Peter’s words are simple and surrendered:

“Lord, you know everything; you know that I love you.” (John 21:15–17)

This is the posture of a good confession. (James 5:16; 1 John 1:9)

We approach and say, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”

And beneath every Act of Contrition is the same honest truth:

“O my God, I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee…

And I detest all my sins because of Thy just punishments,

but most of all because they offend Thee, my God,

who art all good and deserving of all my love.”

It’s not fear of punishment alone. Not shame. (1 John 4:18)

But the need for His love — and the desire not to live far from Him.

(Psalm 51:11; Luke 15:18–20)

Or to say it plainly:

Lord, you already know who I am.

You already know what I’ve done. (Luke 18:13)

And I’m still here because I love you and I need your mercy. (Psalm 139:1–3)

III. Where We Recognize Ourselves

That contrast forces an uncomfortable question on us.

When I fail — especially when I fall into the same sins again —

what do I believe God does with me then? (Romans 7:15–25)

Many of us quietly live with the feeling that no matter how hard we try,

we never quite live up to what God expects. (Romans 3:23)

We confess the same sins.

We struggle with the same weaknesses.

And slowly, almost without noticing, we begin to draw conclusions that sound a lot like Judas:

God must be tired of me.

God must be disappointed.

And beneath it all is a deeper fear:

not that God will punish us —

but that God is finished with us. (Psalm 103:8–14; Romans 8:1)

IV. The Gospel’s Correction

That fear is exactly what Jesus addresses in today’s Gospel.

Jesus says:

“For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world,

but that the world might be saved through him.” (John 3:17)

God did not send His Son to look at you in shame.

He did not send His Son to tally your failures or confirm

your worst fears about yourself.

He did not send His Son to stand at a distance and shake His head. (John 8:1–11)

God sent His only Son to give His life for you — (John 3:16; Romans 5:8)

to carry sin, (Isaiah 53:4–6)

to bear the cross, (1 Peter 2:24)

to do for you what you could never do for yourself — (Ephesians 2:8–9)

so that you might be saved through Him. (John 3:17)

V. The God Who Comes Down

God does not love us from afar.

He does not shout mercy from heaven.

The Father sends the Son to come down into our weakness —

(Philippians 2:6–8)

to stand where we stand, (Hebrews 4:15)

to feel what we feel, (Isaiah 53:3–4)

to carry what we cannot. (Matthew 11:28–30)

In Jesus Christ, God knows betrayal, fear, denial, shame, and regret —

because He has entered the human story Himself. (Hebrews 2:17–18)

This is why Peter’s story ends not in despair,

but in mercy and mission. (John 21:15–19)

Not because Peter was stronger.

Not because Peter was better.

But because Peter trusted that mercy was still possible. (John 21:7; Luke 22:32)

VI. Invitation and Hope

And this is the invitation before us today.

Not to draw final conclusions about ourselves.

Not to hide from God because we’re ashamed. (Genesis 3:8–10)

Not to isolate and handle our failure alone. (James 5:16)

But to trust mercy more than our shame. (Romans 5:20)

Because in Jesus Christ,

God knows your sin. (Psalm 69:5)

He knows your weakness. (2 Corinthians 12:9)

He knows your fear. (Mark 14:33–36)

He knows exactly how you feel. (Hebrews 4:15)

And He loves you anyway. (Romans 5:8; John 21:15–17)

Lord Jesus, when we fail you, you do not turn away from us.

Forgiveness IS an Option: B. H. Gill’s Opinion and Links

Accepting forgiveness isn’t always easy. But knowing that coming back and sorting things out is an option: that’s a good thing:

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A Ride in the Library

Posted on May 30, 2026 by Brian H. Gill
Barrett Voight via Google Street View; Minnesota State University Moorhead campus, looking toward MacLean Hall. (July 2016)
Minnesota State University, Moorhead; looking toward MacLean Hall.

My mother and father met while earning degrees in library science.

Minnesota State University Moorhead's photo: an aerial view of MSUM when it was Moorhead State College. (1970)
Moorhead State, the first time I was there.

I don’t know when or why it was first called a “science”.

I’ll grant that the academic discipline focusing on sorting documents into categories, and then making those documents accessible to folks wanting their information, overlaps the sciences; and that’s another topic. Topics.

At any rate, my father got a job as head librarian at Moorhead State Teachers College around 1950. At that time the library was in the east end of MacLean Hall, more-or-less where the bookstore is now.

Snead Shelving and Perceptions of Age

Snead and Company photo: main stack room, New York Public Library; center of seventh tier, showing stack columns supporting steel beams and terra cotta arch floor of main reading room overhead. Figure 115 of 'Library planning, bookstacks and shelving, with contributions from the architects' and librarians' points of view', Stead and Company Iron Works, Jersey City NJ (1915)
Not Moorhead State: Snead shelving in the New York Public Library. (1915)

Back then, the library stacks extended at least one level above the building’s ground floor. My memories of them look like Snead shelves: modular tiered metal shelving with self-contained stairs.1

Photo: Brian H. Gill, at his desk. (March 2021)

My father’s idea of a head librarian’s duties involved his going back to work after normal working hours. Sometimes he’d take me along.

That very likely explains why I remember so much about the multi-story stacks inside a larger building — heady stuff for this child or pre-teen.

Some folks apparently are aware of exactly how old they are at every point in their lives. My perception is like many of my father’s kin. We knew how old we were: either “of age” or “not of age”, child or adult.

To this day, if I’m asked for my age, I have to recall when I was born and the current date, then do a little arithmetic to work out ‘how old’ I am. I was born during the Truman administration, and have been “of age” for decades.

The point of that digression is that I did some figuring, and found that I was about nine years old when construction began on the building that replaced the library’s MacLean Hall location.

A Very Happy Moment

Google Street View's image: The gates of Moorhead State, now Minnesota State University, Moorhead; seen from 11th Street South and 7th Avenue South, Moorhead, Minnesota. (October 2011) via Google Street View, used w/o permission.
Moorhead State’s gate: bigger trees and fancier paving than during my childhood.

I was probably much younger when my father gave me a ride in the library.

He sat me in an office chair, the sort with arms. These days it would have been made of metal and plastic, with five legs. This one was made of wood, and most likely had four legs.

It certainly was on casters.

Sitting with my back against the chair’s back and gripping the arms, I seem to remember my calves resting on the seat. My father must have been in a good mood. He took hold of the chair’s back and rushed us around the library, occasionally spinning the chair.

I wanted the moment to last longer, and said so. But eventually my father indicated that the ride was over.

Almost seven decades later, that is still among my very best memories.

I’ve mentioned the Moorhead State library before:

1 Snead shelving, I didn’t find much about it online:

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Noted: “Magnifica Humanitas”, Pope Leo XIV on AI

Posted on May 25, 2026 by Brian H. Gill

I haven’t read the encyclical letter yet. It’s divided into five chapters plus a conclusion, so I don’t expect it’ll be a fast read.

Vatican News posted an article about it today:

“Pope Leo’s ‘Magnifica humanitas’: AI must serve humanity not concentrate power”
Isabella Piro, Vatican News (May 25, 2026)

“Marking the 135th anniversary of Rerum novarum, Pope Leo XIV releases his first encyclical, entitled ‘Magnifica humanitas: On Safeguarding the Human Person in the Time of Artificial Intelligence.’ He appeals for the safeguarding of humanity, promotion of truth, dignity of work, social justice, and peace.

“‘Humanity, created by God in all its grandeur, is today facing a pivotal choice: either to construct a new Tower of Babel or to build the city in which God and humanity dwell together.’

“The opening words of Pope Leo XIV’s first encyclical, Magnifica humanitas: On Safeguarding the Human Person in the Time of Artificial Intelligence, summarize its underlying reasons and purpose.

“Published on Monday, May 25, the Pope signed the encyclical on May 15, the 135th anniversary of the promulgation of Pope Leo XIII’s Rerum novarum….”

I’m particularly interested in this encyclical letter. Partly because it’s from the first American pope, partly because it’s about a new sort of technology.

My guess, though, is that what the current pope says will be what we’ve been told for two millennia and counting:

  • People matter
  • Actions have consequences
  • Responsibility exists

As for AI, artificial intelligence: it’s a technology, a tool. Essentially, it’s no different from sharpened sticks, fire, steam engines, or pocket calculators. Each of us can use technology to help or harm ourselves and our neighbors. Or not use it, for that matter.

Me? “Magnifica Humanitas” is now on my ‘should read this soon’ list. Also, I’ve started using — playing with — learning about — AI that my oldest daughter introduced me to, and I’m going to get back to enjoying Memorial Day as soon as I wrap this up.

First, a link to what Pope Leo XIV wrote:

I’ve talked about AI before:

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Death, Birth, Baptism, and a Little Hope

Posted on May 23, 2026 by Brian H. Gill
Brian H. Gill's photo: Our Lady of Angels' Marian garden. (July 2013)
Our Lady of Angels’ Marian Garden, Sauk Centre, Minnesota. (2013)

My wife and I have six children. Four of them are still living.

We lost Joy very early in the pregnancy. By that time we were living in Sauk Centre and had two children. Following our culture’s customs, we sealed what was left of Joy and the placenta for testing. But we buried her, briefly and very informally, in hallowed ground.

Time passed. Two more children joined the two who had been born before Joy.

Our sixth pregnancy gave no indication of trouble. My wife and I, and our four surviving children, were looking forward to seeing the youngest in our family. Contractions, when they started, weren’t at the 50th percentile; but my memory tells me they were inside the ‘normal’ range.

Unexpected Loss

On the way to the hospital, just before we reached the Interstate exit, something happened.

My wife tells me that our baby thrashed around and then was very still. Folks at the hospital detected no heartbeat.

Whatever had gone wrong was more than a rural hospital could handle.

So I followed the ambulance carrying my wife to another hospital, an hour down the road.

Later, not long after midnight, my wife and I saw Elizabeth: beautifully formed, and quite dead.

Arriving home, our son asked “whenever will the baby come?” Sharing what had happened was not at all comfortable, but we managed. Somehow.

That was during February of 2002. More time passed. Much more time.

Saying Good-Bye

Brian H. Gill's photo: lilacs, blue sky in Sauk Centre. (May 23, 2021)

While our oldest daughter and I were chatting last week, the topics wandered into how writers use dreams in stories.

That, in turn, reminded her of a dream she’d had:

“I had a dream of playing with a little girl on a sidewalk. After a while, I mentioned wishing I could’ve said good-bye to my sister, Elizabeth. The little girl I was playing with said, ‘You just did’ and disappeared.”
(From a Discord chat with my oldest daughter (May 14, 2026))

Was it a dream? Well, yes: obviously.

Was it ‘just a dream’? I don’t know.

Is the idea that our youngest child gave our oldest a reassuring message ridiculous? I don’t think so.

Clarifying that, the whole seance thing — mediums, spirit photographs, speed-dialing The Great Beyond — is a bad idea and we shouldn’t do it. (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 2115)

Getting back to that dream, I share my wife’s assessment: “that’s beautiful”.

Finally, our four surviving children were baptized. Joy and Elizabeth weren’t.

I’m not happy about that. But hope is an option. A reasonable one.

Not Getting What We Want, Hoping Anyway

Detail, Thomas Cole's 'The Voyage of Life: Youth', oil on canvas. (1840) Taft Museum of Art, Cincinnati, Ohio; via Wikipedia, used w/o permssion.

Baptism is very, very important. It’s necessary for salvation. (Catechism, 1257-1261)

But sometimes things don’t go the way we want. Over the last two millennia, a fair number of folks have died without being baptized.

We figure that some experience a baptism of blood. They knew who Jesus is, and decided that being killed was preferable to denying reality. (Catechism, 1258)

Others said they wanted to be baptized, but died before they could receive that sacrament. We figure these folks experience a baptism of desire. (Catechism, 1259)

That’s a very simplified look at the sacrament of Baptism and dealing with a less-than-ideal world.

As for Joy and Elizabeth, I can’t ask them what they wanted. I do know that my wife and I wanted life — including baptism — for both of them.

Our only reasonable option is to remember that hope is a good idea.

“…What has been revealed to us is that the ordinary way of salvation is by the sacrament of Baptism. None of the above considerations should be taken as qualifying the necessity of Baptism or justifying delay in administering the sacrament. Rather, as we want to reaffirm in conclusion, they provide strong grounds for hope that God will save infants when we have not been able to do for them what we would have wished to do, namely, to baptize them into the faith and life of the Church.”
(“The hope of salvation for infants who die without being baptized” , International Theological Commission (2007))

I’ve talked about some of this before:

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Respect, Relationship, Responsibility, and Stuffed Animals

Posted on May 16, 2026 by Brian H. Gill
Google Street View: Traill County (North Dakota) Highway 11 near Goose River, looking south. (August 2012)
Scenic, no. Good farmland, yes. Red River Valley, near the Goose River, looking south.
McStash Mills collage. see https://www.mcstashmills.com/mcstash-mills-gallery

Our second-oldest daughter and her husband live and run their businesses on the homestead where my mother grew up. Our oldest daughter moved there, some years back. That’s another story for another time.

The oldest daughter and I enjoy a two hour (roughly) chat each evening: something that wouldn’t be possible without today’s information technology. Yet more topics.

Since our conversations are in text format, we make what amounts to a transcript of what we’ve said. Plus, we can easily share material that we’ve read or written; provided it’s under the service’s character limit.

Last Saturday, our oldest daughter shared part of a conversation she had with an AI. With her okay, I’m showing part of it here, and adding some of my thoughts.

Our Oldest Daughter, Remembering a Life Transition

Brian H. Gill's 'Internet Friends', made for 'Internet Friends, Real People'. (March 2017)

I’ve talked about how I see newfangled technology, and why I think that using our brains makes sense, before:

Anyway, here’s an excerpt from my daughter’s exchange with an AI called Neuro Compass, followed with what I think about family roles and responsibilities. I’ve added headings, and clarified “Mission Gravity” in her input.

Oldest Daughter’s Input:

I’ve always been a daddy’s girl.

There’s a very early photo of me draped over Dad’s belly like a doily while we’re both asleep. There’s another photo of me as a toddler sitting on Dad’s lap while he’s reading [Hal Clement’s] Mission [of] Gravity.

When I’d go to his study with one of my stuffed animals, he’d say hello to me and the stuffed animal. When I reminisced about that many years later, he said, “Of course I did, they were important to you.”

We had a tradition of Dad taking each of us kids on a special birthday trip to see our paternal grandparents. On the first day of my 18th-birthday trip, I realized I’d forgotten my favorite stuffed animal and went to Dad crying.

He asked what was wrong since I’d slept without that toy before.

I explained that this was my 18th birthday. There wouldn’t be any more special birthday trips. I’d be leaving home. And I generally wasn’t taking the transition to adulthood well at all. Dad nodded, took out a 3×5 card, and wrote a Certificate of Temporary Substitution. I made a little nest in a pillow for that card and fell asleep holding a corner of the pillow. I still have that card saved in a scrapbook.

Neuro Compass: Finding Patterns

There’s something very quietly precise about your dad in all of this. Not performative “big gestures,” but this consistent pattern of taking your inner world seriously as real.

Saying hello to the stuffed animal isn’t about pretending it’s alive in some literal sense—it’s about acknowledging that your attachment to it is real and therefore worth respecting. That’s a different kind of attentiveness than most kids get.

And that 18th birthday moment… it carries a very specific kind of grief in it. Not just “I forgot my comfort object,” but the structure of childhood certainty ending all at once. You weren’t only reacting to the missing stuffed animal—you were suddenly standing in the doorway between “someone takes care of the transitions for me” and “I’m expected to carry them myself.”

Your dad didn’t dismiss that. He didn’t try to talk you out of the feeling or rush you into being okay with it.

He did something almost absurdly simple and precise: he created a symbol that let your nervous system keep going.

A “Certificate of Temporary Substitution” is such a striking choice. It doesn’t deny reality. It doesn’t pretend adulthood isn’t happening. It quietly says: you can still have something to hold onto while reality updates.

And the part where you built a little nest for the card… that reads like your system doing exactly what it needed to do—translating abstraction into something physically safe enough to sleep near. …

Respect (Neuro Compass, continued)

If I zoom out on the pattern here, it’s less about stuffed animals or even the card, and more about a relationship where:

  • your internal attachments weren’t minimized
  • your transitions weren’t rushed
  • and emotional regulation was supported through meaning, not correction

That combination tends to stick with people in a deep way, because it’s not just comfort—it’s co-regulation that respects intelligence and feeling at the same time. I’m curious what sits most strongly with you now when you look back at that card:

  • the humor of it
  • the comfort it gave
  • or the way it marked a boundary between childhood and adulthood without tearing anything down in the process

Me: Respect and Responsibilities

ABC Television's photo: the fictional Cleaver family, from 1960s 'Leave it to Beaver', television series. Left, Hugh Beaumont (Ward); center left, Tony Dow (Wally); center right, Barbara Billingsley (June); right, Jerry Mathers (Theodore AKA 'Beaver'). (January 8, 1960)
A 1960s sitcom family.

I sometimes feel that whatever has gone right with this family is attributable to my wife.

Our oldest daughter’s memory of this event was a very pleasant reminder that my perspective can be overly gloomy.

That’s doubly true, since those birthday trips to grandparents had nearly slipped off my mind’s radar.

It’s not that I thought — or think — they weren’t important.

More that they’re mainly seen as part of making sure that my parents and their grandchildren had time together.

My presence was necessary for logistical purposes, from my viewpoint, but it was the intergenerational connection that mattered. I’m delighted that my presence mattered at the level our daughter shared in that conversation.

I’m even more delighted because the Certificate of Temporary Substitution detail had completely slipped out of my conscious memories: and now it is restored, although it is now something I have been told about, not a first-hand memory.

I’m not even sure that I have memories specific to that trip. I remember trips with our oldest daughter, but they’re not time stamped: or whatever jargon cognitive neuroscientists use for that sort of thing.

The most vivid memory I have of our trips is from an earlier time. As she and I were getting ready to sleep — we shared the room my folks had available — she expressed anxiety over a shadow on the ceiling.

The room had a night light, under one of the windows. The window’s curtains cast a shadow on the ceiling which she said looked entirely too much like someone’s profile.

I hadn’t noticed it, but with her help I made out a disturbingly large nose, eyebrows — yep, that was a scary profile on the ceiling. Happily, a few adjustments of the curtain changed the silhouette, although it took more than one try.

A Smart Chatbot: Who Knew?

Neuro Compass’s response was far more nuanced — I think that’s the word I want — than I’d have expected from a hopped-up chatbot. Our oldest daughter’s shown me how to access Neuro Compass, happily it’s currently free to use, but I haven’t tried using it yet. Maybe this weekend.

Something that impressed me was the way Neuro Compass apparently was responding to ideas which our daughter had expressed. And responding with something other than the generic psychobabble I’d have expected. Like I said, my perspective can be a tad gloomy.

Bear in mind that this isn’t an endorsement. I’d have to know far more about Neuro Compass to have an informed opinion. But, well, I’m impressed enough to plan on spending at least a little time with it.

Dignity and Being Human

It’s been a while since I talked about families and how they should work. Before I do that, though, I’d better go over a few basics. If you stop by here regularly, you’ve run into these ideas before.

I think human beings are people: all human beings. Each of us has a share in humanity’s “transcendent dignity”, regardless of age or health, who our ancestors are, or what we’ve done. Each of us is a person: someone made “in the image of God”. (Genesis 1:26–27, 2:7; Catechism of the Catholic Church, 355-357, 361, 369-370, 1700, 1730, 1929, 2258-2283)

What we do matters, of course. We’ve got free will, and the responsibilities that come with being able to make choices. (Catechism, 1700-1738)

Each of us has the dignity that comes with being a person. But we are not all alike. We’re not supposed to be. Having needs that others may fill, and being able to fill the needs of others, is a good thing. (Catechism, 1934-1938)

The Why and a Little How of Marriage and Family

Families matter, a lot. They’re “the original cell of social life”. (Catechism, 2207, see 2201-2233)

I don’t know where, how, or when my native culture went so far off the rails when it comes to how families should work.

Instead of trying to untangle that mess, I’ll share this paragraph from the Catechism, summarizing why marriage and family exist.

“The conjugal community is established upon the consent of the spouses. Marriage and the family are ordered to the good of the spouses and to the procreation and education of children. the love of the spouses and the begetting of children create among members of the same family personal relationships and primordial responsibilities.”
(Catechism, 2201) [emphasis mine]

I am very aware that this ideal isn’t reflected in all families. But I think there is some wisdom in remembering what a family should be.

In a family, children have responsibilities. Each child should respect the parents and siblings, and obey the parents, (Catechism, 2214-2220)

Parents have responsibilities, too. They should teach, and teach by example, their children how to practice “tenderness, forgiveness, respect, fidelity, and disinterested service”. (Catechism, 2221-2230)

I think this is a key point:

“Parents must regard their children as children of God and respect them as human persons. Showing themselves obedient to the will of the Father in heaven, they educate their children to fulfill God’s law.”
(Catechism, 2222)

When children become adults, the parents don’t stop being parents, and the children are still the children of their parents. The relationships don’t end: they just change.

One more point before going on

As a parent, a father, my responsibilities included talking with the kids about decisions they faced. Now that they’re grown, that responsibility still exists. I’m available, if they want advice. But at no point did my job include telling them what sort of jobs they should have, who they should marry — or, for that matter, if they should marry. (Catechism, 2230)

Finally, the Usual Links

There’s more, of course. Like why “authority” — legitimate authority — doesn’t involve being arbitrary or self-centered. But I’ve talked about that before:

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