August 16th 2026. Twentieth Sunday in Ordinary Time

GOSPEL: Matthew 15:21-28   

________________________________________________________________

   

Translated from a homily by Don Fabio Rosini broadcast on Vatican Radio

 

GOSPEL: Matthew 15:21-28       

Jesus left Genesaret and withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. Then out came a Canaanite woman from that district and started shouting,

‘Sir, Son of David, take pity on me. My daughter is tormented by a devil.‘

But he answered her not a word. And his disciples went and pleaded with him.

‘Give her what she wants,’ they said ‘because she is shouting after us.’

He said in reply, ‘I was sent only to the lost sheep of the House of Israel’.

But the woman had come up and was kneeling at his feet. ‘Lord,’ she said ‘help me.’

He replied, ‘It is not fair to take the children’s food and throw it to the house-dogs’.

She retorted, ‘Ah yes, sir; but even house-dogs can eat the scraps that fall from their master’s table’.

Then Jesus answered her, ‘Woman, you have great faith. Let your wish be granted.’

And from that moment her daughter was well again.

The Gospel of the Lord.   Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.

 

 

1. Why is Jesus so tough with the Canaanite woman? The pagan culture at the time of the early Church needed to be abandoned in order to receive the newness of the Holy Spirit.

In this Sunday's Gospel, we encounter a portrayal of Jesus that is devoid of sentimentality and kindness. Instead, he appears stern and somewhat distant. Interestingly, the disciples come across as more compassionate than he does. A distressed mother approaches, seeking his assistance, yet Jesus doesn't even address her with a word. The disciples urge him to listen to her plea, and Jesus responds with a statement that cuts sharply: "It is not right to take the children's bread and throw it to the dogs." But why does Jesus adopt this demeanour? What's behind his toughness? It's crucial to remember that the early church was evangelising in a world that took pride in its pagan culture. It might have been tempting for the pagans to believe that their beliefs weren’t so different from the beliefs of Christianity. This, however, isn’t the case. The Redemption brought by Christ demands baptism, the abandonment of the old self for love, in order to receive the newness that only the Holy Spirit can provide. Entering this new nature isn't about repairing human nature; it's about renouncing the devil, the world, and the flesh.

 

2. By acknowledging her own poverty, the woman opens the door to grace.

The text of this Sunday recounts the Faith of a Canaanite woman who boldly acknowledges her own poverty. She disassociates herself from her Pagan background and displays an act of humility that opens the doors to grace, suddenly bestowed upon her by Christ. She acknowledges her unworthiness and embraces her foreign status, referring to herself as a "gentile," a term that carries a sense of being Pagan in the Hebrew tradition. This is the path to grace—through recognizing our own poverty. Those who have learned to be merciful are able to recall the day they saw themselves as dogs, as undeserving human beings. Notably, even figures like Peter and Paul went through this, admitting to their betrayals and wrongdoings. This Canaanite woman humbly requests a scrap she knows she doesn't merit. And she is well aware of this fact. And that's the essence of it. The most profound faith resides in the humblest of hearts. By practising the art of remembering the times when we felt like dogs, we can contemplate God's patience with us and find many reasons to exercise patience with others, as we too were loved without deserving it. This constitutes the highest form of faith. The greatest faith finds its home in the tiniest and most unpretentious of hearts. This woman stands before Jesus' seemingly stern demeanour. Often, God appears tough with us, seemingly uttering a "no." However, these refusals are invitations to adopt a more mature perspective, fostering growth.

 

3. An educator doesn’t just reward but also admonishes. The journey to faith for this woman begins with Jesus’ “no”.

An educator doesn't solely rely on rewards; they also offer guidance and know when to refuse, set limits, and provide boundaries. If we, as parents, only ever indulge our children's requests, we become ineffective parents, and our children remain immature. Here, Jesus reveals himself to this woman as a guide, leading her to a truth—her own poverty. If we want to have profound faith, we must first recognise our own poverty. The reward will eventually come, and indeed, great faith will transpire. However, the journey to this great faith begins with accepting Jesus' initial "no." There are times when we need to learn how to pray. Beyond God's apparent deafness, beyond the outward sense of detachment that God might exhibit, we ask for things and it seems that God is responding with a "No," asserting that we don't deserve them and won't receive them. Yet, we must persist in asking, because God wants us to truly engage with the questions we pose. Let's not be individuals who merely recite prayers mechanically, as is often the case with formal prayers. We may ask for things, but our hearts might be distant from the very things we seek. Frequently, a "no" becomes the path that leads to a truer question, with God’s denial prompting us to ponder whether we genuinely desire what we’re asking for. This is the faith we're summoned to embrace, the faith that the early church had to encounter while evangelising among the Pagans.

 

4.  Embracing the faith is not just a sprinkle of holy water. It involves purification and trials. This Gospel contains the entirety of Christian initiation, the necessity of acknowledging one’s poverty and need of grace

Back in the first century, there existed many Hellenists, who took pride in their magnificent and illustrious culture. They might have believed that Christianity was merely an adaptation of their philosophy. Unfortunately, a similar misconception prevails today. Often, we assume that embracing someone in faith merely involves a sprinkle of holy water and a baptism. Yet, baptism signifies a process of dying and rising, a journey of purification that often involves many trials. We should recognize that within these few lines of the Gospel lies the entirety of Christian initiation, the complete process of acknowledging the old self, recognizing oneself as less than human, akin to dogs, and the necessity of being rescued by grace, by God's generosity, to enter a new nature—the nature of full and complete humanity, the nature revealed to us through Christ.

“In the Stars the Glory of His Eyes – Tales from an Irish Tour Guide in Rome”

FROM IGNATIUS PRESS

Tales of unexpected blessings, hilarious true stories, unique perspectives on the lives of the saints. An original, entertaining and orthodox presentation of the Catholic faith. You won’t be able to put it down!

"Captivating."

— Elizabeth Lev, Professor of Art History, Rome.

“Entertaining.”

— Cardinal Seán Brady, Ireland.

"I laughed out loud many times, and told the stories to others who laughed just as hard."

— Sally Read, Author.

"Enchanting."

— Bishop Brendan Leahy, Diocese of Limerick.

"Unique and insightful."

— Archbishop Kieran O'Reilly, Cashel and Emly.

August 9th 2026. The Nineteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time

GOSPEL: Matthew 14, 22-33

Translated from a homily by Don Fabio Rosini broadcast on Vatican Radio

 

Don Fabio’s homily follows the Gospel

 

GOSPEL: Matthew 14, 22-33

After he had fed the people, Jesus made the disciples get into a boat
and precede him to the other side,
while he dismissed the crowds. 
After doing so, he went up on the mountain by himself to pray. 
When it was evening he was there alone. 
Meanwhile the boat, already a few miles offshore,
was being tossed about by the waves, for the wind was against it. 
During the fourth watch of the night,
he came toward them walking on the sea. 
When the disciples saw him walking on the sea they were terrified. 
"It is a ghost," they said, and they cried out in fear. 
At once Jesus spoke to them, "Take courage, it is I; do not be afraid." 
Peter said to him in reply,
"Lord, if it is you, command me to come to you on the water." 
He said, "Come." 
Peter got out of the boat and began to walk on the water toward Jesus. 
But when he saw how strong the wind was he became frightened;
and, beginning to sink, he cried out, "Lord, save me!" 
Immediately Jesus stretched out his hand and caught Peter,
and said to him, "O you of little faith, why did you doubt?" 
After they got into the boat, the wind died down. 
Those who were in the boat did him homage, saying,
"Truly, you are the Son of God."

The Gospel of the Lord: Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ

 

​

On this Nineteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time, we explore an important theme in the Liturgy. We delve into the account of the disciples' journey across the sea, where Jesus joins them by walking on water. We also explore the poignant moment when Peter himself steps onto the water, with his eyes fixed on Jesus.

 

This gospel is thoughtfully complemented by the first reading. As usual, the first reading offers a lens through which we can interpret the Gospel of the day. In this instance, the first reading recounts Elijah's encounter with God on Mount Horeb, synonymous with Mount Sinai. This pivotal moment marks a transition in Elijah's prophetic journey. It signifies his preparation to embark on a new season, one characterised by greater vitality and courage, following a period of trials and even persecution.

 

How do these two texts intertwine? To fully grasp the essence of this Gospel, it's imperative to understand its underlying theme. Jesus urges his disciples to board the boat and set sail ahead of him, destined for the opposite shore. The motif of crossing the sea takes centre stage. This theme holds significant weight throughout scripture as it symbolises traversing boundaries. Crossing the sea mirrors the concept of Passover, the act of departing from a realm of bondage by miraculously navigating through the waters – a tempestuous and untamable element that, in biblical context, often signifies death (as seen in the story of the flood). It's reminiscent of the primordial waters, which withheld the gift of life until they receded, as well as the story of Jacob crossing the Jabbok River, a profound moment that led to a transformative change, reflected in his altered name. 

 

In life, too, we often encounter such pivotal junctures – fords that demand crossing, changes that compel us to journey beyond, new phases we must accept.

 

Indeed, even in the first reading, Elijah undergoes a profound change through his encounter with God. This divine meeting marks the pivotal moment for a new prophetic journey. Life presents us with countless junctures—instances when we must transition from childhood to adulthood, times of embarking on new chapters, like marriage, dedication, surrender, and embracing a mission or calling. These moments push us beyond our comfort zones, urging us into uncharted territory, into the realm of the unfamiliar, change, and metamorphosis. We're well aware that this voyage can be both intimidating and imperative. Change is an intrinsic part of life; failing to adapt could lead us to become a mere shadow of our genuine selves, a superficial representation of the inner beauty within us.

 

Similarly, Jesus compels His disciples to confront change and transition, a challenge they directly experience. Indeed, the term "compel" is used, suggesting an element of urgency. The fishermen are accustomed to the frequent nighttime storms that arise on the Sea of Galilee due to local weather patterns. This remains true today, with currents converging at the lake's centre, presenting such challenges. The disciples squarely face this adversity. 

 

With any big change, a trial inevitably emerges—a loss, the conquering of a mindset, maturity, the acquisition of new habits, a renewed perspective on life, confronting novel circumstances, a fresh living environment, a different phase of existence. As we navigate these waters of change, we realise that the Lord treads upon these trials. We come to comprehend that He is greater than any of our fears; if God is God, no greater power exists. He is fully capable of mastering any situation. The disciples experienced fear while they were in the boat, but Jesus reassured them, saying, "Take heart, it is I; do not be afraid." The crux of dispelling fear lies in this: "It is I." This phrase is more than just a superficial acknowledgment using the verb "to be." No, it is the name of God, the ineffable, His very identity. I am, God is, God is reality, God acts, God saves us. This reality emerges—that God's power is greater than anything we fear. 

 

In life, we often magnify what we serve, elevating it above God—our idols, our fears, our attachments. In a dream of St. Francis, God asked: “What holds more value, serving the servant or the master?” The master should be served, not the servant. Yet, frequently we serve the servant. We should serve the master, and follow the master's lead, not the servant's. Here, we encounter Peter, propelled by his enthusiasm, requesting to partake in this experience. This, truly, is an authentic transformation—the instance when we stride beyond our fears: "Command me to come to you on the water." Essentially, it is God who can incite us to surmount these challenges. Peter steps out of the boat because Jesus beckons him. Jesus awaits us on the waters of our fears and calls to us, saying, "Come." In this Gospel, He reassures us that He is with us, inviting us to advance toward Him, to align ourselves with His divine will, to embark on life as He intends.

 

Peter is weak, as we all are. He becomes fearful and begins to sink, crying out, "Lord, save me." This image embodies both prayer and our human frailty. Peter can't make it on his own. He needs to be saved. If he looks at the wind, the wind is stronger than he is. If he looks at the wind, he isn't looking at Jesus. The wind appears to be the only thing that exists. But Jesus is always there. Jesus reaches out his hand and grasps him. It means that they were close, it means they were even far from the boat, it means that Peter had somehow walked that far. So, why did Peter doubt, even though he had already walked on the water? This also applies to us. How many times has God already worked in our lives? How many times has He shown us His power? Why do we still doubt? How many times have we seen his providence accompany us? Why are we still afraid?

 

In the next trial that you experience, look at how you’ve already been supported by God's Providence and by His fatherhood up to this point. Let's not doubt, let's truly recognize that He is the Son of God. Let God show us His power over the sea, as He steps into our boat, into our lives. What is the boat? Peter has to leave the boat, which represents his way of weathering the storm, of surviving the fears of life, and walk towards Jesus. This is an experience we must all undergo in order to truly live, in order to walk on the water. We must abandon our own solutions and instead we must attempt to walk on the word of Christ. This is what changes everything and makes life truly beautiful.

 

All of us are called to something great and beautiful, but we're in our boat. The Lord's words often fill us with fear, and His calling may sometimes seem like a threat. Thus, we can understand why there are few vocations, why so many people remain on their boats, clinging to their defences against life's challenges and refusing to let go. We need to showcase individuals who walk on water, so that others might have the courage to step out. We need to exhibit many Christians who stride upon the very things that terrify others. That's why life often compels us, just as it did with Jesus and His disciples, to walk amidst storms, to live within tempests. The storm is where we encounter the Lord, who is always mightier than our fear.

“In the Stars the Glory of His Eyes – Tales from an Irish Tour Guide in Rome”

FROM IGNATIUS PRESS

Tales of unexpected blessings, hilarious true stories, unique perspectives on the lives of the saints. An original, entertaining and orthodox presentation of the Catholic faith. You won’t be able to put it down!

"Captivating."

— Elizabeth Lev, Professor of Art History, Rome.

“Entertaining.”

— Cardinal Seán Brady, Ireland.

"I laughed out loud many times, and told the stories to others who laughed just as hard."

— Sally Read, Author.

"Enchanting."

— Bishop Brendan Leahy, Diocese of Limerick.

"Unique and insightful."

— Archbishop Kieran O'Reilly, Cashel and Emly.

 August 2^nd 2026. The Eighteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time

GOSPEL: Matthew 14, 13-21

Translated from a homily by Don Fabio Rosini broadcast on Vatican Radio

  

Don Fabio’s homily follows the Gospel

GOSPEL: Matthew 14, 13-21

When Jesus heard of the death of John the Baptist,
he withdrew in a boat to a deserted place by himself.
The crowds heard of this and followed him on foot from their towns.
When he disembarked and saw the vast crowd,
his heart was moved with pity for them, and he cured their sick.  
When it was evening, the disciples approached him and said,
“This is a deserted place and it is already late;
dismiss the crowds so that they can go to the villages
and buy food for themselves.”
Jesus said to them, “There is no need for them to go away;
give them some food yourselves.”
But they said to him,
“Five loaves and two fish are all we have here.”
Then he said, “Bring them here to me, ”
and he ordered the crowds to sit down on the grass.
Taking the five loaves and the two fish, and looking up to heaven,
he said the blessing, broke the loaves,
and gave them to the disciples,
who in turn gave them to the crowds.
They all ate and were satisfied,
and they picked up the fragments left over—
twelve wicker baskets full.
Those who ate were about five thousand men,
not counting women and children.

The Gospel of the Lord: Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ

 

Kieran’s summary . . . In the Gospel story, Jesus looks on the hungry crowd and is stirred to compassion. When we look on the world, may we too not turn away from the stirrings of compassion within us! The disciples do not nurture feelings of compassion for the crowd because they believe that it is pointless. Their attitude is guided by what they see as being brute necessities: the scale of the problem (over five thousand people to be fed) and the poverty of the resources of food available (five loaves and two fish). But if we have faith in what the Lord can do, then what seems a brute necessity may not be a necessity at all! Our poor resources can be more than enough in the hands of the Lord. What is important is the way we relate to him in the midst of these situations, “necessities” and “insurmountable” problems. If we give ourselves to the Lord then he will work wonders with our offering, no matter how impoverished it may be.

 

Jesus looks on the world and is stirred to compassion. When we look on the world, may we too not turn away from the stirrings of compassion within us!

When Jesus heard of the death of John, he went away to a deserted place to be by himself. John had been killed barbarously during a grotesque feast, to satisfy the desires of a teenage dancer. The death of the prophet is a sure sign that the thing he prophesied about – the coming of the Messiah – is about to be fulfilled. The news of the Baptist's death made Jesus seek the solitude of a desert, but the poor and the infirm still seek him out and find him. The void created by the termination of the prophecy then becomes the space of compassion (“his heart was moved with pity for them . .”). This is more important than it may seem at first glance: if a prophecy does not lead to a manifestation of love, then what prophecy is it? It is empty. It is not inspired by the Holy Spirit. And how does true compassion manifest itself? "He saw a large crowd and felt compassion for them". Compassion starts from what we see. Do we change channels when we see images of pain, hunger and disease? Do we change the subject of conversation so as not to think too much about something that would undermine our habitual way of being? Instead, wouldn’t it be better if we held our gaze on those images, or continued the subject under discussion? If we do that, then we will discover that  compassion is there waiting for us. It is ready to arise within us if we accept it and support it.

 

The disciples do not feel compassion for the crowd because they believe that it is pointless. Their decisions are guided by what they see as being brute necessities: the scale of the problem and the poverty of the resources of food available. But if we have faith in what the Lord can do, then what seems a brute necessity may not be a necessity at all! Our poor resources may be more than enough in the hands of the Lord.

In the disciples, no such compassion is stirred by their way of looking at the situation.  They see other things: “The place is deserted and it is now late; dismiss the crowd to go to the villages to buy food." Compassion is fine, but it is useless in this situation because nothing can be done for these people. The disciples, in fact, demonstrate a Roman brand of rationality: Necessitas non habet legem, sed ipsa sibi facit legem (“Necessity is not subject to the law because it is a law in itself”). No decision is necessary because the only necessity is that the people go looking for food. The disciples use the imperative (“Dismiss the crowds . .”). They are not giving advice to Jesus but telling him his duty.

 

Give yourself to the Lord and he will work wonders with your offering, no matter how impoverished it may be.

Jesus says just the opposite: “They don't need to go”. Literally, it is not necessary! When we have compassion then what is “necessary” changes.  At this point, Jesus expresses a completely different kind of imperative: "You yourselves feed them." There is a splendid ambiguity in this phrase that is lost in the translation we are currently using. It could be interpreted to mean: “Give yourselves as food to them”. In any case, Jesus is telling the disciples that they are the protagonists in this situation. The problem of feeding this crowd is theirs directly. In reply, they say, "Here we have nothing but five loaves and two fish!" But Jesus is not dissuaded by the poverty of what they have.  “Bring them here”, he says. Is what we have to offer very little? It's not a problem. Let us bring to Jesus what little we have, and we will see what can be done when we are together with him. Compassion is not something whose efficacy is measured by the stock market. It is measured by God. He is not interested in the quantity of what we but in our relationship with him. Whoever opens himself to compassion gives Christ what he has. The Lord knows what to do with it.

 July 26^th 2026. The Seventeenth Sunday of Ordinary Time

GOSPEL: Matthew 13, 24-43

Translated from a homily by Don Fabio Rosini broadcast on Vatican Radio

Don Fabio’s homily follows the Gospel

GOSPEL: Matthew 13, 24-43

Jesus said to his disciples:
“The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field,
which a person finds and hides again,
and out of joy goes and sells all that he has and buys that field.
Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a merchant
searching for fine pearls.
When he finds a pearl of great price,
he goes and sells all that he has and buys it.
Again, the kingdom of heaven is like a net thrown into the sea,
which collects fish of every kind.
When it is full they haul it ashore
and sit down to put what is good into buckets.
What is bad they throw away.
Thus it will be at the end of the age.
The angels will go out and separate the wicked from the righteous
and throw them into the fiery furnace,
where there will be wailing and grinding of teeth.

“Do you understand all these things?”
They answered, “Yes.”
And he replied,
“Then every scribe who has been instructed in the kingdom of heaven
is like the head of a household
who brings from his storeroom both the new and the old.”

The Gospel of the Lord: Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ

Kieran’s summary . . . Sunday’s Gospel calls on us to open our eyes to what really matters in life, to discern wisely, to consider what is really valuable. If we reflect on the riches that the Lord is offering us, then we will joyfully do whatever we can to receive those riches. But Christianity is often presented in a way that suffocates this joy! Sometimes our faith is presented as something that primarily involves denial and sacrifice. But a more balanced view emphasizes that Christianity is all about receiving much more than we give. It is pride and egoism that causes us to present sanctity as if it were all about our efforts. Our faith is first and foremost about liberation and salvation, not arbitrary penance and sacrifice. The Gospel passage challenges us to discern the riches and the beauty of what Christ is offering us. For that which is really valuable, we will willingly and joyfully renounce everything because we receive much more than we give. Our efforts, our renunciations, only serve to acquire the box in which the treasure is hidden. The value of the treasure is infinitely greater, but we spend too much time thinking about our efforts to acquire the box! Christian discernment focusses on the treasure. It is only then that everything acquires its real value.

Sometimes Christianity is presented as something that involves denial and sacrifice. But a more balanced view emphasizes that Christianity is all about receiving much more than we give.

“The kingdom of heaven is like a treasure buried in a field; a man finds it and hides it; then he goes, full of joy, sells all his possessions and buys that field”. The act of giving away all one's possessions is normally understood as an action of self-denial and renunciation, something that is done in an attitude of detachment and sacrifice ... but nothing could be further from the Gospel! The Lord never proposes any renunciation except with the view to receiving something much greater and more valid. In this passage, for example, the man gives away everything he has full of joy, because what he has found is much greater. There is no denial in Christianity that does not lead to something superior. If God asks us for something, it is always because he is offering us much more. Whoever loses his life for the love of Christ, does it because it is precisely in this way that he finds the life that can never be lost. In this way, we obtain a treasure in heaven where thieves do not break in, where rust and woodworm do not consume. Christian discipleship is never a question of losing, but, on the contrary, of acquiring.

It is pride and egoism that causes us to present sanctity as if it were all about our efforts. But our faith is primarily about liberation and salvation, not arbitrary penance and sacrifice.

Why has Christianity been presented so often in an exclusively negative way, as if self-deprivation was the central thing? For the usual reason: because we are fixated with our ego. We focus our attention on what we do, not what God does. When we describe the holiness of saints, or of the Church itself, we make it sound like a celebration of works by exceptional, individuals. We make holiness into something based on human qualities, instead of being an encounter with grace that permits the power of God to emerge in men and women. In this way, Christianity is presented as something involving blood, sweat and tears, not liberation and salvation.

The Gospel passage calls us to discern wisely between that which is really worthwhile and that which is worthless. For that which is really valuable, we will willingly renounce everything because we receive much more than we give.

This Sunday's Gospel gives another perspective: we hear of the man who sells everything to have the field with the hidden treasure and the pearl merchant who leaves everything to have the most beautiful pearl.  Then we are presented with images of the process of selection: the fishermen who throws away the bad fish and keeps the good; the master of the house who brings from his storeroom things old and new. This points to the importance of discernment, of the wise choice, of the selection of what is really worthwhile and the rejection of that which is inferior.

Our efforts, our renunciations, only serve to acquire the box in which the treasure is hidden. The value of the treasure is infinitely greater, but we spend too much time thinking about our efforts to acquire the box! Christian discernment focusses on the treasure. Then everything acquires its real value.

All of that man's possessions served only to buy the field containing the treasure. Everything we have is only enough to acquire the treasure chest, but there is endless wealth inside the chest! If you win the lottery, you soon forget the envelope where the ticket that won the lottery was stored. All of our renunciations are aimed only at the purchase of the envelope. The issue here is appreciating the value of the treasure, understanding the value of the pearl, instead of spending all our time thinking of our efforts to acquire the box. When does Christian discernment begin? When we get to know the treasure! Then everything acquires its real value.

“In the Stars the Glory of His Eyes – Tales from an Irish Tour Guide in Rome”

FROM IGNATIUS PRESS

Tales of unexpected blessings, hilarious true stories, unique perspectives on the lives of the saints. An original, entertaining and orthodox presentation of the Catholic faith. You won’t be able to put it down!

"Captivating."

— Elizabeth Lev, Professor of Art History, Rome.

“Entertaining.”

— Cardinal Seán Brady, Ireland.

"I laughed out loud many times, and told the stories to others who laughed just as hard."

— Sally Read, Author.

"Enchanting."

— Bishop Brendan Leahy, Diocese of Limerick.

"Unique and insightful."

— Archbishop Kieran O'Reilly, Cashel and Emly.

 July 19th  2026. The Sixteenth Sunday of Ordinary Time

GOSPEL: Matthew 13, 24-30

Translated from a homily by Don Fabio Rosini broadcast on Vatican Radio

 

Don Fabio’s homily follows the Gospel

 

GOSPEL: Matthew 13, 24-30

Jesus proposed another parable to the crowds, saying:
"The kingdom of heaven may be likened to a man
who sowed good seed in his field. 
While everyone was asleep his enemy came
and sowed weeds all through the wheat, and then went off. 
When the crop grew and bore fruit, the weeds appeared as well. 
The slaves of the householder came to him and said,
'Master, did you not sow good seed in your field? 
Where have the weeds come from?'
He answered, 'An enemy has done this.'
His slaves said to him, 'Do you want us to go and pull them up?'
He replied, 'No, if you pull up the weeds
you might uproot the wheat along with them. 
Let them grow together until harvest;
then at harvest time I will say to the harvesters,
"First collect the weeds and tie them in bundles for burning;
but gather the wheat into my barn."'"

​

The Gospel of the Lord: Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ

 

The readings today warmly welcome us with a passage from the Book of Wisdom, which beautifully expounds on God's indulgence. It describes God's patient nature, which allows us to make mistakes, offering us the opportunity to repent and come to our senses. As the Psalm echoes, 'You are good, Lord, and you forgive.'

 

In contemplating the theme of God's Forgiveness and His patience with our imperfections, we encounter the parable of the weeds: the sowing of bad seed among the good, performed by an enemy in the vast field which is our world.

 

Here, we are confronted with the complex nature of reality. Life presents us with a mixture of good and not-so-good aspects. We often face unpleasant or even disturbing circumstances in our everyday lives.

 

It is in this challenge that we must learn to examine and understand the diverse elements of reality. Reality has various origins. We have what is good and comes from God – the wholesome, beautiful, and constructive aspects – and we also have what is destructive and stifles the good. How often contradictory elements coexist within the human heart! How should we navigate this reality? The first reading presents the theme of God's indulgence, and the parable urges us to grapple with the master's strange decision not to uproot the weeds until they unmistakably reveal themselves as such. In this world, both good grain and weeds coexist. The difference lies in the grain, which turns golden when mature, while the weeds remain green and fruitless. This colour distinction allows for differentiation. There is a risk of uprooting the good grain along with the weeds. The master's idea is to refrain from intervening harshly and violently because there is always something good worth protecting. In all of us, in the world, there is something valuable that must be defended. And it is worthwhile to wait for the good to ripen because goodness has its own timing; it will reveal itself as good, meaningful, and salvific.

 

This is how we should nurture the new generations: never passing sharp and definitive judgments on those who are still growing. Adolescents may sometimes be difficult and trying, but there is life and goodness in them, and we must trust them. They need time to mature, and eventually, they will be able to distinguish between the weeds and the fruitful grain – the beautiful and significant elements. We must be cautious not to live according to a logic that prioritises justice and the need to fix everything immediately. A tendency towards uncertain intervention, characteristic of a generation focused solely on justice, may push us to intervene prematurely, without giving things time to develop naturally into what they are meant to be. This is especially crucial from an educational and relational standpoint. We need to be vigilant against the impulse to discard everything when negative elements are present. As mentioned before, this impulse is not compatible with the guidance of the Holy Spirit.

 

The second reading of the liturgy tells us, 'The Spirit comes to the aid of our weakness, for the Spirit Himself intercedes with inexpressible groanings.' We, who are inherently weak, might wonder how we could ever pray adequately or relate to God in a presentable and worthy manner. Yet, the Spirit comes to our aid, supporting us in our weakness. Our vulnerability becomes the very space where the Spirit operates, the pivotal aspect of our relationship with God.

 

Be cautious if you believe that you have everything sorted out, fixed, and adjusted perfectly. That's never the case. It's a trap, a deceptive mindset that can lead us to adopt a harsh attitude, cutting off potentially good things before they have a chance to reveal their true nature. If we were to judge Francis of Assisi based on his youth, we might have dismissed him as immature, pleasure-seeking, disorderly, and focused on trivial pursuits driven by mere desires for quick rewards. Yet, we would have overlooked the fact that he would later become one of the greatest Saints in Church history. Similarly, if we were judged during times of ambiguity and contradiction in our lives, we might have been robbed of the beauty and significance that later emerged. The fruits in our lives, just like in the life of the Church, often take time to mature, and we must have faith in this gradual process.

 

Our focus should be on what truly matters, which is life itself. It's essential to orient everything towards bearing good fruit, allowing the Holy Spirit to work within us. We should never lose hope or hastily discard something. Instead, we must patiently wait for God's work to come to fruition and completion.

“In the Stars the Glory of His Eyes – Tales from an Irish Tour Guide in Rome”

FROM IGNATIUS PRESS

Tales of unexpected blessings, hilarious true stories, unique perspectives on the lives of the saints. An original, entertaining and orthodox presentation of the Catholic faith. You won’t be able to put it down!

"Captivating."

— Elizabeth Lev, Professor of Art History, Rome.

“Entertaining.”

— Cardinal Seán Brady, Ireland.

"I laughed out loud many times, and told the stories to others who laughed just as hard."

— Sally Read, Author.

"Enchanting."

— Bishop Brendan Leahy, Diocese of Limerick.

"Unique and insightful."

— Archbishop Kieran O'Reilly, Cashel and Emly.